Chibisov’s bearing slumped almost imperceptibly, a reluctant shifting of the spine under an uncomfortable load. “We must find ways to reduce its vulnerability,” he answered. “Our major lines of communication have been hit repeatedly, and to serious effect, by NATO air power. The organization of traffic is extremely difficult, and it’s especially bad at the Elbe River crossing sites.”
Malinsky looked troubled. “How bad?”
“Quantitatively? Acceptable thus far. But over a longer period, our hauling capability could be ... painfully weakened.”
“Painfully?” Malinsky repeated, smiling despite himself. “That’s rather a theatrical expression on your lips, Pavel Pavlovitch.”
Chibisov reddened. The experience of warfare on this scale, and at this level of intensity, had surpassed the careful vocabulary of the General Staff Academy in its expressive demands. Raw numbers might have aided his effort at communication, but the battlefield reporting was uneven, and Chibisov instinctively could not bring himself to trust all of it. Trained to report empirical data with unerring precision, he found himself struggling to report impressions, tonalities, and elusive feelings that insisted on their own importance now.
“NATO’s air power,” Chibisov resumed, “has shown more resiliency than anticipated. While
we
have achieved several impressive initial successes, the forces confronting CENTAG in the south appear to have bogged down, and the outcome of the air battle remains to be decided. If we achieve decisive superiority within forty-eight hours from now, our capability to support the ground offensive will remain at least marginally adequate. Should NATO intensify its deep strikes on our support infrastructure, however, we will experience sustainment problems within three days. It’s very frustrating, really. The chief of the rear is going mad. He has the ammunition. And the fuel. As well as sufficient vehicles to move bulk supplies at this time. But attempting to link them all up and get the trucks and supplies to the right place at the right time is proving extremely difficult. Realistically, Comrade Front Commander, if the first day is like this, while we’re still on the plan . . .”
“And we’ll continue to adhere to the plan,” Malinsky said firmly. “The tactical units and the formations can fight with what they have. The one thing that we cannot sacrifice, the one thing that is in critically short supply, is time. This is the hour when plans come into their own.” Malinsky sat erectly, but his voice became intimate and direct. “If I could spare you, Pavel Pavlovitch, I’d send you forward to take a look for yourself. It’s an astonishing thing. Despite all of the theory and the calculations, the endless tinkering with the tables and norms, I don’t think any of us was quite ready for this. It’s all ... so
fast.”
Malinsky slowly turned his head, a tank turret sweeping the field. “I couldn’t change the plan now, no matter how badly I might want to. Oh, we can adjust details. But there’s no time for, no possibility of, anything greater.” His eyes shone out of the darkness. “The
speed
of the thing, Pavel Pavlovitch. The speed and the power. It makes the Hitlerite blitzkrieg look like a peasant horse and cart.” The front commander paused for a sip of tea, but Chibisov knew from the intensity in Malinsky’s face that the old man didn’t really taste it.
“I don’t know,” Malinsky went on. “We looked at it all in such detail . . . perhaps in too much detail. We examined the questions of mechanization and the impact of new weapons and technologies on the dialectic. We surveyed road networks and studied means of communication. We delved into automated support to decision-making and struggled with the issues raised by radio electronic combat. But somehow, we haven’t done a very good job of putting them all together. What would you and your mathematician comrades say, Pavel Pavlovitch? That we haven’t written the unifying algorithm? But perhaps it was unwritable. At least the enemy doesn’t appear to have done any better than we have. In fact, they appear to have done considerably worse.” Malinsky leaned forward, suddenly, lifting a hand, then a lone finger, as if to admonish Chibisov. But the old man was addressing an absent audience now. “Have pity on the commander without a good plan. If we have done anything correctly, it was to plan and plan and plan. Frankly, excessive planning may not work in the industrial base. But there is no alternative on the battlefield. Perhaps the difference is between problems of sequential efforts and problems of simultaneity. But I have seen the results with my own eyes. Maintain the momentum now, the momentum of the plan. Don’t let up. If the enemy has a plan, don’t allow him time to begin its implementation. Make him react until his efforts grow so eccentric that he loses all unity in his conceptions. Ram your plan down his throat.”
