“Fuck.”
He threw it onto the table as if to throw away the words it had just delivered to his ear.
“The GRU confirm your intelligence on the enemies’ readiness increase, Lavrentiy. She also stated that the enemy has recovered information from our former allies, information that has led them to believe that there are rogue Japanese submarines still at large… and that significant items from their nuclear, biological, and chemical research products were sent to us.”
Beria grimaced.
Moments beforehand he had assured his leader that such information was still secret.
“And the British saw the rocket test in the Black Sea… our fucking sea… where our Navy assured us no enemy vessel would roam. They had a submarine that was trailing our special force. It witnessed everything, so it seems.”
Beria kept his mouth firmly shut.
“So, far from our plan being wholly secret, if the woman’s right, then the bastards suspect what we have and how we’re going to attack them with it.”
The room fell into strained silence, broken by an unexpected rumble of laughter from the General Secretary.
“She’s put one over on you again, Lavrentiy.”
Beria had already worked that one out, but was surprised that Stalin had time for humour as Raduga stood on the precipice of discovery.
“We both serve Mother Russia and the Party, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin laughed again.
“And you also serve another master of course, Lavrentiy. Yourself.”
Beria knew he was being ‘teased’ but bit on the dangled bait in any case.
“I do all I can to serve the Rodina, the Party, and you, Comrade General Secretary. Yes, I am ambitious. Ambition is a good thing when properly channelled… you’ve said so yourself.”
“Whereas Nazarbayeva serves only the Motherland and the Party… without ambition…”
“Perhaps that’s her weakness, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin stood and took a final large drag on his cigarette.
“Weakness or not, she doesn’t play the political games
He made great play of crushing the ember out of the last vestiges of the cigarette and deposited the pieces in the full ashtray.
“Whereas you do. You see yourself as sat in my chair one day, Lavrentiy. Ambition can also be a bad thing if pursued too vigorously.”
The report from Olivia von Sandow was waiting on Beria’s desk when he returned.
Nazarbayeva was airborne less than two hours after her conversation with Stalin.
Given the information she had uncovered, she spent her time pondering the central issue.
Not the issue that they had possibly been discovered, or that the Allies were gearing up for conflict again…
…but the inescapable fact that not part but all of Raduga was still running, and that she was excluded from all parts of the operation. She had hoped that Kaganovich had been wrong, but clearly he was anything but.
Her aircraft landed at Vnukovo Airfield without her having arrived at an acceptable conclusion.
Finally, the powers that be had agreed to Bottomley’s pleas and sent an aircraft.
The Lysander was down in the corner of the grassy field, having skilfully landed on the modestly sized cleared area.
A small handling party were manoeuvring the dangerous barrel into a safe position inside the fuselage.
Bottomley had decided that Cookson should accompany the material, partially because the man was still suffering from his ordeal, and partially because he wanted someone to ride with the barrel and ensure its safety.
That Cookson would also be able to provide first-hand information was also a bonus.
The plane had brought in a replacement NCO, and he now stood next to the SAS officer, observing the slower than normal turnaround.
“Six minutes. Hope you boys are normally better at their jobs than that, Sir.”
Bottomley kept his mouth shut, his opinion of the new man already nose-diving.
At the end of the strip, the figures moved away from the little plane and the engine note rose, driving it down the greeny-white line and into the freezing night sky.
Bottomley nodded and saluted the hand waving from the observer’s seat.
‘Good luck, Cookie.’
On arrival at the Danish airfield, Cookson was met by a number of medical personnel equal to a number of imposing men of high rank, and a group of agitated civilians.
The medical personnel had his health in as their priority, whereas the latter two groups sought precise answers to pressing questions.
2357 hrs, Friday, 28th February 1947, Europe.
Group Captain Stagg had waited up to see what he had predicted come to pass, and it did, almost to the minute that February moved into March.
The cold night felt warmer, not greatly, but enough to detect for a man who was waiting for such a change.
“We were right. We were bloody well right.”
With only a statue of some well-endowed but unknown ancient female deity for company, it was a one-sided conversation.
“It’s going to thaw… and thaw quickly. We were right.”
He got no argument from his companion.
Stagg, often maligned when his predictions in the inexact field he had chosen went wrong, celebrated his success with closed eyes and a smile.
He patted the statue on the shoulder.
“Nice chatting with you, old girl.”
He returned to the weather centre as the reports of the weather change came rolling in.
Winter had come, and now it was going.
Which, Stagg conceded, was not necessarily a good thing.
Chapter 188 – THE RUMBLES
It is easier to lead men to combat, stirring up their passion, than to restrain them and direct them toward the patient labours of peace.
March 1947, Europe
As March moved slowly forward, the snows across Europe melted, and melted fast, and the Czech infighting increased in tempo.
The thaw brought its own problems as roads became impassable and rivers became so swollen as to carry away some of the temporary bridges that proliferated throughout the continent.
Army engineers from all contingents on both sides of No Man’s Land laboured to keep open roads, lay new airfields, and replace washed away rail tracks, all to keep the vittles of war flowing.
Refugees started moving again, less than before, many thousands having perished in the extreme cold, mainly from combinations of disease, exposure, and starvation.
The decomposing bodies presented yet another problem, and Army grave registration units found much work in towns, hamlets, and villages across the continent.
Military courts were kept busy, as men who had expected to go home on leave, or even be released from service, found themselves denied such privileges and rebelled against the decision.
Discipline became an issue that started to erode efficiency in some, but not all, units.
The Air Forces came close to violent confrontation on a number of occasions, particularly over the Baltic Sea and the Viennese enclave.
On land, there was one brief exchange between the Polish and Soviet forces near Lubawa, Poland.
The resultant seven dead and wounded forced angry exchanges over the table at Camp Vár, but the issue was swiftly resolved when the Polish commander on the ground admitted fault in a meeting with his Soviet counterpart, defusing tensions locally which eventually spread up the chain of command to the negotiators in the Swedish facility.