Chapter 1132: Comrade

When they received this order, Zhukov’s adjutant and chief of staff both had the same illusion: this telegram must be a fake order sent by German spies. At a time like this, to still be fantasizing about having Soviet troops, who had only just managed to hold their positions, launch a counter-attack?

“Marshal Comrade Zhukov, this… this order, it can’t be real.” The chief of staff’s hand, holding the order, was actually trembling slightly from excessive anger. He couldn’t believe this order came from Stalin, nor could he believe that he was about to execute such a suicidal command.

Zhukov also felt helpless in the face of this order, which was bordering on childish or even insane. He knew this order very likely came from Stalin himself. He even somewhat understood what kind of state the leader, who had not left his air-raid bunker in over ten days, was in to have issued such an unrealistic command.

He took the order from his chief of staff’s hand and said with a bitter smile, “This order is indeed from Comrade Stalin, but it’s also an order we truly have no way of executing. If we leave these fixed defensive positions, it will only take a few days for the Germans to annihilate us in the open.”

“But… Marshal Comrade Zhukov, if we refuse to execute this genuine order, then… then we will be hanged.” The chief of staff looked at Zhukov’s pained expression and said cautiously, his voice trembling, “I think, if we could, we could detach one or two divisions… and launch a symbolic counter-attack to the west…”

Zhukov shook his head, rejecting this perfunctory solution. “Regrettably, without contracting my defensive line, I simply cannot detach a complete reserve force to counter-attack the Germans. They have at least 1 million troops gathered around Moscow, and the forces I have don’t even amount to half that number.”

As he spoke, he walked over to the map of the defense zone. He carefully examined the marked unit designations of the identified German forces and the markers for his own troops. He sighed and continued, “If I could abandon a part of the western positions, I could still free up a few divisions. But the order is to counter-attack in the western region, not to abandon it and attack elsewhere.”

“Then what do we do? Sit here and wait to die? Marshal Comrade.” When the chief of staff heard Zhukov say this, he knew that everything he said was true. At least for now, holding their ground might allow them to last a little longer. If they rashly attacked, it would only lead to a faster and more sudden annihilation.

“As things stand, our troops can only hold their positions.” Zhukov stroked the Moscow defense map with his hand and said to his chief of staff in a tone of grief and indignation, “If we had abandoned the places we should have abandoned months ago, perhaps now… sigh… Let’s not talk about it. Saying all this brings no benefit, only more sorrow.”

After speaking, he turned to the adjutant who had been waiting for his orders and instructed, “Relay my words to the man Stalin sent. Tell him the truth: we have no troops to counter-attack. There’s no need to cover anything up or explain anything. We just don’t have the troops to counter-attack. It’s that simple. We’ve spent too long making simple things complicated, so much so that we’ve forgotten how to speak plainly.”

“Yes! Understood! Marshal Comrade!” The adjutant saluted, then turned and walked out of Zhukov’s command post. He crossed the busy corridor, walked to a room used for receiving guests, and pushed open the door.

He saluted the man waiting anxiously inside. After lowering his arm, he spoke: “The Marshal asks you to relay to Comrade Stalin that we truly have no troops to counter-attack. In fact, we have needed reinforcements for 10 days. The troops lack ammunition and heavy weapons. To counter-attack at a time like this would only cause the entire defense line to collapse faster.”

“My God, Comrade Stalin is counting on Marshal Comrade Zhukov to launch a counter-attack in the south to relieve the pressure on Moscow’s main front. If you cannot complete this mission at this time, then Moscow is completely finished…” The envoy, hearing the adjutant’s reply, looked at the adjutant’s eyes in a panic and said, “No matter what, please reconsider, for Comrade Stalin and for Moscow…”

“Comrade! We have no tanks and no planes. Counter-attacking now is no different from suicide. If suicide could relieve the pressure on Moscow, we would do it without hesitation. But the truth is, even if we do attack, the Germans will not retreat,” the adjutant replied to the envoy’s plea with regret. “Believe me, holding our positions is the only way to truly and better support Moscow.”

The envoy stood there stunned for a few seconds, clearly unwilling to believe the situation was this dire. After a long moment, he finally spoke slowly, in a questioning tone: “But, Comrade Stalin’s military advisors didn’t say that. They said that as long as Marshal Zhukov opens up the situation, Moscow can be turned from danger to safety.”