Malinsky settled back into his chair, smiling with sudden gentleness. “But I’m lecturing. And to you, of all people, Pavel Pavlovitch. Tell me about your computers. How are we doing in the new dimension of warfare?” Malinsky asked, boyish mischief in his voice.
“Frankly,” Chibisov said, “there have been many disappointments. The computers in themselves are reliable enough, but the human factor is too slow. And the amount of data that must be transmitted strains even our best communications means. I believe, Comrade Front Commander, that I personally missed an important consideration. Along with allowances in the plan for such traditional measures as refueling, resupplying the units with ammunition, feeding soldiers, reorganizations, and the like, contemporary plans should also include the factor of programming and reprogramming. You recall how many officers, most of whom were simply afraid of the new technology, insisted that all of the comprehensive data accounts would be thrown out or would disappear on the first day of the war. To a limited extent, they were correct. The systems in our possession have proved to have only limited capabilities under the stress of combat, and some have failed. Yet those who denigrated automation and the volume of information to which we became accustomed were only correct in the most superficial and even tragic respects. While some of the systems and capabilities ‘went away,’ the requirements for the information itself are even greater than expected. We considered the symptoms, not the disease. Modern warfare is increasingly dependent upon massive amounts of highly accurate information, for targeting, for intelligence, for the rear services . . . even for the making of fundamental decisions. Those who cling to the past have made the mistake of believing that if you destroy the machinery, you destroy the need for the product. Certainly not an error a good Marxist-Leninist should make. On the other hand, too many of us fell in love with the machines themselves, confusing the relationship of means to ends. And no one from either camp fully realized the extent to which modern war would be waged on the basis of massive quantities of data.” Somber at the end of his assessment, Chibisov dropped his eyes away from Malinsky’s piercing gaze. “In the end, I’ve failed you, the army, and the Party. It all seems so clear, so obvious now, looking back.”
“All of your preparation is being rewarded, my friend,” Malinsky said. Chibisov winced at the unexpected choice of words. “All of the work you’ve done is in evidence out there.” Malinsky waved his hand at the map. “I know you’re having trouble with the computers. I’ve heard the same thing from everyone. But you’re honest about it, which is a terribly hard thing for a true believer. Just use the machines within their limits now. I suspect they’ve already done their jobs in the preparatory phases. Perhaps the next war will be theirs. We’re still in a transitional period. And now we’re leaving the realm of strict military science. Now it’s a matter of military art. And of strength of will.”
“Comrade Front Commander,” Chibisov began. There was an uneasy, stilted formality in his voice as he searched for the right tone. He had been caught totally off guard by the piercing word “friend.” “I understand that your last stop was at Starukhin’s forward command post. Shall I nonetheless review our perception of the Third Shock Army’s situation as we see it from here?”
Malinsky’s face tensed into a frown. “Starukhin! You know, he’s down there shouting at his staff at the top of his lungs. I don’t really understand how it works myself. One commander might shout and shout and only degrade the performance of his subordinates. Starukhin barks, and things happen. It’s an amazing phenomenon. I suspect such behavior was better suited to the temperaments of past generations. But it still works for Starukhin. But I’m worried. A crisis up in Trimenko’s sector could be locally contained. It is, in effect, built into the plan. But Starukhin has to come through. We must break through in the center. I’ve given him permission to commit his second-echelon divisions tonight. We’ll pile it on, if that’s what it takes. Clearly, subtlety doesn’t work very well with the British. They’re very stubborn boys.”
“I understand his crossing was a tough one.”
“One of his divisions lost an entire regiment in less than half an hour. All that remained were stray vehicles and empty-handed commanders. But he got across. And he turned the British from the south. He caught an entire British brigade from the rear, pinned them against their own minefields and barriers, and finished them. And Starukhin’s moving now. But the tempo isn’t all that’s wanted. I don’t sense a breakthrough situation. We have the British reeling back, but they’ve maintained a frustratingly good order. There’s always another defensive position over the next hill. If Starukhin doesn’t do better tonight and tomorrow morning, we may be forced to use the Forty-ninth Corps to create the breakthrough the plan calls for them to exploit. I don’t like it.”
