Chapter 1135: The Non-existent Counter-attack

At 5:00 PM sharp, the German positions on the southern outskirts of Moscow were still silent. The deadline Stalin had given Zhukov to launch a counter-attack had arrived. But clearly, Zhukov’s group had not executed the order; they didn’t even seem to have any intention of firing a few shots to placate him.

The battle did not erupt at dinnertime. Both sides were preparing their evening meals. The Germans’ food was much better than the Soviets’. Some units even received dehydrated peas and some dried vegetable leaves. They chatted and laughed in their trenches, cheering for the increasingly comfortable life at the front.

The Soviet side didn’t have any decent food. At least in Zhukov’s group, far from Moscow, they couldn’t get much. Most soldiers only had some pathetic “Khleb” (bread) for rations. A few units only had moldy, expired food to fill their stomachs.

In the afternoon, the Germans had concentrated all kinds of artillery and used a full 60 “Friedrich” rocket launchers to launch a fire assault on the Soviet positions. The sky-blotting barrage lasted for half an hour. Some Soviet positions were completely destroyed by this fierce shelling, forcing Zhukov to finally order an abandonment of these places, which were now unrecognizable.

“But, Marshal Comrade Zhukov… If we don’t execute the attack order and, on the contrary, abandon defensive positions… if Comrade Stalin finds out… our situation will be dangerous.” The chief of staff clutched his teacup and said to his superior, the Red Army’s last hope, Marshal Zhukov.

Zhukov looked at the theater map he had studied countless times, watching as one place name after another, which he had committed to memory, became German-occupied territory. His heart ached. He pointed to the thick arrows representing German units on the map and sighed helplessly: “I’ve said it before, counter-attacking will only lead to our faster destruction. Using our limited troops to drag the enemy into urban warfare is what we should be doing.”

“But, Marshal Comrade, the last envoy from Stalin left us an ultimatum. He said if we do not launch an attack by tonight, Stalin will send someone to replace us, arrest us, and hang us,” the chief of staff said, leaning back in his chair.

Zhukov burst out laughing. After a couple of laughs, he turned to his chief of staff and said in a humorous tone, “Who will replace me? If Comrade Stalin could find a replacement for me among that bunch of good-for-nothings, he would have had us arrested two days ago. At a time like this, who would want my position? I’m afraid no one, right?”

And indeed, in the underground bunker in Moscow, far away, Stalin was furious and humiliated by Zhukov’s refusal to execute his order. In front of a group of generals and officials, Stalin smashed his beloved pipe, then flew into a rage, cursing that Zhukov, like Chuikov, was a “vicious wolf without a conscience.”

“Bastard! This is betrayal! A betrayal of the great motherland and of his oath! Why isn’t he attacking? Does he want to watch me get killed in Moscow?” After confirming the news that Zhukov had not led his remaining forces to attack the Germans, Stalin pounded the table and shouted at his military advisors and officials.

“Comrade Stalin, this is Zhukov’s personal betrayal of the entire Soviet Union! I suggest we immediately strip him of his rank as Marshal of the Soviet Union, find someone to take over his troops, and lead them to attack the Germans, to relieve the pressure on Moscow!” a military advisor said, looking at the somewhat dazed Stalin.

Not everyone who holds high office is truly capable. Sometimes, the only thing these petty men, who rose to the top in special times, know how to do is frame others. Once the situation spirals out of their control, they panic, forgetting even the most basic principles.

“So, you will go and replace Zhukov?” Vatutin, who was standing at Stalin’s left and clearly had real ability, raised his eyebrows. His cold eyes stared at the idiot who had just spoken, wishing he could kick him and shut his mouth forever.

“I… of course not. But there are many other capable generals…” The advisor knew he had misspoken. His voice grew quieter, but he still didn’t want to lose face in front of Stalin. He mumbled a quiet retort to Vatutin, then wisely shut his mouth.

