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Chapter 98 Recommendations

Loran stood at the hospital entrance, a cold wind blowing into his collar, and he shivered.

The artillery fire from the west of the city grew more intense, and he could feel the ground trembling slightly. He walked for about an hour, reaching the edge of the trenches on the west side of the city. The trenches were deeper than yesterday, the sandbags were piled higher, and layers of barbed wire were stretched out. Loran walked along the trenches. Turning a corner, he saw a group of people gathered together. An officer in his thirties was squatting on the ground, pointing to a point on the map, speaking. He had three stars on his epaulets, indicating he was a captain. His face was thin, his cheekbones were high, his lips were chapped, and his voice was hoarse, clearly showing signs of exhaustion.

"The Germans advanced five kilometers from here yesterday. Their vanguard has reached ten kilometers west of Narofominsk. Tomorrow, or at most the day after, they will reach our first line of defense."

He looked up at the platoon leaders surrounding him.

"Our mission is to hold this road. There's open ground on both sides of the road, and the tanks are fast, but we don't have many anti-tank guns. We'll put a platoon in the first line of defense and a company in the second. When their tanks charge, the anti-tank guns in the first line will open fire, and then retreat to the second line. The second line will then continue firing, keeping them tied down in the open ground until nightfall, which will be our victory."

The men surrounding them nodded. A platoon leader raised his hand: "Captain, we only have four anti-tank guns, and we don't have much ammunition. If they attack from two directions at the same time, how can we fight them?"

The captain's finger moved across the map. "The south side is a swamp, tanks can't get through. They can only rush in from the north. We've positioned all four of our guns on the north side to attack from the front. Their tanks are packed together; hitting one will block the rest."

The platoon leader didn't ask any more questions. The captain stood up, brushed the dust off his knees, saw Lorraine, glanced at her coat, and frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Loran pulled out his pass. The captain took it, glanced at it, and handed it back to him.

"British?"

"The French."

The captain nodded, ignoring Lorraine. He turned back to the map, but Lorraine didn't leave. He squatted down beside him, looking at the map.

The map wasn't large, but it depicted the terrain of the area. The highway ran from west to east, with open land on both sides, a gentle slope to the north, and an area marked "swamp" to the south. The German advance route was drawn as a red arrow pointing directly at the highway.

Loran watched for a moment, then spoke. "Captain."

The captain turned his head.

"What if the Germans don't rush in from here?"

The captain frowned. "What do you mean?"

Loran pointed to the gentle slope on the north side of the map. "This is a gentle slope, tanks can pass through. But behind the slope is a depression. If German tanks rush up the slope, your anti-tank guns, positioned on the road, can only fire at the front. Once they reach the top, your guns won't be able to hit their hulls, only the turrets. If you can't penetrate the turrets, their tanks will still be able to charge."

The captain stared at the map, lost in thought for a moment.

"What if we set up the anti-tank gun in the depression?" Loran said. "When their tanks charge up the hill, your guns will hit their sides. The side armor is thin; one shot will penetrate it. If you hit one, the rest will be blocked. The slope is narrow, and the tanks can't go around it. If they're blocked, they'll all be stuck on the slope."

The captain crouched down and looked at the map again. His finger moved along the gentle slope to the north, stopping at the depression. He looked up at Loran. A hint of surprise flickered in his grey eyes.

"Have you ever fought in a war?"

"I've fought with them."

"Where?"

North Africa.

The captain was silent for a few seconds. He stood up and beckoned to a platoon leader. "Move the anti-tank guns to the depression on the north side. Put all four there."

The platoon leader hesitated for a moment. "Captain, place it in a low-lying area where the gunners can't see the road—"

"Attack the gentle slopes. When the German tanks charge up the slopes, fire on their sides."

The platoon leader glanced at the map and nodded.

Loran stood up and dusted off his knees.

The next day, artillery fire surged in from the west, wave after wave. Loran didn't go out. He sat in his room, listening to the sounds, calculating the speed of the German advance in his mind.

On the third day, before dawn, Karl knocked on the door. The door opened quickly, and Karl stood there, holding no tea, no newspaper, only a crumpled piece of paper.

"Sir Cripps wants you to go to the west of town. Someone is looking for you."

Loran took the note and glanced at it. The handwriting was messy, but legible: "West of the city, 5th Army, 3rd Battalion. Captain Kolokolitsev." He recognized the name; it was the captain from the trenches the day before yesterday. He stuffed the note into his pocket, put on his coat, and went out.