So it was the advisory group’s idea, no wonder! The adjutant had felt that General Vatutin, the man in charge of Moscow’s city defense, wouldn’t say something so unprofessional. Now it seemed it really wasn’t a man who actually led troops who had persuaded Stalin to make such a muddle-headed judgment.

…

“Why? Why haven’t Zhukov’s troops counter-attacked?” This was the first time in over ten days that Stalin had walked out of the deep bunker. He stood on the war-torn streets of Moscow, staring at the distant sky with a somewhat dull gaze. The Germans had not shelled today, and the fighting on the front had subsided. Clearly, the Germans were resting their troops, and the oppressed Soviet troops, who could barely breathe, could finally rest their weary bodies.

In this instant, it was as if the war was already over. A peaceful wind blew through the dilapidated streets and alleys, blowing past the outer wall of the Kremlin, one-third of which had collapsed. However, this tranquil environment sent a chill down Stalin’s spine. According to the original plan, Zhukov’s troops should be launching their counter-attack south of Moscow. He should be able to hear the familiar rumble of Soviet artillery.

“Can someone tell me, what in the world is going on?” Stalin pushed aside the attendant next to him and looked at the generals and politicians following behind him. The counter-attack to relieve Moscow, which he had been anticipating, had not begun on time. This made Stalin, who had deliberately climbed out of his bunker to watch his troops’ attack, somewhat furious and humiliated.

“Comrade Stalin, Marshal Zhukov’s troops are suppressed by the Germans. They simply have no troops to obey the order and counter-attack.” An officer had to brace himself and step forward to speak a word for the Soviet soldiers still fighting and bleeding at the front. “To defend to the last is the best choice we have. To counter-attack at a time like this…”

“Silence! Cowards! All of you are cowards! Hesitating from the beginning to the end, can’t our nation show some courage?” Stalin, hearing this, angrily cut off his subordinate. “Watching their homeland’s capital turn to ruins under enemy fire, do they not feel the slightest bit of shame?”

If everyone felt this so-called shame, if you still remembered Comrade Lenin who promoted you and entrusted the entire country to you, then you should be the first one to stand up and take responsibility for your actions. Everyone present felt an indescribable helplessness and sorrow, but they could no longer express it in words.

“Tell Zhukov to launch the attack as soon as possible! Immediately!” After saying this, Stalin turned around and walked back toward the entrance of the underground bunker. He walked with a heavy shuffle, as if just moving his legs was already an exhausting task. No one spoke. They just followed behind him, walking slowly toward the dim entrance of the underground shelter.

“Will Zhukov’s troops be able to counter-attack on time?” Watching Stalin and his entourage walk into the bunker entrance, a general stood at the entrance, lighting a cigarette for himself. He took a long drag, then asked his colleague, who had also stayed outside to breathe the fresh air.

“If I were Zhukov, I wouldn’t counter-attack at a time like this… It’s no different from suicide.” That general shook his head and said, “If I weren’t mad, surrendering would be the best choice. But we are Bolsheviks, and that does not allow us to surrender to the Germans. So my choice is the same as Marshal Zhukov’s: hold our positions and ignore Stalin’s order.”

He had not added the word “Comrade” after Stalin’s distinguished name. In the past, he would have been arrested long ago, but clearly, at a time like this, no one was going to pursue such a trivial matter of improper wording. The smoking general exhaled a puff of smoke, shook his head, and said, “You, me, Zhukov, Vatutin… we have no way out. I donTo’t plan on waiting like this anymore. I’m going to give myself a decent end.”

He did not walk back into the bunker. Waving his hand, he walked toward the relatively safer southeastern part of the city. His family was there. At a time like this, he was going to say his final goodbyes to his family, and then arrange a decent funeral for himself. “Don’t see me off. I’m heading to the front right after. I’ll personally lead the men and hold the line.”

At the entrance to the bunker, the general behind him looked as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, his outstretched hand did not catch his departing colleague. “Perhaps… you are the one who is right, Comrade.”

Advance chapters at Nightjar Reads · nightjarreads.com