The Offensive Is Called Off — Chapter from the Novel "Stone" by Volodymyr Shablia
The Offensive Is Called Off
Stone — Book two. Difficult roads to hell —
Chapter 2
by Volodymyr Shablia
September 22, 1941, morning. The battlefield near Melitopol.
As they waited for the
briefing to begin, the regiment's officers took their seats around the large
table in the middle of the room. The soldiers spoke quietly to those sitting
beside them, occasionally tossing a word or two to someone farther down the
table.
"Well, are we ready to
give the Germans and Romanians a taste of their own medicine?" asked the
dark-eyed major sitting to the right of the head of the table, barely smiling
as he glanced around at those present. His faint accent and characteristic
swarthy features marked him as a native of the Caucasus.
"Yes, Comrade Chief of
Staff," replied the captain sitting opposite him with a sly grin.
"We've got plenty of fire to spare!"
A ripple of laughter ran along
the table and ended in a hearty roar from the far end.
At exactly 6:15, the door
opened, and Kotelniuk strode briskly into the building serving as the
regimental headquarters.
"Greetings, Comrade
Commanders!" he announced in a loud, clipped voice. Then, paying little
attention to the restrained greetings in response, he continued, "I'll get
straight to the point: we have just received a combat order instructing us to
postpone the offensive scheduled for tomorrow."
The lieutenant colonel stared
at the center of the table before him. His stony face struggled to maintain a
stern composure, but the muscles twitching beneath the skin of his cheeks betrayed
the emotions boiling inside him.
For several seconds, a deathly
silence hung over the room.
"How can this be?!"
came a muffled exclamation from somewhere among the officers.
A murmur of agitated voices
rose in response, making it clear that the news was not well received.
"I ask for silence!"
the regimental commander raised his voice. "Is something unclear? We have
an order from the command, and we must carry it out."
The commotion in the room grew
even louder.
 |
| German scheme of the Melitopol military operation |
"May I?" Major Balayan, the chief of staff, raised his index and middle fingers after a moment's hesitation.
"Go ahead," the
presiding officer nodded.
"Roman Vasilyevich,"
Balayan began, sounding aggrieved, "I hardly need to tell you that this
offensive is more than half our own undertaking. We conceived it, planned it,
and convinced the high command that it was the right course of action. Judging
by the objective information available to us, the situation in our sector is
now favorable for launching active operations. The main German forces are still
tied down trying to contain the breakout attempts of our encircled formations
near Kyiv, while our local adversaries have sent their best units to Crimea,
thereby seriously weakening their positions here. As for us, we are almost
fully prepared for the offensive. I believe we should try to persuade the army
and front commands to reconsider their decision and prove to them that the
operation we have planned must be carried out without delay."
"What other opinions are
there?" Kotelniuk asked curtly.
"I support the chief of
staff," boomed Ivan Velesov, commander of the 2nd Battalion, rising
noisily to his feet. "The situation is favorable for an offensive. Most of
the enemy units facing us are Romanian, and they are neither as well armed nor
as well trained as the Germans. Besides, according to intelligence, there are
almost no enemy tanks in the vicinity. And we already have a powerful striking
force at our disposal, including three tank brigades. If we strike now, I'll
stake my head on it—the enemy will run!"
"Who else would like to
speak?" the regimental commander asked, looking around the room.
"May I?" said the
regimental commissar, Perelman, in a soft tenor. "Comrades! Like all of
you, I want to defeat the enemy as quickly as possible. And you know well how
passionately I supported your initiative for a massive counterattack. However,
if an order has come down to postpone the offensive, then presumably there are
compelling reasons for it—reasons that may not be known to us. Therefore, until
we have clarified the causes and circumstances behind the command's decision, I
believe we should refrain from taking any decisive action."
Another uneasy pause descended
over the room. Apparently, everyone was waiting to see what position the
regimental commander would take. But without raising his head, he merely said:
"Any other
thoughts?"
Major Naydenko, the regiment's
chief of artillery, rose. For a moment he shifted from foot to foot, as though
unsure how to begin. Then he leaned against the edge of the table and slowly
started to speak:
"About ten years ago, we
were friends with the Germans, and I had the opportunity to train alongside
them at the Kama armored warfare school near Kazan. I learned a great deal
there—about combat tactics, organization, and equipment. But do you know what
the main conclusion I drew from that training was?" he asked, slowly
looking from one comrade to another, deliberately prolonging the suspense.
"You may not believe me, but the most accurate way to put it is in a Russian
proverb: 'The right spoon is the one that arrives in time for dinner.'
Unfortunately, when it comes to putting that proverb into practice, we have a
problem. The Germans, on the other hand, have no such difficulty. We are
constantly late in making decisions, while they try to plan everything
carefully and then execute it precisely on schedule, making swift use of every
opportunity that presents itself. And say what you will, but that is their
greatest advantage—the very advantage that enabled them to cross the Dnieper."
Naydenko fell silent, once
again sweeping his eyes over the officers and shifting from foot to foot.
"You may ask what I'm
getting at," he continued after a few seconds. "Well, we now have
both a good spoon in the form of a powerful striking force and a hearty, not
overly spicy dinner that can easily be eaten with that spoon. But in a few
days, everything may change. I'm convinced we must attack as soon as
possible—within two or three days at the most. Otherwise, the German units
freed up near Kyiv will be transferred here and won't give us a chance to
deploy."
"What do you
propose?" the regimental commander asked.
"I propose that we go to
army headquarters today, find out what the situation really is, and, if there
is no immediate danger of which we are unaware, insist that the planned
offensive operation be carried out without delay."
"What if the German
divisions are already on their way here from Kyiv?" someone shouted from
the far corner of the room.
"Highly unlikely,"
replied the chief of artillery, who had not yet even returned to his seat.
"The encirclement was only completely closed a couple of days ago, and in
my experience of breaking out of encirclement, our forces have at least five
days of staying power left. That means that for the next two or three days, the
Germans will be forced to commit all their strength to preventing our huge
encircled force from breaking out. Add at least another two days for the
journey to these positions... In that time, we'll have turned everything upside
down here and be back before they know what happened!"
"Does anyone else wish to
speak?" Lieutenant Colonel Kotelniuk asked in his trademark forbidding
tone, one that instantly discouraged anyone present from volunteering another
opinion.
This was tantamount to saying
that he generally agreed with the last speaker. None of the officers took the
floor again. Nevertheless, to prevent any ambiguity, the regimental commander
deemed it necessary to bring the debate to a close:
"I instruct the
regimental staff to prepare, by 9:00 this morning, a report addressed to the
army commander summarizing the arguments presented at this Military Council in
favor of an immediate offensive. I intend to discuss the situation and this
report personally with the army command. If there is no immediate threat to our
front, I will try to persuade the army commander to take decisive steps toward
implementing our offensive plan as quickly as possible."
The staff officers spent
nearly an hour preparing the report. Notes written by different men passed from
one officer to another, while the clerks—Kureyev and Danylo—alternated between
taking dictation and rewriting the draft document. Finally, about half an hour
before the deadline, the draft report was ready, and the chief of staff took it
to the regimental commander for approval. Kotelniuk made several corrections,
after which the final version of the report was typed up.
"That's it. The report is
on its way," Balayan said with a deep sigh when he returned to
headquarters from the regimental commander's office. "Roman Vasilyevich
has already left for army headquarters. Let's hope he manages to appeal to the
good sense of the high command. Thank you, everyone. You're free until lunch.
We'll meet here again at 1:00 p.m."
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Stone — Book Two: Difficult Roads to Hell
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