Chapter 887: Hesitation

“Wooo… Woooo…!” In the dead of night in Moscow, Zhukov was jolted awake by the piercing wail of a siren. His secretary had already rushed into the living room, and the guards were bustling about, preparing to protect their charge, Zhukov, and get him out of the luxurious apartment.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Zhukov asked his men in alarm. It wasn’t the sudden air raid siren that frightened him, but the countless possibilities that flashed through his mind about the aftermath of this attack.

His meticulously planned counter-offensive, the current situation of the Germans’ lack of fuel supported by numerous intelligence reports—the very foundation of his operational plan was now shaken. Even he himself was beginning to have doubts, let alone Stalin, who had been skeptical of the intelligence from the start.

How could German bombers be here? Were the German forces in the northern and central sectors of the Eastern Front short on fuel or not? These questions began to swirl in Zhukov’s mind, impossible to dismiss. It made him start to doubt the accuracy of the intelligence in his hands, and he began to worry that the already suspicious Stalin would waver on the plan for a southern offensive.

Was this a German ploy to confuse him, to stop him from participating in the southern campaign? Or did the Germans have enough fuel to launch offensives on both the northern and southern fronts simultaneously? Zhukov’s mind was in a turmoil, and he felt a dizzying sense of powerlessness.

In the quiet night sky, the Soviet anti-aircraft gun positions opened fire frantically. Countless 85mm cannons were returning fire with all their might. All the Soviet soldiers knew that behind them was the capital of their motherland, the sacred and inviolable Kremlin of the great leader, Stalin.

Shell after shell from the anti-aircraft guns was sent into the sky by the long barrels, and then they exploded at their set altitude, illuminating the surrounding scenery. Immediately after, all the Soviet anti-aircraft gun crews saw with horror that the dense mass of German bombers was flying even higher than the set detonation altitude of their shells.

The Germans seemed to have no intention of lowering their altitude to drop their bombs, so most of the Soviet anti-aircraft guns could not pose a threat to the German bomber formations. Over Moscow, the German planes began to open their bomb bays, dropping the bombs they were carrying one after another.

These bombs whistled down through the thin air, their screaming sirens heralding their approach to the ground more than ten thousand meters below. Then, the fuzes of the bombs struck the hard buildings or the ground, immediately igniting the explosives inside, creating huge and astonishingly powerful explosions.

BOOM! A bomb exploded on the outskirts of Moscow, but the loud bang still reached Marshal Zhukov’s room. The secretary, without waiting for Zhukov to fully dress, grabbed his sleeve and, surrounded by several guards, helped him out of his residence.

As they left the room, a second bomb falling from the sky exploded in the distance. The entire Moscow skyline was illuminated by the fire of the explosion, and the silhouettes of some tall buildings could be clearly seen standing in the firelight. Zhukov had never imagined such a scene even in his dreams. The idea of Moscow being attacked by the enemy was simply like a fantasy.

“My God…” a soldier muttered. Utterly disregarding the approaching German bombers overhead, Zhukov, supported by his guards and aide as they crossed the courtyard towards a nearby air-raid shelter, let out a gasp of astonishment at the distant flames. This night was destined to be remembered by many. This was the first time in the entire war that the Germans had bombed Moscow.

It seemed they had given no consideration to bombing accuracy at all. Because Moscow was indeed large enough, most of the bombs the Germans dropped from an altitude of ten thousand meters could land within the city limits. The German planes did not lower their altitude at all; they were just responsible for dropping the bombs, without the slightest consideration for where they would ultimately land.

Zhukov was helped to the entrance of the air-raid shelter. The two soldiers with submachine guns who were guarding it came forward to help, and with a flurry of hands, they got Zhukov into the safety of the shelter. At that moment, the German planes’ bombs began to fall on the streets and alleys of Moscow on a large scale. Everywhere were rising flames and the sound of explosions.

The earth trembled from the explosions. Zhukov looked at the ceiling above him, the chandelier shaking slightly with the vibrations. The dim light made the entire air-raid shelter look like a ghostly domain. Zhukov watched his shadow sway on the wall and felt that the future of this southern offensive was truly uncertain.

He was worried that the Germans had really reserved the fuel for Army Groups A and F. If that were the case, then the southward-advancing Soviet forces would be encircled and wiped out. This was arguably the Soviet Union’s last main field force.

