«A historian’s chief concern is fact; an agitator’s – intonation.»
V. Rezun, ‛The Last Republic“.

Translator’s note

The following article concerns the works of Vladimir Rezun, a former Soviet intelligence officer who had defected to the West in 1978. Beginning in the early 1990s, Rezun, working under a pseudonym of Viktor Suvorov, published a number of controversial books on Stalin and the Soviet Union in World War II. The most well known of these include ‛Ledokol“ (‛Icebreaker“), ‛Den’ M“ (‛Day M“) and ‛Poslednjaja Respublika“ (‛The Last Republic“), and are focused primarily on demonstrating that Stalin’s intention was to launch a massive assault on Germany in the Summer of 1941, and that the German invasion had by chance pre-empted the Soviet one by roughly two weeks. Rezun’s books have fuelled heated debates among both professional and amateur historians, and have been the subject of several comprehensive rebuttal articles and books, nearly all of them in Russian. While no longer considered required reading for anyone interested in the Great Patriotic War, Rezun’s works remain a smouldering source of controversy even to this day, particularly in the on-line community.

Unfortunately, although Rezun’s books have been translated into dozens of languages, to our knowledge the U.S. editions have been out of print for a number of years. We have thus been forced to translate anew any extracts from Rezun’s books used in the following article, and expect there to be at least some minor variations from the published English translations. In addition, all page number and chapter citations refer to the original Russian-language editions.

Author’s Foreword

I would like to begin by stressing that this article was meant as a general survey of Rezun’s failings as a historian, and I by no means seek to claim sole authorship of all the included critiques. Any external sources used are cited in the text itself, and also in the bibliography section at the end of the piece. The article itself was written back in the year 2000, and numerous works demonstrating the true ‛value“ of Rezun’s writings have been published since. So many, in fact, that there is now little need to continue arguing the merits of Rezun’s thesis; in fact, to publicly support Rezun’s theories has become a sign of ignorance. Nevertheless, I have decided to retain the article on The Russian Battlefield website, primarily to express the administrators’ collected view of Rezun’s works. Of course, there are still a few lone dinosaurs out there that, with incredible stubbornness, continue to try and defend Rezun’s thesis. I believe their existence to be quite normal and, unfortunately, unavoidable. The Russian term for this personality type can be loosely translated as ‛stuck“ – in essence, these people generally suffer from a form of mental indolence, but once they seize upon an idea it is utterly impossible to change their minds. Regardless of what evidence you present to them, they will continue to insist that the Earth is flat, that Rezun is, in the main, correct, and so forth. Thus, this article’s main focus will not be to debate Rezun’s few remaining adherents over what is already more or less a settled issue.

As I’ve already mentioned, Rezun’s books have prompted a slew of publications, both printed and on-line. Many fault him for utilizing clearly erroneous vehicle and equipment specifications. However, the thrust of the matter is not that Rezun is arriving at flawed conclusions solely due to flawed inputs. Had he truly been mistaken, or were he merely a dilettante, I would not have taken the time to write this article. But, having read and reread ‛Icebreaker“, ‛Day M“ and ‛The Last Republic“, I have come to a firm conclusion that Rezun lies, and very deliberately. He is not a dilettante, but rather a ‛falsifier“.

Rezun’s books are actually a very easy and interesting read. He is a fine writer and publicist, and knows a good deal about human psychology. It is all too easy to believe a man who can effortlessly explain very complex issues. Of course, serious historical works tend to include numerous questions that have no simple black-and-white answers. Not so Rezun’s books. His writing betrays no hesitation, not a hint of doubt. He writes with tremendous self-assuredness, taking a given fact and effortlessly revealing its ‛true“ meaning to the reader. Or, at least, knowingly hinting at it – as in, ‛official explanations aside, you and I both understand the real significance of this…“ The reader is thus flattered in being made a member of some exclusive club privy to esoteric knowledge – and this when the alternative, mostly the tired and stale Soviet propaganda, which had become incredibly vulgar, shameless and tiresome during the Brezhnev period. Significantly, Rezun’s arguments are aimed directly at Soviet ideologues, no specific persons, of course, but rather some murky archetype such as ‛the Kremlin historians“, ‛the Kremlin-KGB propagandists“, ‛the Kremlin-Lubyanka historians“, etc. The convenience of this approach cannot be overstated, as this saves Rezun from having to refute specific authors or published works; he is, in effect, free to invent whatever nonsense he chooses, and then to spectacularly disprove it before the enthralled reader. At the same time, he can freely take advantage of the old adage that ‛if you are not with us, you are against us“, or in his case, ‛if you are against the Soviet propagandists you must be for Rezun“. Given all this, it is hardly surprising that his books had managed to attain such a prominent role in World War 2 historiography as they did for a time.

