The Vienna Conference
It was in Vienna that I met Ileana.
I had been invited to the “Konferenz auf den Effekten der Manövrierbarkeit im Kampf”, and was frankly surprised that my work had made it as far as the west. My theory of Deep Operations, where combined arms formations were tasked to strike deep behind enemy lines to destroy an enemy’s rear, logistical capacity and provide for encirclement opportunities, was seemingly at odds with the trench warfare mentality that the west espoused. The idea of simultaneous operations, conducted in parallel throughout the breadth of his ground force to induce a catastrophic failure in the enemy’s defensive system, all designed to guarantee a victory was a concept that the sheep who suckled at the buckles of Stalin’s boots were categorically against, and I thought that this attitude was shared by those in the west. After all, the French were famous for their defensive mentality, hence the asinine Maginot Line.
But here, at the conference, I found a sympathetic ear. JFC Fuller and Basil Hart both agreed that the use of deep operations could be an essential element of the burgeoning field of tank warfare. In their eyes, after the failure of the defense system, highly mobile formations would then exploit the gaps by breaking through the lines and into the deep rear of the enemy, destroying his ability to rebuild his defenses. Charles de Gaulle, an old friend with whom I shared many moments during the last great conflict added that such an avenue of attack would work best when airpower was arrayed against the enemy, using tactical aircraft employed en masse, to destroy the will and ability of any opposing force.
This notion of a “shock army” was of particular interest to one of the German representatives, Heinz Guderian, a Colonel who was chief of staff to the Inspectorate of Motorised Troops. He was convinced that tanks, working in conjunction with other mechanized elements and backed by close air support, could punch through gaps and destroy an enemy in a “blitzkrieg” type fashion. I came away from the conference more convinced that my ideas were not just sound, but the future of warfare. Those who I met at the conference I was sure would become the leading lights of their respective militaries. Of the Americans who attended, I was more impressed with George Patton than I was with Jacob Devers or the others. Like a cat waiting for an opportunity to strike – that is the feeling I picked up from looking in those eyes. That would be one to watch, I remarked to Charles.
After the conference was over, I had intended to return as soon as it was possible, to fully digest what was said and done and confer with a few like minded colleagues. Had I done so, I would have been arrested and executed for treason, charges that were patently false but kept to the spirit of the paranoia of Stalin and his need to be surrounded only by those who were content to be leashed like neutered dogs. Meeting Ileana, therefore, literally saved my life. Given how many were killed during Stalin’s “great purge of the party ranks” by the Gosudarstvennoye Politicheskoye Upravlenie – the GPU or secret police of the state, I do not imagine that I would have been spared. To disagree with Stalin, even over minor policy, was a death sentence, though one that could percolate for years before being carried out.
This is where my firm belief in the non-existence of luck, of circumstances beyond one’s control, of Mistress Fortuna, of destiny or whatever terms one uses to describe forces outside one’s ability to control, was shattered for all time.
At the conclusion of the conference, while speaking in informal gatherings, I noticed a peculiar individual who, for the most part, remained silent, one of those who preferred to hear more than what was spoken and speak less than what was on his mind. From his mannerisms and looks, his lineage could not be easily identified – perhaps southern Mediterranean but without the strutting peacock attitude that most of the Italians displayed. When I asked who he was, the Austrian hosts merely answered that he was a businessman – a “person of interest” who had the ear of those in power. The most striking thing about him was his eyes – if they are truly the windows of the soul, then his were of a soul a thousand years old or more.
Just as I was leaving, he approached me and thanked me for sharing my ideas. As we chatted amiably enough, he found out that this was my first time in the city and that I was due to leave on the morning. He then insisted that I should visit the cathedral of St. Stephen before I left. When I casually replied that I was not interested in being a tourist or seeing attractions, that important matters awaited me back in Moscow, his millennial eyes fixed on me with such a penetrating look that I knew that I should visit this building. That ignoring his advice would be somehow catastrophic to me.
It was the oddest feeling.
And with that, he was gone.
His name, I found out later, was as unique as the individual: Malik.