“Preposterous… absolutely prepost…”
Stalin’s raised hand stopped Nikolai Voznesensky’s loud objection in its tracks.
“Let her finish, Nikolai!”
Tatiana waited for an appropriate moment and then continued.
“It’s our belief that the Allies are more concerned about what the submarine might have been carrying than the submarine itself.”
She looked directly at Admiral Isakov, who avoided her gaze, something that told her all she needed to know.
The men to her left already knew, something they had failed to share with her for reasons known best to themselves.
Bulganin, a member of the very inner circle and privy to all things Raduga, shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Voznesensky, on the outside of the inner circle, stayed silent and confused.
“We know for a fact that one of the British patrol vessels responsible is presently tied up in Holland and under quarantine. Lots of civilians, who we believe to be scientists, are going back and forth, and extremely tight military security is in place all around the whole area. According to Comrade General Kaganovich’s agent, the security faces both ways, which tells us that they’re concerned about what’s on board that vessel.”
Khrushchev, a recent appointee to the GKO, raised his hand to speak.
Stalin saw the gesture and, having brought him into the GKO as a trusted comrade and advisor, gave him his opportunity.
“Comrade?”
“Comrade General Secretary. I think that we must first establish if this was one of our submarines.”
‘Nicely done, Nikita… not that we don’t know of course.’
Stalin declined to ask Isakov outright, as they both knew that it was, but chose to continue the farce for the benefit of those members of the GKO who had been excluded from important decisions and for the naive woman.
“Comrade Nazarbayeva?”
She may not have been the sharpest politically, but Nazarbayeva understood that the simple of question would have been better put to Isakov, and she suddenly realised that she was stood in the middle of some grand game.
“Comrade General Secretary, our sources inform us that survivors wearing Soviet naval uniform were recovered, along with a number of bodies… similarly attired.”
Eyes turned to Isakov.
He knew his position was not under threat, but played the cornered fox to perfection.
“One of my submarines has been reported missing. This is common knowledge amongst this circle. It seems that it must have had a navigational problem and strayed into Allied waters, as its orders clearly prohibited coming within fifty nautical miles of the line that has been negotiated. My searches have been in its assigned patrol area, which was some considerable distance away from the Allied maritime exclusion line.”
Stalin moved in quickly.
“This we’ll discuss at greater length shortly, Comrade Admiral. Now, Comrade Nazarbayeva, what else?”
“If I may finish the submarine issue, Comrade General Secretary, there’s some suggestion that the submarine was in Allied waters for aggressive purposes, and was carrying some new weapons.”
“Thank you, Comrade. We’ll deal with the naval matters later. Now, move on please.”
Stalin clearly shut her down on the submarine matter, so she proceeded with the brief on the land situation.
“Tensions are extremely high because of this enhanced military level, particularly around Vienna and our military lines opposite the Germans and Poles. Air forces on both sides are being aggressive, up to the levels of the no-fly areas and, in some cases, broaching it in what we can only assume is deliberate provocations. I must state that this is true of pilots from both sides, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin again waved a commanding hand, this time directed at Nazarbayeva.
“Comrade Repin?”
Deputy Commander in Chief of the Red Air Force Colonel General Aleksandr Repin, present because his senior had taken ill the day before, shifted under the gaze.
“Comrade General Secretary. Only yesterday I issued further firm instructions on crossing the agreed lines. The reports I have seen state mainly navigational error and nothing more. However, fighter pilots will be fighter pilots.”
It was not the wisest answer, which most who heard it understood as he delivered it.
“Idiot! Fighter pilots who do not obey my fucking orders will be dead fighter pilots, Comrade General. There’ll be no more toleration of these errors. Make examples. No distinction. We cannot afford to go back to war! Do you understand?”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary.”
“Good, no repeats.”
Repin now safely settled in at the top of Stalin’s shit list, made himself as small as possible.
“Comrade Nazarbayeva… continue.”
“As yet there’ve been no clashes, but the situation is critical… apologies, Comrade General Secretary… in my opinion, the situation is critical. Our own forces have gone on the highest alert possible under your own instructions. We now have two huge armies poised for action and I truly believe that it’ll only take the smallest of matters to start the war all over again.”
Stalin suddenly realised that the woman had finished.
“Thank you, Comrade Nazarbayeva. So Comrades, how to defuse these new tensions? We’re not ready for any restart in hostilities, but if it does all blow up again we’ll make sure they regret starting it.”
“Withdraw further back to enlarge the zone between forces?”
Voznesensky vied for top place on Stalin’s list.
“Concede yet more ground, Comrade? Yet more ground?”
“No, Comrade General Secretary. We’re not yet at the limits of the withdrawal that we’ve agreed upon. We simply move back now and open the gap, removing the tensions. Surely that will also allay any fears they have about the submarine’s intent?”
“Fantastic. My own close comrades are now suggesting we give ground to the enemy ahead of schedule… sending what fucking message, eh?”
“Surely the defusing of tensions serves the Rodina, Comrade General Secretary?”
Stalin opened his mouth but decided to exercise a little more thought.
“Yes, you are right. Nikolai Alekseevich. It would, but we have delayed our withdrawals as much as possible for a good reason, a reason that also serves Mother Russia. We have bought time to repair our bridges and roads, and to ensure that the Red Army is provided with the materials for our safe defence.”
He stood and walked around the table to stand behind the Deputy Chairman of the Council of Ministers who also wore the hat of the Minister in charge of Soviet Economic Rejuvenation.
Voznesensky also jumped out of his skin as Stalin placed a hand on his shoulder, one that the man of steel intended to impart friendship, whereas the recipient viewed it as a harbinger of death, an instrument of selection that marked him for the executioner.
“Your idea is reasonable, Comrade…”
Stalin started walking again, each head swivelling in turn as he passed behind them.
“But these are not reasonable times we live in. We must find a more direct way to defuse this… a quicker way… one that guarantees success.”
There was a silence that had a special quality to it, as often the silences around the communist’s leader table chilled and mentally beat those present.
Malenkov dipped his toe in the cold waters.
“Comrade General Secretary… perhaps we could use Camp Vár?”
Stalin turned slowly, as if the idea had not occurred to him, rather than been part of the dance previously orchestrated.
“Yes… I see your idea.”
Khrushchev, who was supposed to have presented the idea but had been unseated by Malenkov’s swifter than expected recovery, quickly took up the baton.