Supporters of Rezun’s thesis often fall back on more or less the same arguments. Most frequently, they try to find the tiniest imperfection in the opposition’s case. It’s the schoolyard ‛oh yeah?“ mode of argument. [E.g. two plus two isn’t five — oh yeah, well you’re ugly!] Upon discovering even the most insignificant error, they proceed to make mountains out of molehills and proclaim that this single mistake or omission is of such supreme importance that none of the other ten thousand (correct) arguments made by the same author are worth considering. And thus, Rezun’s thesis is found to be ‛in the main“ correct. Take, for instance, a book published towards the end of 2004 by A. Isaiev called ‛Anti-Suvorov: the big lie of the little man“. Every now and again on various Internet forums you can find posts along the lines of ‛oh yeah? Well Isaev makes plenty of mistakes himself!“ Of course, these truth-seekers typically prefer not to provide any specific examples of Isaev’s mistakes, in part as they themselves are likely to base their views purely on hearsay. [Of course, applying the same ‛hearsay“ logic to Rezun’s books implies that they can safely be tossed in the trash after reading just the first page.]

As I have been accused on several occasions of falsifying or distorting Rezun’s words to make my arguments, I am going as far as posting images of the actual book covers of my source material. The publisher information for my editions is as follows:

Viktor Suvorov, ‛Icebreaker; Day M,“ Moscow, AST, 1996 ISBN 5-88196-303-2
Viktor Suvorov, ‛The Last Republic,“ Moscow, AST, 1996 ISBN 5-88196-559-0

At the dawn of Perestroika, when I was still very young, I chanced upon a ‛samizdat“ [unofficially or illegally published issue – Transl.] copy of ‛Icebreaker“. I was only 16 years old, and had never read anything like it – and Rezun was, as ever, quite persuasive. I believed him. I even believed that I was privy to some secret new Knowledge, that I have had an epiphany. Of course, later on as I read more and more books on the Great Patriotic War, including those cited by Rezun himself, I was incredibly surprised to discover that they – especially the books apparently used to build Rezun’s arguments – state something entirely different!

Rezun’s entire argument is based on circumstantial evidence. Take any criminal court of any civilized nation, and you will learn that circumstantial evidence is almost never sufficient to obtain a conviction. Rezun further weakens his thesis by wildly distorting the circumstantial evidence itself, as well as by ignoring any and all contrary facts. His errors of fact have been caught and catalogued numerous times, yet still his supporters insist that ‛well, all right, he might miss a few technical details, but in the main he is still right!“ Naturally, this means that any of Rezun’s known errors must not be particularly meaningful or consequential, and that the anti-Rezun ‛fools“ are missing the main thrust of his analytical efforts. I.e. – ‛in the main“, he is still right. Of course, none of the ‛Rezunists“ seem to clearly grasp what this ‛in the main“ really is, and why Rezun devotes entire volumes to ‛details“ while his main thesis remains carefully veiled, never in full view, and never leaving itself open to a comprehensive rebuttal. I personally believe that this ‛main thrust“ of Rezun’s work is the amalgamation of all his ‛details“; to disprove a given whole, it is sufficient to disprove some or all of its constituent parts. And these ‛parts“ for Rezun are these very ‛details“, the BT tanks with underwater movement capabilities, the thousands of TB-7 heavy bombers, Stalin’s secret plans for a European offensive, all the ‛details“ that have already been disproved time and again from all imaginable angles.

