two gun turrets removed from the exact same battleship Mikhail Frunze, which could not be restored after a major fire that happened back in 1919. It was a remarkable coincidence. In Leningrad I also had at my disposal a Sevastopol-class battleship and, in fact, a fixed three-tower battery, which the Marat turned into after being hit by a heavy armor-piercing bomb.
Using the experience of Leningrad and the specialists who had already undergone the necessary practical training, I hoped to quickly enough organize in the Crimea a unified system of fire control of the major caliber of warships and guns of coastal batteries. The 305mm fuel-air shells were now also on their way to Novorossiysk by special train. Unfortunately, only 200 of them were produced in time, as production was focused mainly on 203 mm caliber, which was suitable for the B-4 howitzers. Nevertheless, I was really counting on this ammunition. The Kerch Peninsula was not so big, and the guns of the Sevastopol-class battleship could shoot through it, also they could reach as far into the Crimean territory as 30 kilometers from the coast and almost 40 kilometers from the towers of the coastal batteries of Sevastopol.
We flew over the Crimea, immersed in the darkness of night. Kudryavtsev was silent, trying not to distract me from my observations, he only occasionally adjusted the course in the control points. In the mountainous terrain not all details were clearly visible from the satellites, and sometimes I would order the Colonel to descend a little and fly over the areas I was interested in again. By and large we could have done without it, but since we flew for reconnaissance anyway, I wanted this flight to be of some real use, apart from eliminating unnecessary questions about how I knew so much about the location of enemy units and formations.
Manstein was not considered one of Hitler's best commanders for nothing. He was moving his troops and equipment purposefully, and every day his plan was becoming clearer to me. Previously the escape pod computer and my homemade analysis program only partly helped me in predicting the enemy's actions, but now Letra unfolded before me the Germans' plans in every detail. Drones were invisibly present at 11th Army headquarters, transmitting map shots, copies of orders, transcripts of telephone conversations and radio intercepts.
Taking advantage of their dominance in the air, the Germans conducted a thorough air reconnaissance. They knew almost everything about the group of Soviet troops opposing them. Manstein, who had received at his disposal Richthofen's 4th Air Fleet and had brought a considerable force of heavy artillery to Feodosiya, planned to squeeze everything possible out of the reconnaissance data in the initial phase of the operation.
In an effort to break deep into Crimea, Lieutenant-General Kozlov concentrated two-thirds of his forces on the northern section of the front, adjacent to the coast of the Sea of Azov. The southern section was occupied by a relatively weak force, covering Feodosiya and not taking active offensive actions. The command of the Crimean Front believed that the Germans would not risk an offensive along the Black Sea coast, fearing the heavy guns of the Black Sea Fleet ships, but Manstein reasoned otherwise. He decided to take advantage of the relative weakness of the southern section of the Soviet front and succeed by using the effect of surprise, based on the fact that the Russians were not expecting a strike in the south.
With only one panzer division at his disposal, the German commander decided not to break his tank fist into pieces, but rather to use a strategy that mirrored his plan to capture France in miniature – break through the Soviet defense in a weak area and turn north to hit the flank and rear of the stronger grouping of Soviet troops with tanks, intercepting its supply lines and smashing the rear. This plan was not bad and, frankly, it had every chance of success, so if I wanted to prevent the disaster that was looming over the Crimean front, I had to act without delay.
By the time I arrived at the front headquarters, Mekhlis had already been diligently addressing the command staff for several hours. Without meeting worthy resistance, the Army Commissar explained to Kozlov and his subordinates the essence and meaning of military duty, he censured them in every way for their indecision in the face of the enemy and their inability to inflict a crushing blow with all their available forces. Everything was clearly heading toward urgent preparations for a new offensive, and judging by the generals' faces, they had already resigned themselves to the inevitable.
Seeing me, Mekhlis could not contain his annoyance. My arrival seemed to have prevented him from making a fervent speech on a moral-political subject, to which he was about to move on from purely military matters. However, the Army Commissar had to introduce me to the front command and even yield the floor, as I had just returned from the reconnaissance raid with new data.
“Well, comrade commanders, I guess you understand my vision of the situation,” Mekhlis squinted slightly and looked around the assembled officers with a piercing look. “And now Major General Nagulin will explain to you in detail how and where you will attack and in what time frame you must break through the front and reach the steppe regions of Crimea.”
Mekhlis made an inviting gesture in my direction. At the same time, a faintly unkind grin slid across his face.
I went to the desk and pulled out of my briefcase a map with the current situation on the front, marked in advance. For a minute the generals silently digested the new information about the enemy, and their faces reflected a range of feelings, from doubt and mistrust to a grim understanding of what awaited them.
“There will be no offensive,” I said softly in the hanging silence. “The front immediately turns to defense, limiting itself to demonstrative actions imitating continued preparations for a strike in the north.”
“Comrade Nagulin!” Mekhlis's voice soared to high notes, “The Headquarters of the Supreme High Command and Comrade Stalin expect us to succeed decisively! We must mobilize all forces, identify those responsible for the failures of the last month, make the right personnel decisions, and immediately prepare a new offensive!”
“There will be no offensive, Comrade Army Commissar 1st Rank,” my voice was as calm as ever, but there were notes in it, that resembled the clanking of tank caterpillars. “The Germans know about our every move, they are aware of the locations of army and divisional headquarters, outnumber us in field artillery and have overwhelming air supremacy. We have two or three days before their counterattack. And the first thing they will do is an artillery and air strike on the headquarters and communication centers. All army commanders should immediately change the location of command posts and see to it that lower headquarters also execute this order as quickly as possible. You will continue to imitate activity in the previous places. I expect the main enemy strike on the southern flank between the Black Sea and the village of Koy Assan to cut off and block Feodosia and come to the rear of our troops at the Parpachian line. During the night the tank brigades should be withdrawn from the front lines, concentrated near the village of Arma-Eli, thoroughly camouflaged and prepared for a counterstrike on the places of the supposed enemy breakthrough. The Black Sea Fleet…”
“Your authority, Major General, is not given to you to encourage, or even to personally implant, defeatist sentiments on the front,” Mekhlis no longer shouted, but his hissing voice was heard by each of the commanders present at the meeting. “You will have to answer for these actions. I will immediately report your outrage to Comrade Stalin!”
Mekhlis turned around and headed for the exit. None of the generals uttered a word, and I only indicated a slight shrug of the shoulders and said as indifferently as possible:
“As you please, Comrade Army Commissar 1st Rank.”
Chapter 4
“Now, Erich, you and I are real state criminals,” said Richtengden softly as von Tresckow left the room, carefully placing the bundle handed to him in his briefcase.
“Wasn't it like that before?” Schliemann wondered.
“Before that there were words, but now the real thing
