Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (66 page)

“GRU intelligence suggests an increasing German Army, probably taking over many of the duties of the Amerikanski, which in turn will relieve pressure on their President. It seems the green toads again relish the prospect of fighting us, now they are backed up by the industrial might of our capitalist enemies. I’m sure that the NKVD opinion will agree with ours.”

Beria suddenly found himself the centre of attention, and didn’t enjoy it at all.

“The NKVD reports are roughly in agreement with the GRU suggestion, Comrades.”

Attention switched back to Nazarbayeva.

“The Ukrainians have been subjugated, but the drought has hit the harvest hard, as has the fighting, and we stand on the edge of further supply problems, all of which will be undoubtedly increased by Allied air actions. Historically, we lose a huge proportion of all supplies long before they reach the front, but we have seen more problems occurring with inner distribution since enemy bombing raids started to spread further through the Rodina, despite the gallant work of the Red Air Force.”

Colonel General Repin, the Air Force deputy commander, nodded in acceptance of her words.

“Set against that inevitability, we will not be able to feed and provision our troops or our people.”

“Militarily, we cannot order our soldiers to move back without abandoning most of our equipment.”

Nazarbayeva had heard those words in Vasilevsky’s office the previous day, so they were easy to employ.

“Also, regardless of what we seem to see in the Allied press, I believe that their politicians will inevitably order use of the new bombs against the Rodina. I see it as inevitable that they will use their bombs on us, bombs to which we have no answer, and can offer no response of our own at this time… unless I am missing some exciting developments within our own programmes?”

Kurchatov fidgeted uneasily as most of the eyes in the room shifted to him.

His headshake was enough for Nazarbayeva to continue.

“So, we find ourselves with no ability to move our armies. No definite guarantee that we can supply our armies enough of the basics to give them a fighting chance against the Allies. Foodstuffs will be limited before the Allied aircraft increase our supply problems, not just for the military, but for the Rodina as a whole. Our industry and infrastructure continue to suffer at the hands of their bombing force. And then there is the question of these new weapons. Our own special weapons programme is unable to offer anything of value at this time, whereas theirs is available, and can transform large sections of the Motherland to ashes virtually at will. It seems clear to me what must be done here, Comrade General Secretary.”

She waited for a response, holding the leader’s gaze as his face changed colour and his eyes blazed.

“So, Comrade Nazarbayeva, your opinion as to what must be done is what exactly?”

Standing erect, ramrod stiff, and every inch the Soviet hero, Nazarbayeva delivered the damning words.

“Comrade General Secretary, I believe that you must seek peace, or lose the army, and the war; it is that simple.”

The collective intake of breath was audible.

Stalin moved forward, until she could smell the orange juices still clinging to his moustache.

“Say that again?”

“I believe you must make peace, Comr…”

Stalin moved with incredible and unexpected speed, landing a vicious slap across Nazarbayeva’s face, and sent her reeling back against Vasilevsky, who caught and steadied her.

“So… there we have it… and I thought you had steel… that you, above all others, had the backbone to succeed… to win against all odds.”

Nazarbayeva the soldier moved back to her previous position in front of the dictator and stood her ground.

Throughout the room, there was genuine horror and shock at what had happened.

Stalin’s eyes were still burning wildly, but Nazarbayeva gave him direct eye contact, despite the growing bruise across her left cheek and the gentle drip of blood from her nostril.

Even Beria had a grudging admiration for the courage that she displayed.

‘Balls of steel.’

“Comrade General Secretary, the Red Army is the instrument of the Party… of the State… and it must be protected, for without a functioning and strong army both could flounder.”

She instinctively wiped a run of blood from her chin, too late to stop a pair of red spots appearing on her shirt collar.

She pressed her index finger to the Hero Award on her jacket.

“This award was given to me because I refused to give in, at a time when all seemed lost. I understood then… and understand now…”

Nazarbayeva checked herself, realising that her own voice was rising with anger.