The Rezunists’ primary beliefs can be summarized as follows – before the Great Patriotic War, the USSR was not preparing for a defensive war, but rather for an offensive into Germany. One can begin to see the fallacy of this argument simply in the fact that the USSR’s official histories did not disavow the development of offensive plans prior to the war. In fact, the USSR, the United States and Great Britain all had developed defensive plans that entailed offensive actions. Even Finland, typically viewed as a peaceful and generally harmless nation, developed its defensive plan in an entirely offensive fashion – the vaunted Mannerheim Line was intended to cover the Finnish Army’s flank (rather than ‛defend the nation from the Bolshevist threat“, as Rezun puts it) while it advanced into Soviet territory towards Murmansk, Petrozavodsk, etc. Even Poland, World War 2’s first victim, had envisioned its defence as one involving offensive operations in East Prussia.

Purely defensive plans are the province of small states that harbour no illusions regarding their ability to withstand an attack from a powerful enemy; rather, they hope to stall this enemy long enough for an equally powerful benefactor to intervene on their behalf. Rezun’s primary thesis, however, reads as follows: the USSR was the primary initiator of World War 2 because it was preparing to carry out unprovoked aggression against European states in 1941. And this, in turn, serves as the sole reason for the German attack on the USSR. This is the thesis that Rezun dedicated three entire volumes to establishing.

In this article, I will refrain from addressing every single aspect of Rezun’s arguments, or in fact every single chapter of his books. Literally every page of his works is littered with lies and distortions of some sort, and I am not about to dedicate my life to refuting Rezun’s thesis. My intent is merely to demonstrate his methods of falsification by examining those statements that I view as being crucial to his overall argument, and that Rezun himself habitually refers to as indisputable facts.

1. Rezun on the Soviet armored forces

Cover of the «Icebreaker» and... Cover of the «Last Republic» A-20, A-32 and A-34. The last... German production tanks Pz.Kpf... German production tanks Pz.Kpf... Paper-plans for the Soviet BT-... This ammo would be sufficient...

Let us begin with, perhaps, one of Rezun’s most important statements – his estimate of the number of tanks in service with the Red Army at the start of the Great Patriotic War [referred to simply as ‛the war“ elsewhere in this article – Transl.]. Specifically:

«As of June 21, 1941, Stalin has 24,000 tanks at his disposal.
<...>
...as of June 22, 1941, Hitler had deployed a total of 3,350 tanks on the Eastern Front. The Wehrmacht’s overall tank strength was slightly higher, however the excess was deployed on other fronts and as such should not be counted.»

Technically the Red Army had slightly fewer tanks than the figure mentioned by Rezun – 23,106, to be exact (Military History Journal No.11, 1993, the article can be found here), but let’s not split hairs. The really interesting part of Rezun’s above statement is this: why does Rezun’s analysis compare the number of tanks deployed on the Eastern Front to the Red Army’s entire tank pool? And by ‛entire“, I mean inclusive of broken-down machines as well as of tanks deployed not on the Western borders but, say, in the Soviet Far East.

The Military History Journal provides detailed statistics on Soviet armor just prior to the war. As it happens, the Western Defence Districts had only 12,782 tanks, rather than Rezun’s 24,000, and 2,242 of those tanks were listed as broken down and ‛in need of repairs“. As an aside, in the first version of this article, written nearly five years ago, I made an error in stating that most of the remaining, active tanks had actually been not combat-ready. I would readily like to correct myself in this regard – the data shows that the remaining 10,540 tanks were listed at June 1, 1941 as combat-ready. The total was comprised of 8,383 tanks in active service, including some in need of minor repairs, as well as of 2,157 brand new machines with zero mileage. Notably, these figures are for all five Western Defence Districts, although only three of them – the Baltic Defence District, Western Special Defence District and Kiev Special Defence District – actually covered the Western borders. Clearly, the number of tanks deployed in those three districts is even lower, which means Rezun has more than doubled the number of Soviet tanks involved in the summer battles of 1941, especially in the border regions. At the same time, Rezun showed considerably greater discretion in estimating the number of German tanks facing Russia, only counting those machines actually deployed on the Eastern Front. Quite a curious double standard, isn’t it.