The deafening roar of artillery fire from the west of the city filled the air as shells rained down in front of the positions, sending mud and gravel flying. When Lorraine ran into the trenches, his shoes were filled with mud. He ran along the trenches, which then rounded a bend, where he saw the captain.

The captain squatted beside the observation hole, holding binoculars and looking west. His face was covered in ash, his lips were cracked, and there was a bloodstain on his forehead.

"You've arrived," the captain asked, turning his head.

"Yes." Loran nodded.

"The low-lying area you mentioned yesterday. The German tanks charged up there. Twelve Panzer IVs came up the gentle slope. Our four anti-tank guns were all in the low-lying area. They penetrated six of them and blocked the rest. The rest retreated."

He put down his binoculars, turned around, and looked at Loran.

"We didn't lose a single gun. No one died." The captain breathed a sigh of relief. "What's your name?"

"Loran".

"Lorraine," the captain said, "I'll report this to my superiors. You've done an excellent job."

He continued to look westward, firing a machine gun.

Loran squatted for a moment, then stood up and walked back along the trench. When he reached the end of the trench, he looked back. The captain was still there, his thin figure almost invisible in the smoke.

Lorraine returned to the embassy, ​​went up the stairs, and closed the door. He sat down at the table, took out the letter, thought for a moment, and then didn't write anything.

He took out another sheet of paper and wrote a short report, a memorandum for Sir Cripps.

He wrote: Yesterday, in the trenches west of the city, I met Captain Kolokoltsev of the 3rd Battalion of the 5th Army and suggested that he move the anti-tank gun position from the road to the depression to the north. German tanks attacked from that direction today. The suggestion was adopted. Results: Six German tanks destroyed; no Soviet losses. The suggestion has been reported.

He folded the memo, put it in an envelope, and wrote "To Sir Cripps" on it. Then he stood up and left the room.

The corridor was quiet. He walked down the stairs and handed the envelope to Carl.

"Give it to Sir Cripps."

Carl nodded.

Loran didn't go out. He went back to his room, lay on the bed, closed his eyes, and fell asleep to the sound of the cannons still ringing out.

When he woke up the next day, Karl knocked on the door again. This time he carried a cup of tea and a newspaper. He placed the tray on the table and handed the newspaper to Lorraine.

"Sir Cripps said, 'Let me show you this.'"

Lorraine took the newspaper. The front page no longer featured the National Defense Committee's order. Instead, it was a short news item, just a few lines long, in the lower right corner.

"The German tank attack was repelled in the west of the city." The words "six tanks" stood out. He put down the newspaper, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.

He put on his overcoat, went out the door, and came to the west side of the city. A group of people were gathered in front of the command tent. Several officers, some with two stars and others with three stars on their epaulets, were squatting next to the map, listening to a captain, Kolokolitsev, speak.

"All four anti-tank guns were placed in the depression to the north. The German tanks charged up the gentle slope and fired at their sides. The first salvo destroyed six tanks, blocking the rest. In the second salvo, instead of charging down the gentle slope, they changed direction and circled around to the south. The south side was a swamp, and after several attempts, two tanks got stuck and they retreated."

A two-star officer pointed at the map. "Who gave you permission to place the cannon in the depression?"

The captain glanced at him. "Myself."

The two-star officer asked no further questions. He stood up, glanced at Loran, and turned to leave. The other officers also stood up and followed him.

Loran walked over and squatted down beside him. "Captain."

The captain looked up. His eyes were red, his face was covered in ash, and there was a dry cut on his lip.

"Is it you?" he said.

"it's me."

"They asked me who told me to put the cannon in the depression. I said I did it myself." The captain scratched his head.

Loran fell silent.

The captain took a drag of his cigarette, smoke billowing from his nostrils. "I won't say your name."

Lorraine looked at him. "Why?"

"You're a foreigner, and foreigners won't believe what they say. It's your problem, it's theirs. Even if you're right, they still won't believe you, so I said it was my own thought."

He put the cigarette in his mouth, stood up, and patted the ash off his knees.

"I've taken your advice, so I've repaid your favor. Don't come back again."

He turned and walked along the trench. Loran crouched there, watching his figure disappear into the smoke.

Back at the embassy, ​​Karl was standing at the door. "Sir Cripps is waiting for you on the second floor."

Loran went up to the second floor and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Kripps sat behind his desk, holding a document in his hand. He put the document down and looked at Loran.

"Did you do that thing in the west of the city?"

"No. It was the captain who did it. I only said two sentences."