She continued in a more controlled fashion.

“I understand when I cannot win, Comrade General Secretary, and also when I must do what is unpalatable to avoid losing.”

Vasilevsky moved forward with a napkin and offered it up as the blood started to flow more readily, her own anger still rising and causing her blood pressure to rise.

“I am yours to command, Comrade General Secretary, and you may beat me, or worse, as you wish. But that will not change a single fact here. To preserve the army, and therefore the party and state, peace must be sought. In the short term, there is no choice. It will buy time… perhaps enough for Comrade Kurchatov’s weapons to become available, but certainly time that will help the army recover. At this moment, we cannot win, Comrade General Secretary, but we can… we must… avoid losing.”

She wiped a run of blood and, as she did it, she saw a lessening in the dictator’s tension, his body relaxing in some small measure.

“Comrade General Secretary, you have done this before, in a different way. You bought time in the struggle against the Germanski, signing an unpalatable pact with them, all for the benefit of the Rodina. You saw then that it was the best way to protect the party and state… saw what many others could not. I’m sure you will see it again… here… in these circumstances.”

Stalin said nothing as he resumed his seat, a nothing that clearly signalled a reduction in the tension.

Nazarbayeva’s left eye started to lose full vision, as swelling and bruising acted.

None the less, she held firm and waited.

They all waited.

Finally, Stalin pointed a finger at Vasilevsky.

“Marshal? Does your opinion correspond to that put forward by the GRU?”

Kuznetsov, the GRU head, briefly considered stating that it was not his opinion but, wisely, the GRU chief thought better of it.

Vasilevsky moved forward and stood beside Nazarbayeva.

“Comrade General Secretary… unless you and the GKO have some device, some plan, some strategy that is hidden to me, I can only agree that a peace, even a temporary one, is the only way to preserve what we presently have and hold.”

Stalin blanked Vasilevsky and turned to Zhukov.

“And you, Georgy Zhukov, Marshal of the Soviet Union… the victory bringer… what is your opinion on this grave matter eh?”

He too moved forward, flanking the GRU general.

“I agree, Comrade General Secretary. Unless you have some brilliant plan that is not known to me, the only course of action to preserve our army is to seek a truce.”

Beria whispered something under his breath, an inaudible something that clearly was not in agreement with the three officer’s view.

However inaudible, Stalin heard it and turned on him in an instant.

“Comrade Marshal Beria, we’ll hear your alternative plan shortly. For now, keep your views to yourself. Summon your men.”

Beria moved to the telephone and, in response to his words, the door opened and in walked Colonels Sardeon and Sarkisov.

“Comrade Beria, have your men detain these five officers in this building until otherwise ordered. If any of them try to leave, they are to be shot immediately.”

Beria simply had to nod, as both colonels had heard Stalin’s words.

Supported by a squad of NKVD troopers, they escorted the military group from the hall.

Stalin refilled his glass and took a healthy swig of the chilled juice before speaking to the silent group of grey-faced men.

“Comrades… speak.”

Half expecting to be shot, the three were greatly relieved to be ushered into the Andreyevsky Hall once more. The two junior officers, having not been included in the orders delivered to Sardeon and Sarkisov, were left behind under armed guard.

Sat facing them were a grim faced GKO, some clearly more angry than others.

Zhukov led the trio in, and immediately wondered which of these men would stand as his accuser, and condemn him for his treachery to the Motherland.

He took a position of attention and wondered what marvel of manoeuvring these politicians had conceived to extricate the Red Army from the morass of their own making.

Vasilevsky and Nazarbayeva took station beside him.

The answer was delivered quickly, and in an unexpected fashion.

Beria sent his two henchmen away with a dismissive wave.

“Comrade Marshal Zhukov… perhaps Comrade Beria acted precipitously… an unfortunate set of circumstances.”

Beria looked wide mouthed at his leader for the briefest of moments, before he recovered his poise.