There is also the question of those Red Army tanks that were listed as active but in need of minor repairs. At this juncture it is nearly impossible to determine exactly what these ‛minor repairs“ were; perhaps the tank’s engine stalled while in neutral gear, or the gun sight was damaged. A tank is a very complex machine in need of frequent maintenance. Of course, not every damaged part will render a tank useless in battle, but some breakages will, even if they can be fixed with relative ease. For instance, a damaged gun sight will significantly reduce a tank’s combat capability, even though all one has to do to alleviate the problem is install a spare. Obviously I won’t go so far as to claim that all eight thousand odd tanks had broken gun sights, but the example of a relatively minor problem substantially reducing the combat effectiveness of an otherwise operational vehicle is telling. The bottom line is that while I certainly recognize that the USSR had more tanks than did Germany at the start of the war, Rezun should clearly have been more careful with his estimate. Waving the figure of 24,000 tanks in front of the reader for several chapters as if it were a proven and indisputable fact looks decidedly like a deliberate attempt to mislead.

«In 1941, the newest tanks could be distinguished by five specific design elements:
— A powerful long-barrelled main gun of at least 76mm in calibre;
— Armor capable of withstanding direct hits from armor-piercing ammunition, allowing the machine to operate in an environment populated with enemy anti-tank guns;
— Wide tracks, allowing the tank the freedom to manoeuvre without restrictions in nearly any terrain and all weather conditions;
— A rational assembly: the engine and transmission housed close together;
— A diesel engine: light, economical, and most importantly – difficult to set ablaze.»
(‛The Last Republic“, Chapter ‛What tanks did Hitler have?“, pp. 279-280)

After reading these criteria, my first thought was that if the T-34 tank were capable of sustained flight, Rezun would have to add a sixth ‛design element“ to that list. How so? Well, it seems to me that every one of these ‛design elements“ has been matched specifically to the performance characteristics of the T-34 and KV tanks. But let us assume for a moment that my suspicions in this regard are incorrect, and take Rezun’s criteria at face value. Every one of his ‛design elements“ prompts, or should prompt, an immediate query as to why that particular design decision is meaningful. Why a 76mm gun? Why must the engine and the tank’s transmission necessarily be ‛housed close together“? Let’s find out!

1. Why was the 76mm gun selected by Rezun as a criterion? Rezun makes absolutely no effort to provide any explanation for this, which lends credence to my theory that this particular calibre was chosen simply because that was the calibre of the main gun of the T-34 and KV-1 tanks. [Surely had Rezun had any explanation of his own, he would not have failed to trumpet it at every opportunity, given his tendency to vociferously argue even the most trivial of his hypotheses.] Thus, had the T-34 possessed a 57mm or a 85mm gun, Rezun would have undoubtedly used that figure instead of 76mm. In other words, first we find out the answer to the main problem from the back of the textbook, and then we tailor our written solution to suit the answer. Of course, Rezun wrote ‛at least 76mm“, but this threshold calibre is selected in a completely arbitrary fashion. Moreover, the criterion itself and Rezun’s sacred ‛76mm“ has little to do with reality.

Even in the pre-war years, and certainly by the early period of the war, 76mm calibre guns were considered anything but ‛powerful“ for a new heavy tank. Quite the contrary, they were thought of as relatively weak, which is why designers focused on developing 85mm and even 107mm tank guns. Even after the war’s start, with all its disruptions for the Soviet armaments industry, work on a new heavy tank with a 107mm main gun continued unabated.

There were also plans to rearm the T-34 with a more suitable and forward-looking gun system. The best prospect for ‛the main tank of the motorized and mechanized formations of the Red Army“ was a 57mm calibre gun, not the 76mm weapon. Thus the phrase ‛a powerful long-barrelled 76mm main gun“ is completely incorrect; the engineers envisioned different gun systems, of both medium and heavy calibre, for different perspective tank designs. The war’s start forced a substantial correction in research and development priorities, and many forward-looking projects were abandoned in favor of inferior designs already in production. This is how the 76mm gun had come to dominate the Red Army tank pool: the gun’s advanced production status and a wide range of available ammunition served as very powerful arguments in the Soviet war economy.

