Specific Suggestions

Chapter 99 Specific Suggestions

He climbed the stairs, step by step, his legs heavy, as Govorov's words filled him with shame.

"It's not glorious for foreigners to die in Soviet trenches." He knew Govorov was right. But he also remembered Kolokoltsev squatting beside the observation hole, saying, "I won't tell you your name," but he did anyway. That could be seen as trust; Kolokoltsev trusted him, so he told Govorov his name. Govorov trusted him, so he used his advice. As a foreigner, he didn't know if he deserved that trust.

He pushed open the door. The room was dark, with only a sliver of light filtering through the curtains. Dust motes floated in the air. He quietly walked to the bed and lay down.

After resting for a while, he realized he couldn't sleep, so he sat up, his mind constantly replaying events from the war.

I thought of North Africa, of Agaira, of Moshead standing on the riverbed, firing a revolver at a tank. People always die in the same way, and they always live in the same way.

The next morning, when Karl had prepared the tea, Lorraine was already awake.

"Sir Cripps invites you to breakfast," Carl said.

Loran stood up and walked out of the room. The second-floor dining room wasn't large, with a long table and a few chairs. Kripps sat at one end of the table, a cup of coffee and a small dish of butter in front of him. Seeing Loran enter, he nodded and gestured to the chair opposite him.

"sit."

Loran sat down, and a Russian woman in a white apron brought him a cup of tea and some slices of dark bread. The bread had been baked yesterday and was no longer fresh; it was dry and hard.

"Regarding the matter in the west of the city," Kripps asked, "did Govorov take your advice?"

"I used it."

"Any news yet?"

"No. It's only been one night."

Kripps nodded. He put down his fork, picked up his coffee, and took a sip. His face was tired, his eyes were puffy, and his fingers trembled slightly.

"Don't go to the west side of the city anymore," Kripps said.

"Govorov said the same thing."

"He's right. You're an observer. You're here to watch. Once you take action, you're no longer an observer. If you're not an observer, there's no reason for you to stay here."

Lorraine didn't speak. He stuffed the hard bread into his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it.

Kripps put down his coffee cup and looked at him.

"I'm not trying to scare you. I'm just reminding you. Stalin established the Defense Committee, and Moscow went into martial law."

Everyone was tense. It might not be a good thing if the residents found out that a foreigner was giving orders on the front lines.

Loran nodded. "I understand."

Kripps didn't say anything more. He stood up and walked out of the restaurant.

Lorraine sat alone at the table for a long time, finished the cold tea, and then stood up and walked out of the restaurant.

He returned to his room, sat down at the table, and took out paper and pen to begin writing a report.

In the afternoon, the shelling suddenly stopped.

The sound suddenly stopped. Loran was writing something, the pen tip scratching across the paper, making a soft rustling sound. Then the sound continued, but the artillery fire ceased. This silence made the day of the Mozhaisk evacuation even more unsettling.

The hallway was quiet. He walked down the stairs and pushed open the door.

Carl stood at the door, with no tea or newspaper in his hands, only his hands in his pockets.

"The cannons have stopped," Carl said.

"It's stopped."

"I heard the Germans are running out of fuel. Their tanks have stopped and are waiting for supplies."

Loran didn't speak. He looked westward, where the sky was grayish-white, just like everywhere else. He watched for a while, then turned and went back into his room.

The news came on the third day.

Kripps glanced at it and put the newspaper on the table.

"The 5th Army repelled a German attack in the west of the city, destroying six tanks. Not the same six as before, but a new batch. They came down the gentle slope from the north and were hit on the side by anti-tank guns."

11

Loran did not speak.

Kripps looked at him. "Still the same spot?"

"It should be."

Kripps nodded. He picked up the cigarette case on the table, took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, and struck a match. The light from the match illuminated his face.

"If they use your suggestion once, they'll use it again. If they use it too often, it's no longer a suggestion, it's a tactic. If the higher-ups find out about the tactic, they'll ask, 'Who came up with this?' Govorov will say it was him, Kolokoltsev will say it was him, but someone saw you in that trench, and the truth will come out eventually."