What worried him even more was that this inexplicable “unreasonable move” would make Stalin misjudge the German army’s strategic intentions. Once Stalin shifted the German army’s strategic direction from the Caucasus to the wrong Moscow, then the Soviet army’s loss of the Baku oil fields would become inevitable. This was the most fatal problem.

Zhukov really wanted to meet the generals on the other side who were commanding the German troops, not from a photograph, but to sit face to face and have a good chat, to see what was really in each other’s minds. He felt the other side’s skill in psychological warfare was superb. He had already been thrown into confusion by the Germans’ repeated deceptions and could no longer, and did not want to, discern the German army’s true intentions.

Feints and real attacks, repeated over and over again, when used from a position of strength, could really achieve a result that was impossible to defend against. Zhukov could even imagine that the next morning, or even an hour after the German bombers had flown away, Stalin would summon him to discuss the risks of the Soviet army’s southern advance.

But for now, he still had to endure, to endure the spiritual torment brought by the bombs dropped by the German bombers, exploding in the streets of the capital, Moscow. A true soldier, a general whose mission was to protect the security of his country, would feel an infinite sense of shame when the capital was attacked by the enemy. This feeling would linger in his heart until he had personally fought his way into the enemy’s capital.

Sure enough, the next morning, Stalin sent someone to demand that Zhukov immediately go to the Kremlin. on the way there, Zhukov saw the wreckage of a downed German bomber. The massive fuselage left a deep impression on him. At the very least, the Soviet Union did not yet have the ability to build such a sophisticated long-range bomber.

In the distance from the wreckage of the German plane, there were even more continuously burning Soviet buildings. Moscow had suffered its first large-scale enemy bombing in its history. Although the losses were not great, it had truly shaken the hearts of the people. The streets and alleys were filled with people discussing the scene of the Germans attacking. Coupled with the soldiers on guard duty everywhere due to the martial law, a tense and terrifying atmosphere hung over the city.

As expected, as soon as they met, Stalin immediately questioned Zhukov about the problem of the German fuel shortage. And his tone was not friendly, with a hint of an accusatory air. “Comrade Zhukov, didn’t you say the German army’s fuel reserves were having problems? Yesterday, just last night, Moscow was subjected to a large-scale bombing! The Germans sent about 70 planes.”

He pounded the table as he spoke. “To be able to send a bomber formation of this scale, you still dare to say the Germans are short on fuel? If your troops were to launch a large-scale southern offensive, and the German army were to attack Moscow, or to launch a pincer attack on your troops to the south, what should I do?”

Zhukov looked at Stalin helplessly. If he knew what to do, he would have spoken long ago, and he wouldn’t have needed Stalin to personally summon him to inquire. In this situation, it was no different from a gamble. If you won, then of course everyone would be happy. But if you lost, then you would be a traitor to the nation. Who could bear such a title?

“Comrade Stalin, the campaign plan I proposed was also drawn up based on all the intelligence data available. Now there are some more variables, which has introduced some unknown risks to the original operational plan,” Zhukov said. He had his ways of being favored by such a fickle leader as Stalin. To first clear himself of any blame, and then to consider other matters, was one of Zhukov’s great skills.

Sure enough, Stalin fell silent. Just yesterday, he had also felt he was facing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It was only the bombing raid at night that had made him so cautious. So he felt that all of this really couldn’t be entirely blamed on Zhukov’s lack of consideration, but was just because, with the passage of time, new changes had occurred.

Thinking of this, Stalin walked to Zhukov’s side and signaled his trusted and beloved general not to be so nervous. After comforting Zhukov, he said softly and slowly to this Marshal of the Soviet Army, “Since the enemy opposite us has changed, then our actions should not be too radical. The preparations for the southern advance will be temporarily halted. Everything must be carried out according to the original plan.”

Zhukov had already been prepared for this situation on his way here. He quickly stood at attention and said to Stalin, “Yes! Great leader, Comrade Stalin! I will strengthen the defenses in the direction of Moscow to prevent a sudden German attack on Moscow.”

Clearly, Stalin was very satisfied with both Zhukov’s performance and his reply. At this moment, he could almost feel that his own power could still control the entire country. He reveled in the submission and fear of his subordinates, which let him experience the beauty of power.

“Go!” Stalin finally said, dismissing Zhukov from his office. “Report to me immediately if there are any new developments!”

“Yes!” Zhukov saluted at attention and backed out.

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