A Meeting Outside of Berlin D+3 (12 July, 1987) Part I

The meeting was held at the luxurious home of an East German Central Committee member in Waldsiedlung, the exclusive residential zone for senior party officials located north of Berlin. The site was a sensible choice. Berlin, and its suburbs had been greatly unaffected by the war so far. NATO was particularly reluctant to strike targets within close proximity to the divided city. Perhaps for fear of provoking the Soviets to take action against West Berlin, or perhaps simply to avoid collateral damage in civilian areas. It did not matter.

Snetkov arrived at 0030 hours. He’d come in on a low flying helicopter escorted by two quartets of MiGs. The helicopter had landed nearby and unceremoniously dropping the general at midfield of  a soccer pitch before darting off. A car, two GAZ jeeps filled with troops, and a BRDM with East German markings were waiting. So was CINC-WEST’s aide, a colonel of tanks who Snetkov knew from his time as commander of the Leningrad Military District. The colonel ushered him into the car and they set off. He had been to Walsdielung before. The luxurious residences there contrasted sharply with the drab homes which the overwhelming majority of East German citizens lived in. Luckily for the select few fortunate enough to live here, this zone was off limits to civilians. For good reason too, Snetkov figured. If the masses ever caught wind of just how comfortable their masters lived, it would not go over too well.

No manmade illumination was evident in the area. Every house was darkened, street lights were unlit, and the vehicles that made up Snetkov’s mini-motorcade all had headlight covers. Blackout restrictions were taken seriously across the GDR and ruthlessly enforced by the authorities. He was not sure how much of a difference it made. Modern aircraft were equipped with  sophisticated radars and sensors and could find targets regardless of the amount of light visible on the ground below.

The vehicles halted in front of a large, tudor style home. Snetkov got out and was led to the darkened porch by the colonel. A figure emerged from the shadow unexpectedly, startling both the general and his escort.

“Good morning, Boris Vasilievich,” a familiar voice greeted him quietly. Snetkov relaxed and was able to breath again. The voice belonged to Marshal Nikolai Ogarkov, the Commander-In-Chief of the Western TVD.

Ograkov led them inside. The interior of the home was well appointed and dimly lit. There were blackout shades covering every window. The CINC brought them into a den and pointed to table containing two steel urns and a collection of cups and saucers. A large theater map was set out atop the oversized desk next to it. Ograkov and Snetkov studied it in silence as the CINC’s aide prepared tea for them. A minute later he placed two saucers on the desk beside the general officers and took his leave.

“Bring me up to speed,” Ograkov ordered.

“Comrade General, before I departed, NATO began a counterattack south of Hamburg.” He pointed to a place on the map. “It appears to be directed at 16^th Guards bridgehead. Elements of a single Dutch regiment were identified.”

“Nothing more?”

“It doesn’t appear so. I would say it is a spoiling attack with limited support. Enemy forces in that sector do not have the strength to begin a larger push on short notice. The fighting there has been heavy.”

“Very well,” Ograkov seemed pleased with his subordinate’s conclusion. “The comrades from Moscow will be here in twenty minutes. Their aircraft landed safely just before you arrived.”

“They flew in? But you recommended against that idea!” Snetkov pointed out angrily.

“Yes, I did. And I was overruled. So our political masters flew west with a large fighter escort provided to protect them.”

“How large was it? A regiment?” Snetkov wondered lightly.

“It was exactly a regiment of fighters , Boris Vasilievich. Perhaps even a little more.”

Snetkov mulled that over in his head for a long moment before looking up at the ceiling. “A regiment of fighters that could have been up defending my supply lines and staging areas instead. Madness!” he declared bitterly.

Ogarkov raised his hand. “If my counterintelligence people had not swept the house before I arrived, that comment could’ve had you counting trees by the end of the week. I do not want to see that happen. So please, watch your mouth during the meeting.”

“Very well,” Snetkov grunted.

“In any event,” the CINC continued. “I do not think the Politburo is looking to lay blame on us just yet. We told them that it would take two to three weeks for us to achieve our objectives. So I believe we have at least until the end of the month before the KGB comes looking for us.”

“Then what exactly is the point of the meeting?” Snetkov wondered.

Ogarkov smiled. “Boris Vasilievich, the purpose is to determine what tools we need to win so the Politburo can provide them for us. One of the men coming here from Moscow is our patron Dmitry Timofeyevich.”

“Yazov is here?” GFSG’s commander raised an eyebrow.

“What are you thinking?”

“The Defense Minister is a good soldier who knows how to listen to his men. I’m encouraged.” Snetkov smiled wryly. “Perhaps using a regiment of fighters to escort his plane was not a waste after all.”

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