“Comrade Vasilevsky… you and Comrade Zhukov have presided over this debacle… this abomination… and yet, perhaps, you are not wholly to blame. The GKO has decided to give you both the opportunity to recover our confidence.”

He looked directly at Nazarbayeva, who returned his gaze with eyes burning in defiance, albeit one was closed by the swelling of her cheek.

“And you, Comrade Nazarbayeva… you and your prized organisation seem to have failed to properly arm us with the information needed to avoid all these… these… disasters,” he waved at the European situation map, “As has the NKVD…”

Beria blanched but offered no protest, probably because it was totally true.

“…But you have mostly been efficient in your duties and, in this most recent instance, spoke clearly, and… no, in all instances… you have spoken in the best interests of the Party and the Rodina as you have seen it.”

He went as far as he felt he could.

“What happened was regrettable, Comrade Nazarbayeva.”

Which was more than Comrade Stalin had ever gone before.

And, as far as the leader was concerned, that was that, and he moved on.

“It has been decided that the Red Army needs time to recover from the unfortunate and adverse prevailing circumstances that have recently robbed it of a portion of its capability.”

The military men understood face-saving politicians speak when they heard it.

“We will use the present circumstances to seek a truce, during which we will renew our forces, sow political discord throughout the Allied nations, and wait for the most favourable time to continue with our overall plan.”

Stalin sought eye contact with the head of the Soviet Union’s atomic programme, and found it, before Kurchatov broke it by dropping his gaze to pretend to search for something vital amongst his papers.

“Given some of the recent difficulties with Operation Raduga, we propose to halt all special actions, and use the time to enhance and refine our own programmes… all the better to ensure greater success when the plans come to fruition.”

Zhukov took a quick look at Isakov, who understood the enquiry that flowed from the Marshal’s eyes.

‘The Japanese?’

Isakov could only give the smallest of shrugs before Stalin’s voice overrode their quiet exchange.

“However, it is vital that we negotiate from a position of maximum strength, so… to that end… the Red Army will maintain its operational effectiveness at all times, using whatever means are at its disposal to ensure that we have the best possible military platform from which to contrive a temporary cessation on the best possible terms.”

Vasilevsky and Zhukov groaned inside, knowing that those words would mean the deaths of countless more soldiers.

“We entrust that task to you both.”

A single nod each was all they could manage.

“Now, let’s get down to planning this maskirovka.”

The initial moves were entrusted to the Foreign Ministry, with Molotov taking the lead, and to the GRU, or, more specifically, to Nazarbayeva.

From her office, a message went out, one that travelled by diverse means before arriving in Sweden.

Per Karsten Tørget, head of Swedish Military Intelligence, enjoyed a glass of fine wine as he waited for the mystery to be solved.

He checked his watch, estimating that it had been nearly an hour and a half since the cryptic call from Lingström.

‘Soon this little secret will be explained.’

No sooner had the thought developed than the sound of urgent feet reached his ears, as a pair of boots hammered on the floors of the main hallway, bringing his number one double agent closer.

He responded to the knocking and Lingström admitted himself, clearly bursting with something extremely important, a something that Tørget’s sharp mind had failed to work out whilst he sat waiting for his prodigy to arrive from Copenhagen.

“Well, you look like you have a story to tell, Överstelöjtnant. Sit.”

Lingström did so and took a deep breath to control himself.

“Speak, Boris. What has got you so excited eh?”

“Överste, I’ve received a message from my Russian masters. I am to report back, as a matter of extreme urgency, on any information that I can gather on the Swedish position regarding anything related to a direct approach that will be made to Minister Undén tomorrow.”

“The Minister for Foreign Affairs? Are they threatening us or asking for an alliance… either way, they can go to hel…”

“Neither, Överste. They will be seeking our help… the government’s help…”

“And what do they mean by that then?”