Vatutin didn’t get a chance to speak again before Stalin cut him off. The nominal leader of the entire Soviet Union was somewhat delirious. He spoke with his thick native accent, and one had to listen carefully to understand: “General Vatutin, are you saying that Zhukov is irreplaceable in his army? That is ‘mountain-top-ism’ (factionalism)! That is treating our motherland’s army as his own private army!”

Still throwing labels around at a time like this? Do you really think hanging the battle-hardened Zhukov and replacing him with an idiot will change the tide of the war? Vatutin glanced at the enraged Stalin, momentarily questioning whether his own choices had been correct. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on, or what reason he could find to persist among these already-defeated men.

“They’re attacking! They’re attacking! Zhukov’s troops have launched a counter-attack in the southwest!” an officer, seeing General Vatutin’s face, which had turned ashen-gray as Li Kui’s, sensed the terrible atmosphere in the room and quickly spoke up. “Zhukov’s troops have just begun their attack!”

Everyone looked at this inconspicuous minor figure, waiting for him to continue. “Just before this meeting, General Zhukov finally, after trying everything, managed to scrape together 4 regiments and decided to launch an attack in the southwestern corner of Moscow! Look at the time, the battle should have started by now, right?”

His quick wit gave Vatutin a glimmer of hope. Vatutin quickly stood up and said, “Comrade Stalin, Marshal Comrade Zhukov didn’t refuse your order at all! It was because his forces are too thin, he just couldn’t launch the counter-attack on time. If we wait a few more hours, we will hear the good news of his attack.”

“Then we will wait for him to attack! At least he is at the front; he’s more familiar with the situation than we are.” The general, who had been scared stiff by Vatutin’s glare, quickly chimed in. “We will wait another hour… no! Two more hours! If he doesn’t attack, then we will discuss replacing and trying him!”

If you really dare to replace Zhukov, the army might mutiny on the spot! Then the Germans will pour into the city, and you and I will both die without a grave! Vatutin swallowed these words, because Stalin had already spoken: “Very good! We will proceed with this plan!”

With a few hours’ delay, Vatutin naturally had a way to deceive Stalin. After returning to his own command post, he immediately ordered all his artillery to fire, to engage the Germans in another limited artillery duel. He was going to use a non-existent offensive, and non-existent results, to cover up Zhukov’s insubordination.

An hour later, Stalin and his lackeys heard the distant artillery fire. The flashes of light and explosions in the night made Stalin feel a sense of relief. He seemed to have forgotten his order to hang Zhukov. He sent a commendation to Zhukov—who hadn’t attacked at all. The reason was ludicrous: he praised Zhukov for “launching the attack on time, repelling the German offensive, and turning the unfavorable situation around Moscow.”

In this attack, an entire battalion of Moscow officers fell on the road of the charge. They were pitiful men whose spirits had been crushed by despair and reality, voluntarily choosing to be buried with their motherland. These officers led the charge and fought stubbornly, actually pushing a portion of the German troops back to the vicinity of the Vegachi Cinema.

“I think Stalin is mad. Why would he commend me, a sinner who disobeyed his order?” Zhukov bitterly tossed the commendation telegram onto his desk and complained to his chief of staff. “He’s judging the situation from a bunker, based only on sounds and a bunch of idiots. He’s practically joking with his own life!”

“I think this is his last way of consoling himself.” The chief of staff looked at the telegram from the Kremlin, then placed it back on Zhukov’s desk. “He is more willing to believe lies right now, to believe in operational plans that are impossible… than to believe the truth we tell him, to believe that we are still fighting for this country to the last moment.”

“Konev just called. He said he was forced to retreat another 4 kilometers in the south. We don’t have to be on pins and needles anymore. In two days at most, Marshal Comrade, you’ll be able to move your command post into Moscow proper,” the chief of staff said to Zhukov with a trace of sarcasm.

Vasilevsky’s troops on the flank were also being pushed back by Guderian’s forces. The defensive battle behind Moscow was not going well either. Moscow was now almost completely surrounded. Trapped inside the encirclement were the Moscow Defense Zone and Zhukov’s group, totaling over 900,000 troops.

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