2. What about tank armor? Tank armor is also a somewhat more complex issue than Rezun makes it out to be. Certainly, the thicker the armor – the better for the tank, at least if one does not mind the associated negative effects, such as a significant increase in weight. The question is really this: did the German tank models circa 1941 have sufficient armor protection? Given the number lost in action from Soviet gunfire – probably yes. There is no need to cite various German commanders arguing the opposite, as generals always pine for a tank with impermeable armor and an unstoppable main gun. In reality, the Red Army’s main anti-tank asset in 1941 was the 45mm Battalion Gun, which could penetrate only 38mm armor from 500 metres and 50mm armor from 100 metres, and oftentimes even less due to the poor quality of its armor-piercing rounds. By contrast, the majority of German Panzer III and IV tank variants as well as the StuG-III assault guns had a frontal armor of 50mm thickness, in other words quite adequate protection from Soviet antitank gunfire.

The task of destroying Soviet infantry divisions was simplified even further as they weren’t issued all the guns listed in their tables of organization and equipment (TO&E). For example, according to a combat readiness report from the 27th Army on the North-western Front dated July 20, 1941, the most well-equipped division was the 5th Rifle Division, which possessed a grand total of 2 45mm guns and 11 76mm guns. That’s 13 guns of any kind for an entire division! Clearly the German tanks were not in dire need of increased armor protection, as the Russians often hadn’t anything to try and penetrate their armor with! Of course, not all Red Army divisions were so badly off, and some of them even managed to have nearly as many guns as they were supposed by TO&E.

3. What of wide tracks? Speaking strictly with respect to all-terrain manoeuvrability, the key metric should be not the width of the tank’s tracks, but rather specific ground pressure. The German tanks had ‛narrow“ tracks, but so what? Even today both Russian and Western armies field some narrow-tracked AFVs. The BMP and BMD series, for instance, or the post-war PT-76 tank. To base one’s view of a tank’s combat mobility purely on the width of its tracks is technical nonsense. Some may point out, of course, that the BMP and BMD AFVs were post-war designs, and aren’t really ‛tanks“ per se, but that isn’t the point. What I am trying to stress is that instead of ‛wide tracks“, Rezun should be focused on ‛specific ground pressure“. Which, in turn, is a metric vital to the performance of any armored fighting vehicle. One can say that this is a trivial detail, that I am splitting hairs, but really, is it possible to believe that this gross technical error is an outlier rather than a symptom?

Of course the low ground pressure of the T-34 and KV tanks was an important asset. But while some German tank models were considerably outmatched in this regard, others were not. In fact, Soviet designers themselves had considered reducing the track width by 100mm to decrease the tanks’ dimensions and thus mass (Soviet of the People’s Commissars of the USSR Declaration No. 1216-502cc, ‛On the production of T-34 tanks during the year of 1941“). In fact, this document openly suggests that a narrowing of the tracks is an ‛improvement“ if coupled with adding extra armor (and thus increasing the tank’s overall weight), further exacerbating the issue of increased specific ground pressure. Does this perchance mean that Rezun’s one-sided view of the issue could be wrong? That Soviet designers were not afraid to increase our tanks’ average ground pressure? Not that I am implying that Rezun’s deduction is an outright lie in this case, rather a very narrow and one-sided view of the issue, which he did not bother to verify before using it to draw some very far-reaching conclusions.

4.

«The German tank designers committed an unforgivable error: they opted for a rear-mounted engine but a front-mounted transmission. The same mistake was made by British, American and Japanese designers...
<...>
...the Soviet tanks had a rational assembly scheme, while German, American, British and Japanese machines an irrational one.»
(‛The Last Republic“, Chapter ‛What tanks did Hitler have?“, pp. 275, 279)

What is Rezun saying? Why was this design decision ‛erroneous“? Let us examine the facts.

For starters, installing the transmission system in the forward portion of the tank does impart certain advantages:
— The tank’s overall length is reduced as its steering and transmission systems are combined. This also allows for a larger crew compartment.
— The turret can be positioned in the centre of the tank, allowing for a more uniform mass distribution. Additionally, a longer main gun may be mounted without the risk of it ‛sticking in the ground“ during cross-country manoeuvres.

