Late on the evening of January 5, a sizable
group of generals and high-ranking government officials arrived for the meeting
in Stalin's office at the Kremlin. They immediately noticed a significant
change in the decor, which suggested to them what the dictator had in mind. The
familiar portraits of Marx and Engels had been taken down from their prominent
places, and in their stead were hanging pictures of Suvorov and Kutuzov--Russian
heroes who had fought in wars against the Turks and French.
First on the program was the Chief of the
General Staff, Marshal Boris M. Shaposhnikov, a capable career officer who in
1918 had joined the "Workers and Peasants Red Army." Shaposhnikov
sketched out an astonishing plan that he had concocted against his better judgment.
Five large- scale offensives would be launched almost simultaneously. They
would relieve Leningrad, which had been blockaded by the Germans since last September;
would in twin attacks shove the Wehrmacht back on both sides of Moscow; would
recapture the rich Donets basin in the Ukraine; and would drive the Germans out
of the Crimean Peninsula on the Black Sea. These blows, supposedly, would put
the Germans to flight out of the Soviet Union.
When Shaposhnikov had finished his
presentation, Stalin spoke to dispel any doubts about what his own position
was. "The Germans are in disarray as a result of their defeat at
Moscow," he stated. "They are poorly fitted out for the winter. This
is a most favorable time for the transition to a general offensive."
Stalin then called on General Zhukov to express his opinion.
Zhukov, who always had strong opinions,
said he was in favor of continuing his attacks on the Moscow front if
sufficient troops and tanks could be supplied, but he pronounced the other
operations much too ambitious for the men and materiel on hand. "Without
powerful artillery support," he asserted, "they will be ground down
and suffer heavy-not to say unjustifiable-losses."
General Zhukov's position was backed by
Nikolai A. Voznesensky, the outspoken Chairman of the State Planning Commission
and the chief mobilizer of Soviet war production, which was just now beginning
to turn out tanks and planes in significant numbers. Voznesensky declared that
there would not be enough materiel to supply all of the operations that had
been proposed.
Stalin shrugged off the objections and said
impatiently, "We must grind the Germans down with all possible speed, so
that they cannot attack in the spring." This explanation was heartily
endorsed by Georgy M. Malenkov, a top political commissar, and NKVD chief
Lavrenty P. Beria, whose secret-police force was virtually an independent state
with- in the Soviet state. They accused Voznesensky of making mountainous
obstacles out of molehill problems.
Stalin asked for any further comments. There
were none. "So," he said, "this, it seems, ends the discussion."
Discussion? Nothing had been discussed, and
Zhukov said as much to Shaposhnikov as the meeting broke up. Marshal
Shaposhnikov agreed. "It was foolish to argue," he said. "The
Boss had already decided. The directives have gone out to almost all of the
fronts, and they will launch the offensive very soon."
"Well then, why did Stalin ask me to
give my opinion?" growled Zhukov.
"I just don't know, old fellow,"
Shaposhnikov replied with a sigh, "I just don't know."
But both men did know: The meeting had been
another of Stalin's charades, designed to key up the generals and remind them
that he called the turns. As for Stalin's plan, no one present that night-not
even Stalin himself-genuinely believed that the tide of battle could be turned
that year, much less in a winter of desperate preemptive attacks . In fact,
these attacks would fall far short of their objectives and make it considerably
easier for the Germans to resume their offensive in the spring.
Yet the tide-turning battle on the Russian
front the battle that Winston Churchill later called "the hinge of
fate" on which World War II swung in the favor of the Allies-would indeed
be fought in 1942, and in a place that on January 5 seemed quite safe from the Germans.
The place was Stalin- grad on the Volga River, a modest industrial city then
300 miles behind the battle front.
At Stalingrad in August, the Russians and
the Germans would clash in an apocalyptic battle that engaged upward of four
million soldiers. Both sides suffered a total of 1 .5 million casualties,
earning Stalingrad the grisly name of "Verdun on the Volga." And in
the heat of that battle, the Red Army would be forged from scrap iron into
steel.
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