“Extrapolating from our reported losses and expenditures, the correlation of forces and means is actually increasingly favorable in the Third Shock Army sector,” Chibisov reported. From the staffs perspective, the British were hanging on by sheer determination and could not sustain another such day’s fighting.
Malinsky reached for a cigarette. The action shocked Chibisov. Malinsky never smoked in his presence, because of the chief of staffs asthma. But, in a moment, Chibisov recognized the action for what it was: absentmindedness, a manifestation of the old man’s intense concern for Starukhin’s situation.
“In any case,” Malinsky said, puffing a glow onto the tip of the cigarette, “Starukhin has to push through them by noon tomorrow. We must present the enemy’s operational headquarters with a situation of multiple crises and apparent collapse that prevents them from implementing a truly appropriate response. We need to fragment the enemy’s alliance into a conflicting set of national concerns that leads each national commander to actions or inactions based upon his own parochial perspective. And we need to drive in behind them in all sectors in order to prevent the nuclear issue from becoming an attractive option.”
“Dudorov still reports no sign of a NATO transition toward a nuclear battlefield,” Chibisov said.
“Keep watching it. Closely. Make sure Dudorov understands. Meanwhile, Starukhin has to keep up the pressure on the British all night. If it means committing his last tank, so be it. I’ve never been comfortable with night operations. I have no doubt that our enemies can see us more clearly than we can see them. But it would be fatal to stop and allow them a breathing space. We must rely on shock, on speed, and, ultimately, on simply grinding down the enemy at the point of decision, when no alternative presents itself. But we must preserve and even accelerate the tempo of combat operations. Consider it. The British have been fighting all day. Now we’ll make them fight all night, against fresh forces. And we’ll keep hitting them throughout the morning. If their nerve doesn’t run out, their ammunition will.”
But Chibisov detected an undertone of doubt in Malinsky’s voice. The front commander was a powerful presence, and now it was odd, troubling, to hear even a slight wavering in his voice.
“Starukhin . . . has got to make the hole,” Malinsky said. “He
must
do it.” Malinsky’s teeth were slightly parted, and he breathed through his mouth in the intensity of the moment. “And what about the decoy air assaults?”
“They’ve gone in,” Chibisov said. “We had to go in with all light forces, though. The enemy air defenses limited our ability to introduce the tracked vehicles and the full range of support of the air-mechanized forces. But our troops are on the ground at Hameln and Bremen-south. Samurukov’s already celebrating.”
Malinsky sucked at his cigarette. “Good. I want the enemy to be looking very hard at those spots. I want him to panic, to become so obsessed by those assaults that he squanders his last local reserves on their reduction. I have never liked the notion of sacrificing soldiers, Pavel Pavlovitch. But if the Hameln and Bremen assaults do their jobs, we’ll save far more, both in lives and in time, than we’ve lost.” Malinsky chuckled, but there was neither life nor any trace of humor in the sound. His face became a bitter mask. “It’s a betrayal, of course. Sending in men who believe in the sacredness of their mission, who have no inkling that they’re merely part of a deception operation, and many or most of whom will die wondering why the link-up force never arrived. I console myself that, if we move swiftly enough, we may get them out of there before they’re completely destroyed. But I don’t even half believe it. I know I would not sacrifice momentum to save those men. But we all find devices by which we rationalize decisions with which better men could not live. Really, it’s a monstrous thing to be a commander. Odd that we should so love the work.”
“The air assaults on the actual crossing sites will be triggered as soon as the Third Shock Army reports a breakthrough situation.”
“The timing will be critical. But you understand that.”
“The enemy air defenses remain a serious threat. But their missile consumption appears to have been very high, and systems attrition favors our operations. The in-flight losses incurred by our deep assets ran just under seventeen percent. But they’ll be lower tomorrow.”
“Radio electronic combat?”
“Impossible to accurately gauge the extent to which the provisions of the plan have been fulfilled. Gubyshev’s a busy man, though. The Operations Directorate insists he’s jamming friendly nets, while Dudorov complains that he’s jamming too many enemy nets of intelligence value. Then the Operations Directorate turns around and wants to know why more jamming operations aren’t being conducted. The fires portion appears highly successful, but we have no tool for measuring success or failure in the electromagnetic spectrum.”