On the other hand, a front-mounted gearbox carries with it a number of disadvantages:
— The machine’s height must necessarily be increased, as key parts of the motive system must be routed underneath the crew compartment. This typically has the effect of raising the compartment’s floor by 300-500mm, and the tank’s loader typically needs at least 1.6–1.7 meters in vertical space to operate at normal pace.
— A frontal installation of transmission components restricts the slope of the glacis plate.
— Transmission components become more susceptible to enemy fire. Even a hit that fails to penetrate the glacis plate can knock loose, damage or destroy key parts, potentially immobilizing the tank.
— Housing the gearbox in front of the crew compartment reduces its habitability and can potentially impact crew endurance – the gearbox is a source of considerable noise and heat that is difficult to dissipate.
— Engine and transmission maintenance becomes a significantly more complex task.

In similar vein, a rear-mounted transmission system enjoys the following advantages:
— Absence of transmission axles underneath the crew compartment allows a significant reduction in the height of the tank.
— The glacis plate is free to be installed at a slope equalling or exceeding 60 degrees.
— Installing much of the motive mechanism in the rear of the tank increases the machine’s overall survivability, as component housing is less likely to come under enemy fire.
— Heat dissipation becomes a considerably simpler task, and the tank’s habitability is greatly increased by installing the gearbox in the engine compartment.
— Removable rear armor plating allows for easy maintenance access to the tank’s motive systems.

At the same time, there are a number of drawbacks to a rear-mounted transmission:
— The tank’s length must be increased to accommodate a larger engine housing or else the crew compartment reduced in size.
— A longer machine section also serves to shift the heavy turret and the crew compartment forward, resulting in an uneven weight distribution and a disproportionate stress on the front roadwheels. This, in turn, can lead to frequent breakdowns, in particular under battlefield conditions.
— Moving the turret forward oftentimes leaves no room behind the glacis plate for a driver’s hatch. This forces the tank designers to either position the hatch on the glacis plate itself (as in the T-34 series), reducing the machine’s ability to withstand frontal hits, or else dispensing with the hatch altogether (the JS series), which forces the driver to mount the tank through the turret hatch and reduces his chances of survival if the tank brews up.
— Transmission controls must be extended to the front of the tank, which increases their complexity and reduces overall reliability.

As you can see, neither transmission mounting provides an absolute advantage over its counterpart. Naturally, Rezun dispenses with the above analysis, selects one particular advantage and proceeds to draw a triumphant conclusion about the ‛well-built“ Soviet and ‛poorly-designed“ German tanks. This is yet another illustration of Rezun’s technical ignorance; I hope that the above analysis makes this fact and the true ‛value“ of the author’s pontifications on ‛good“ and ‛bad“ tank designs self-evident.

In fact, it probably pays to briefly examine the particular disadvantages of a rear-mounted transmission based on the experience of the most common Soviet tank of the war – the T-34. The rear-mounted gearbox, a heritage of the outdated Christie tanks, necessitated a substantial reduction in the size of the crew compartment to avoid increasing the tank’s overall length. The design change also dictated a forward mounting of the turret, creating a considerable weight imbalance. This became the primary restriction on increasing the thickness of the T-34 and T-34-85’s frontal armor from the 45mm it was in 1940, despite the fact that Soviet designers had performed numerous tests confirming that ‛the T-34 tank’s frontal armor can be defeated by German anti-tank guns at all combat distances“ as early as 1942. As mentioned above, shifting the turret forward forced the driver hatch to be mounted on the glacis plate, dramatically weakening it and creating an especially vulnerable spot on the tank’s front armor. A direct hit on this spot from even a 50mm anti-tank round collapsed the hatch killing the driver instantly and immobilizing the tank itself. Furthermore, for the same reason the machine-gunner hatch had to be discarded from the design altogether, ensuring that in the case of the tank brewing up the machine-gunner had comparatively low chances of survival as he frequently couldn’t get to the turret hatch quickly enough. All this is evidenced with numerous after-action reports from Soviet tankers, as well as by their post-war recollections. Of course, this does not mean that the T-34 was a poor design per se, but the apparent magnitude of the combat problems associated with a rear-mounted transmission makes Rezun’s statements on ‛rational“ and ‛irrational assembly“ sound laughable. How can the tank assembly possibly be ‛rational“ when it so drastically reduces both the machine’s and the crew’s survivability?