Loran was silent for a few seconds. "If it can't be covered up, it can't be covered up."

Kripps took a drag of his cigarette, smoke billowing from his nostrils. "Aren't you afraid?"

"What are you afraid of?"

"I was afraid of being found out, being treated as a spy, and then being locked up in Lubyanka."

Loran thought for a moment. "I've already said that."

Kripps stared at him for a long time. Then he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, stood up, and walked to the window.

"You," he said, with his back to Lorraine, "I don't know if you're too bold or too stupid."

Loran did not answer.

Loran was summoned to the headquarters of the 5th Army.

The adjutant was young, with a face full of freckles, and spoke very quickly.

"The commander requests your presence. Someone wishes to see you."

Lorraine followed him into the building, up to the second floor, and pushed open that familiar door. There were only two people in the room. Govorov was sitting at the table, and the other was standing by the window. The standing man was short, with broad shoulders, wearing a military overcoat, his hat pulled low. He heard the door open and turned around.

Loran recognized those gray eyes.

Zhukov.

"Loran," Zhukov said, his voice hoarse, "come in."

Loran went in and stood at the table. Zhukov walked to the opposite him, pulled out a chair, and sat down. Govorov stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to them.

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

Loran looked into Zhukov's eyes. "I simply pointed it out on the map in Kolokoltsev; the actual relocation was none of my business."

Zhukov tapped his finger on the table. "Kolokoltsev's report says it was his own idea, but Govorov told me that you fought in North Africa and you have a concept of the side armor of tanks, while our officers do not; they only know how to clumsily defend from the front because that's what the books say."

He looked at Loran.

"Do you know that what's written in the book is wrong?"

Loran paused for a second. "It's not wrong. It's incomplete. You can win by attacking head-on, but at a high cost. You can also win by attacking from the flank, but at a lower cost."

Zhukov nodded.

"Govorov told me that you used the word 'uncertain.' He said he asked you if you were sure, and you said no. There's no certainty in war."

"Did you fight like this in North Africa? Charging forward without knowing anything?"

Loran thought for a moment. "Think it through before you act."

Zhukov looked at him. "What did you see?"

"German tanks can't turn. Their tank turrets turn quickly, but the hulls turn slowly. If you hit the tracks, they're ruined; if you hit the side, they're easily penetrated. The soldiers can charge, but they can't cross swamps. Their supply lines are long, they don't have enough fuel, and winter is coming soon; they don't have winter clothing."

Zhukov stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. He stood up and walked to the map.

"What you're saying is true. But we already know these facts. What we need is to know how to use these facts."

His finger landed on the west side of the city.

"German tanks would charge up the gentle slope from the north, and you would have anti-tank guns fire from the flanks; German infantry would sneak up from the swamp on the south, and you would have foxholes fire from both sides. These are all real-world applications."

He turned around and looked at Loran.

"I need you to use it in many places."

Zhukov walked back to the table, took a piece of paper from the drawer, and spread it on the table. The paper contained a map of the entire western suburbs of Moscow, from Narofominsk to Podolsk, and then to the west of Moscow, with the German offensive routes and Soviet defensive positions densely marked along a front line dozens of kilometers wide.

"Look here," Zhukov said, pointing to a point on the map. "Here, south of Podolsk, there's a hill. If the Germans take this hill, they can bombard the road to Podolsk. If the road is cut off, the defense line is broken."

He tapped the spot with his finger.

"Our troops had a regiment stationed on the high ground. They had anti-tank guns, which they set up in front of the enemy as described in the book."

If the Germans attack from the north, the front is a gentle slope, which their artillery can reach. But if the Germans attack from the south, the south side is a steep slope that tanks can't climb, but infantry can.

He looked at Loran.

"How do you suggest we defend it?"

Loran stared at the map for a long time. His finger landed on the southern side of the highlands.

"The south side is a steep slope that infantry can climb. But once they're up, there's no cover; they're on the slope, and we're on the top. The people on the high ground can throw grenades down, and they can't hide, so we don't need to deploy heavy troops. One platoon guards the top of the slope, and when they see someone climbing, they throw grenades. After that, they retreat to the second line of defense. The second line of defense is here," he said, moving his finger across the map, "five hundred meters east of the high ground, there's a grove of trees. We set up machine guns in the grove, and when the German infantry rushed to the top of the slope, the machine guns swept from the side. They thought there were no soldiers on the high ground and wouldn't be looking at the grove."