Kripps was silent for a few seconds. "You know the captain's name."

"Know."

Will he say your name?

"Won't."

Kripps nodded. He took a piece of paper from his drawer and handed it to Lorraine. Lorraine glanced at it, then at the English report, which essentially stated: The 3rd Battalion of the 5th Army repelled a German tank attack in the western defense of the city, destroying six tanks without suffering any losses. The battalion's captain, Kolokoltsev, reported that the adjustment of the anti-tank gun positions was his own decision. However, according to other sources, the suggestion came from a foreign observer.

Loran stared at the few lines of text without saying a word.

Kripps took the paper back and tore it up.

"That's the end of it," he said. "Don't go to the west side of the city anymore."

Lorraine neither said "yes" nor "no." He stood up and walked out of the room.

He walked down the corridor back to his room and closed the door. He went to the window and drew back the curtains. The Moscow sky was overcast, the sun obscured by smoke, and a cold wind blew from the west—a very good sign.

When Loran woke up, he heard a knock on the door. Karl rarely knocked, which made Loran very curious.

Carl handed Lorraine a letter, which Lorraine took and opened. Inside was a note with only one line: "Fifth Army Headquarters. 5 PM today."

Loran stared at the line of text for a long time.

"Who delivered it?" he asked.

"I don't know. It was left by the door."

Lorraine folded the note and put it in his pocket. He drank his tea, put on his coat, and went out.

The headquarters of the 5th Army was in a gray building in the east of the city, not far from the embassy. He walked for about twenty minutes and arrived at the door. Two guards stood at the door, rifles at the ready. He took out his pass, the guards glanced at it, saluted, and stepped aside to let him in.

The corridor was quiet. A faded carpet covered the floor, and maps hung on the walls. He went up to the second floor and pushed open a door.

A man in his fifties sat at the head of the long table, his hair gray and his face deeply wrinkled. He had four stars on his epaulets, indicating he was a major general. He saw Loran, stood up, and extended his hand.

"Are you Loran?"

"Yes."

"I am Govorov, commander of the 5th Army."

Lorraine grasped that hand.

"Sit down," Govorov said, pointing to a chair at the end of the long table.

Loran sat down. Govorov also sat down, resting his hands on the edge of the table, looking at the map.

"That anti-tank gun emplacement in the west of the city," he said, "was it your suggestion?"

Loran paused for a second. "No. It was Captain Kolokoltsev's decision."

Govorov looked up at him. His grey eyes were expressionless, only weary.

"Kolokoltsev's report says that it was his own idea, but someone saw you in his position, pointing something on a map with your hand."

Loran did not speak.

Govorov lowered his head and continued looking at the map. "I'm not here to question you. I'm here to ask for your opinion."

He picked up a pencil from the table and drew a line on the map. The line came from the west, meandered, circled a point, and then turned back.

"The Germans didn't attack from the north yesterday. They circled around from the south; their infantry crept through the swamp and almost spotted our sentries. Our sentries spotted them and killed them on the spot, but now they know that route and won't be spotted next time."

He put down his pencil and looked at Lorraine.

What do you think?

Loran stood up and walked to the map. He stared at the winding line, at the point that had been bypassed. He looked at it for a long time.

"A swamp," he said. "Tanks can't get through, but infantry can. But once the infantry crosses the swamp, there's no cover. It's open ground, no trees, no houses, no trenches. They can only lie on the ground."

His finger landed on the area east of the swamp.

"Here, place a platoon of foxholes. One person per foxhole, spaced fifty meters apart. Don't make them line up, so they won't spot you. Wait until the German infantry come out of the swamp and spread out before you attack. Fire from both sides, making them think they're surrounded. They won't know how many there are, so they'll just have to retreat in panic."

Govorov stared at the map for a long time.

Are you sure?

"Uncertain. Nothing is certain in war."

Govorov remained silent for a few seconds.

"Kolokoltsev said you wouldn't tell your name. He did. Not in his report, but after he finished. He came to me and said the Frenchman said it, and he told me not to tell you. But I'm telling you."

He turned around and looked at Loran.

"I will take your advice, but don't come again. It's not an honor for foreigners to die in Soviet trenches."

Loran didn't speak. He saluted, turned, and walked out.

He walked down the corridor, down the stairs, and out of the building. It was cold and windy outside. By the time he returned to the embassy, ​​it was almost dark. Karl was still smiling as he stood at the entrance.

"Sir Cripps asks, has the matter in the west of the city been resolved?"

"It's resolved," Loran said weakly.