A final note – it turns out that Soviet tank designers did utilize a front-mounted transmission, with all its flaws, before, during and even after the war. Naturally, Rezun simply didn’t care to notice these models – which included such ‛rare“ specimens as the T-40, T-60, T-70, and T-80 tanks as well as a great multitude of SU-76 assault guns. [I have deliberately left out the T-26 and T-27 tanks, as while these models were produced in great numbers, they were essentially British designs.] Thus, according to Rezun, the most numerous assault gun of World War 2 (the SU-76) and the second most numerous (after the T-34) Soviet tank of the war, the T-70, were produced with a fatal design flaw. Clearly a case of sabotage on a mind-boggling scale! And even after the war Soviet designers continued to utilize front-mounted transmission in a number of Red Army AFVs. The ZSU-37 (self-propelled AA Gun), for instance, was based on a SU-76 chassis – and if the flaws of front-mounted transmission were so evident, why would the designers continue using it when all semblance of a military crisis had passed?

5. On diesel engines and the diesel tanks’ resistance to brewing up. First, the issue in Rezun’s own words:

«One of the best combat characteristics of Soviet tanks during World War 2 was that they were difficult to set ablaze. More difficult, in fact, than the tanks of any other army of the time.».
(‛The Last Republic“, Chapter ‛The flammable tanks“, p. 234)

First off, notice how Rezun does not bother to substantiate this claim with one shred of factual evidence. The writing style is effective enough, of course – this has always been Rezun’s strength – but let’s examine the facts for a moment. For one, as of June 22, 1941, most of Soviet tanks had gasoline rather than diesel engines, precisely the type ‛susceptible to brewing up“ according to Rezun. In fact, all of the following tank models had gasoline engines: T-18, T-26, T-27, T-37, T-38, T-40, BT-2, BT-5, BT-7 (except for 700 BT-7M tanks with an early diesel engine V-2), T-28 and T-35. Over 21,000 tanks in all.

Of course, in June of 1941 the Red Army also fielded tanks with diesel engines – the KV-series and the T-34s for a total of just under 2,600 tanks. In other words at the time of the initial German assault – the very time period that all three of Rezun’s books are focused on – roughly 85% of the USSR’s total tank pool was comprised of machines with ‛inflammable“ gasoline engines. As such, Rezun’s ‛diesel advantage“ is yet another falsification, utilized as proven and undisputed fact throughout his thesis!

Now, Rezun is correct in stating that diesel fuel is harder to ignite than gasoline; you can’t light it up with a match, for example. However, at the same time Rezun conveniently ‛forgets“ that diesel fires are much harder to extinguish, as well as that tank fires are not started with kitchen matches. If a shell has enough energy to pierce a tank’s armor, shouldn’t it also have enough energy to light up diesel fuel? Furthermore, Rezun fails to mention that in a gasoline fire, the gasoline itself does not burn. Rather, gasoline fumes are ignited, leaving a thin layer of air between the flames and the affected surface, e.g. human skin, somewhat dampening the fire’s effects. By contrast, diesel fuel burns in liquid form, resulting in horrific burn injuries to any tankers unfortunate enough to get caught in a diesel fire. Given that during the war burns on over 40% of the body were typically considered lethal, outfitting a majority of Red Army tanks with diesel engines most likely had a highly negative effect on overall tanker survival rates.

Instead of discussing any of this, Rezun offers us his ‛bucket experiment“ (a burning torch is extinguished after being dipped in a bucket filled with diesel fuel), as one actually performed at a Soviet tank factory while it was being visited by members of a government task force on tank diesel engine production. Yet even in describing this experiment Rezun neglects crucial details, namely that the task force, upon viewing this experiment, ignored it as irrelevant and ‛amateurish“.