“
Hägglöf
was summoned to see Molotov in Moscow today, and the envoy has reported back to Minister Undén, indicating that Soviet Ambassador Kollontai will present herself tomorrow with a genuine proposal… one that the Soviet Union hopes that Sweden can both broker and oversee.”

“In Loki’s name, spit it out, man!”

“The Communists are seeking a truce.”

Tørget’s mind rejected a number of replies, instead sending messages to his mouth to stay firmly closed.

Lingström used his boss’s silence to expand on his bombshell.

“The Soviet Foreign Ministry will be sending a high level delegation to meet with Minister Undén, at which time they’ll seek Sweden’s help in organising a face to face with the Allied leadership, under the chairmanship of Undén, in order to broker a ceasefire in place, and to negotiate terms for a permanent peace.”

Tørget rose, so Lingström automatically stood and came to attention.

He resumed his seat as his commander waved him to relax.

Topping off his own glass, and wetting a new one for the bringer of such incredible news, Tørget returned to his seat, offering the glass of vintage Bordeaux to Lingström.

“Skol!”

The glasses clinked together and taste buds were assaulted by the fine wine they contained.

“Remind me… you have been contacted why?”

“I’m to report back on anything that seems disingenuous… any sign of treachery… any activity behind the scenes that might undermine the process.”

“Maskirovka?”

Lingström took a gentler sip of the wonderful red before replying.

“I’m not being risked… I’m not being asked to do anything actively… just to report back on the… err… genuineness of proceedings… and of course, anything I hear on the bargaining position of the Allies, once talks get underway. I don’t sense anything here but a genuine approach to end the war.”

More wine flowed before Lingström added a codicil.

“Whatever their reasons may be, Överste.”

Tørget savoured the taste.

“Indeed… whatever their reasons may be.”

The delegation, headed by their unconventional ambassador, A
lexandra Mikhailovna Kollontai, laid out the bare bones of the Soviet Union’s approach to Sweden, expectations and wishes, hopes and fears, and emphasised the trust that the Rodina had in Sweden’s impartiality.

Despite the physical change and slight speech impediment that a stroke had inflicted upon her, Kollontai managed to eloquently convey the essence of the message she had been tasked to deliver. Alexandra Mikhailovna was a consummate politician, and her sincerity was appreciated by Östen Undén, Swedish Minister for Foreign Affairs.

Undén, already pre-warned by Tørget, confirmed that the Swedish Government would be only too pleased to assist in brokering a full and meaningful peace in Europe, and would offer safe passage and guarantees of safety to all persons attending.

Kollontai was not fazed by the fact that Undén had clearly known of the Soviet approach, and known sufficiently in advance for the Swedish government to have discussed and developed an official position, although it would figure in her report.

She was not privy to the advance ‘work’ of the GRU.

The Soviet Ambassador continued with her request.

“The people of the Soviet Union would also request that the government of Sweden makes the initial approach to the Allied governments through diplomatic channels, without directly revealing that we have instigated this process… but to do so in such a way as to offer to initiate a dialogue, and to mediate all discussions as an honest broker, and to work with both sides to bring about a lasting peace. We would be most grateful if that could be seen to be a matter that Sweden has been proposed to us, and that we are prepared to be a party to.”

Undén was unprepared for the suggestion, and held his tongue as he worked the issue in his mind, deciding if it was disingenuous, a plain lie, an inaccuracy, an acceptable mechanism, or any one of a number of labels he could think for being a party to a statement that was not wholly the truth.

He was a politician, so he quickly found a compromise that he could live with.

“I believe that my government will, in the spirit of bringing about this peace, represent that the idea as ours, and ours alone. After all, I’m sure the rest of the world will be grateful for our leadership in the matter.”

Kollontai smiled, knowing that Undén was already imagining real advantage for his country, by way of trade agreements and similar kudos.

“So, Minister, are we agreed?”

“I speak for my government in this matter. We are agreed.”

They nodded, stood, and shook hands, understanding each other perfectly.