Zhukov looked at the map.

He put the map away and tucked it back into the drawer.

"Go back to the embassy," he said. "Wait for news."

Loran stood up, saluted, and turned to leave.

After returning to the embassy, ​​he went upstairs to his room and closed the door.

The next day, news arrived from Govorov's adjutant. The young man with freckles on his face stood at the embassy entrance, holding a letter in his hand.

"The commander instructed me to deliver this to you."

Loran took the letter and opened it. Inside was a piece of paper with only a few lines: "South of Podolsk, on the steep southern slope. A platoon held the top, throwing grenades. They retreated and set up machine guns in the woods. German infantry charged up and swept the flank. The Germans retreated, leaving behind dozens of corpses. Our platoon suffered no casualties. Thank you."

"One Kolokolitsev"

Lorraine glanced at the paper, then folded it and stuffed it into her pocket.

He didn't go out that day. He sat at his table and took out the letter to read it again. Kolokoltsev's handwriting was very neat, each stroke precise, like a Soviet captain thanking a Frenchman.

Loran didn't know how to reply, or perhaps no reply was necessary. Thank you was enough; accepting it was sufficient.

On the third day, Zhukov arrived.

When Loran came downstairs, he saw Zhukov standing in the foyer, holding nothing in his hands except his hands behind his back.

"Loran," he said.

"General."

"Come with me."

Loran didn't ask where they were going. He put on his coat and followed Zhukov out of the embassy.

A black ZIS sedan was parked outside. Zhukov got into the back seat, and Lorraine sat next to him. The car started and drove west.

"Where to?" Lorraine asked.

"Kremlin."

Loran didn't speak. He leaned back in his seat, looking out the window. The streets receded, the gray buildings, the walls plastered with notices, the people piling sandbags at the subway station entrance. The car drove for about twenty minutes before entering the Kremlin walls.

Zhukov got out of the car, and Lorraine followed. They entered a three-story building and went up the stairs to the second floor. The corridor was wide, with a deep red carpet on the floor and portraits of Marx and Engels on the walls. The two walked through an oak door. The room was simple, with a table, a few chairs, a bookshelf, and a portrait of Lenin on the wall. A man was sitting behind the table.

Stalin was wearing a grey military overcoat, the collar buttoned up tightly. His face appeared sallow in the lamplight, his eyes deep-set, and his jawline prominent. He was reading a document when he saw Zhukov and Lorraine enter, and he put the document down.

"sit."

Loran sat down. Zhukov sat down next to him.

"Zhukov told me that you helped him twice in the west of the city," Stalin said.

Loran did not speak.

"He said your suggestion was very good. He said that the Germans attacked from the places you pointed out on the map, and your suggestion saved many of his soldiers from dying."

He looked up at Loran.

Why are you helping us? What is your purpose?

Loran met his gaze. "I know what a dead person looks like; the fewer people who die, the fewer deaths we can prevent."

Stalin looked into his eyes for a long time.

"You stay here," Stalin said. "If Zhukov comes to you, go; if he doesn't, stay put. Your documents and identity remain unchanged."

Loran stood up, saluted, and turned to leave.

The corridor was quiet, and Zhukov walked beside him.

"Are you afraid?" Zhukov asked.

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid of him."

Loran thought for a moment. "Don't worry. He doesn't have a gun."

Zhukov gave him a strange look, then shook his head, perhaps thinking he shouldn't have asked such a question. How could an officer who had fought so many battles be timid?

"Just pretend I didn't ask."

They walked down the stairs and out of the building. It was cold outside, the wind was strong, and the weather was gloomy, as if it were about to snow.

Zhukov got into the car and rolled down the window.

"I'll send someone to pick you up in the west of the city tomorrow morning. We're currently locked in a very difficult and protracted battle, but fortunately the situation has stabilized. I need to make some adjustments to the overall deployment."