Why amateurish? For the very reasons discussed above. Moreover, world's military experience has shown that there was little correlation between fuel type and tank fires. Diesel was selected as the primary fuel type for Red Army tanks mostly due to the specifics of the Soviet economy. Despite ample raw materials (crude oil), a chronically underdeveloped oil-refining sector meant that the country would simply not be able to produce a large quantity of synthetic or natural gasoline. Diesel fuel, on the other hand, can be ‛cracked“ out of crude oil without requiring a high technology base, and is considerably cheaper to produce than either gasoline type. Furthermore, a gasoline engine itself does not offer any meaningful advantages over a diesel engine aside from its more compact size, while a diesel tank engine can generate considerably higher torque at lower gears. Thus, the gasoline engine was judged to be one of the main shortcomings of Lend-Lease tanks shipped to the USSR, and was one of the main reasons for the Red Army’s request for diesel (mark III) rather than gasoline (mark II) Shermans then in service with the U. S. Army, as well as for Soviet refusal of any further Lend-Lease tank deliveries once domestic tank production was restored to adequate levels.

Given Soviet economic realities, diesel fuel and a diesel tank engine rather than their gasoline equivalents proved to be the optimal design solution. This does not necessarily imply that the situation was not precisely the opposite in other countries, including the U.S. and Germany. Germany in particular was forced to rely on synthetic gasoline throughout the war due to its lack of access to sufficient sources of crude oil. Not because, as Rezun asserts (see the quote below), the German designers and generals could not muster enough intelligence to realize the obvious superiority of diesel engines.

Of course, there are many other advantages and shortcomings of both gasoline and diesel engines besides those already discussed – different torque, ignition types, etc. – however to even list them all would require considerable effort beyond the scope of this comparatively brief overview of the issue.

Let’s see what Rezun has to say about diesel engines (same chapter, pp. 236-237):

«The diesel engine was the invention of Rudolf Diesel – a German. The great merit of Soviet engineers was not that they had invented the diesel engine, but that they fully appreciated its potential. The Germans did not recognize their own genius – while the Soviets have...»

Etc. etc. ad nauseam. Reading this, an otherwise uninformed reader cannot help but notice how the clearly near-sighted Germans are outwitted at every turn by the crafty Russians. Not willing to take Rezun at his word, I took the liberty of going straight to the source – in this case, volumes 3 and 4 of the 12-volume Soviet ‛History of the Second World War“ encyclopaedia, which Rezun actually cites as one of his sources. For added effect, I also threw in the memoirs of Albert Speer, the armament minister of those same ‛near-sighted“ Germans who could not see the genius of Rudolf Diesel. Turns out the Germans weren’t that near-sighted after all – but that they had, instead, realized that opting for diesel tank engines would be practically suicidal. How so?

Germany’s strategic weakness stemmed from it simply not having enough crude oil. What oil stocks it did have provided just enough diesel fuel to sustain the German Navies and its submarines, while the Luftwaffe consumed all available natural gasoline. The Germans could synthesize gasoline, but not diesel fuel. Thus, installing diesel engines on German tanks would render the Panzer arm useless, as there would not be enough fuel in all of the Third Reich to sustain any large-scale operations. Compounding the problem, according to Speer, was a chronic shortage of aluminium, which is used for making diesel engine housings.

As a counter-argument, a Rezunist tried to argue that I know nothing of Chemistry and the oil ‛cracking“ process, writing the following:

«May I remind you that ‘oil’ is comprised of a number of DIFFERENT hydrocarbons (loosely classified as light, medium and heavy). Gasoline is the lightest, kerosene is a bit heavier, while tar is the heaviest. That is, refining ANY type of oil will always yield some quantity of GASOLENE, KEROSENE, DIESEL, etc. And prior to the invention of the gasoline engine in the 19th century, producers of kerosene simply did not know what to do with all the gasoline and wound up burning it up as waste.»
K. Zakoretsky

Every word of this email is true – however, the author, thinking himself a great chemist and clearly trying to sling some mud while he has the chance, did not bother to cite any specific figures, contenting himself with some generalities about ‛some quantity“ of gasoline. ‛Some quantity“ – what precision! What an insight into the author’s real level of expertise in this subject. And this is supposed to be a technical argument?

For the benefit of the reader, allow me to cite some specifics – the Rezunist quoted above might want to take some of this down so as to impress people with his new-found ‛knowledge“. The industrial process that Mr. Zakoretsky has attempted to describe is called Fractional Distillation. Fractional Distillation does in fact produce some quantity of gasoline, depending on the quality of the crude oil inputs. In a best case scenario, i.e. fractional dist