The Red White & Blue

by Harry Kellogg III

  Cairncross knew that the other four members of The Cambridge Five were also homosexuals. Their Soviet handlers didn't seem to mind that fact, so it made sense they might overlook Turing’s choices as well. He certainly hoped this was the case, because Alan Turing was a goldmine.

  The initial step was finding a policeman who could be persuaded to investigate Turing. Cairncross understood you have to do some investigating yourself to find the most likely candidate and somehow convince him to search the poor fellow’s apartment. You could easily plant some incriminating evidence to make the whole process go faster.

  In talking with Alan, Cairncross determined that he was not political or a staunch nationalist. All he cared about was solving puzzles. His calculating machine would be the ultimate puzzle that would solve other ultimate puzzles. He doubted very much that Alan could resist the challenge. The choice was simple, jail and humiliation, or a lifetime of solving puzzles.

  Cairncross was fairly confident Turing would make a decision that was favorable to the Communist cause. Alan Turing was the key to a communist victory. Now, all Cairncross had to do was to make Alan's past determine his future.

  The Extraordinary Gypsies

  Nebe was a product of war. It was all he knew for the last eight years. He lived in Sudetenland and had been under occupation by one enemy or another for eight of his sixteen years. He knew nothing else, but being ordered to do work here, or take your belongings and move here. All, seemingly at random.

  He and his companions were Lalleri Gypsies and were considered by to be different than the Roma and other ethnic groups that the Nazis rounded up and exterminated by the millions. In some people’s minds, Lalleri’s difference was good, and in others, it was bad.

  For almost unexplainable reasons, the Nazis had let them roam almost freely throughout the war. Himmler exempted two tribes in 1942, and his was one. It seemed that Himmler considered them good gypsies, who had Germanic traditions and would spread those traditions throughout the areas they traveled to. As long as they didn’t intermarry, they were left alone. But, due to jealousy, and scarcity of food and shelter, the Lalleri stayed very mobile and moved quite often. [7]

  Their special status did not mean that they were totally left alone. They were the first to be commandeered for this or that public works project. Also, they were forced to work in all manner of factories during the war years, which ironically made them very valuable and talented. Their reputation and skills had gone so far as to reach the Soviet Union. At the end of the last war a detachment of NKVD troops had sought them out on orders of a mysterious man everyone called Sergo. Under Sergo’s orders, they were shipped by rail to St. Georgen in Austria that held the Bergkristall underground factory and concentration camp.[8]

  Everyone in his group thought the end was near. Two men from his group, of over a thousand, tried to flee and then fight back. They were not killed, however. They were just caught, punished, and put back in the group. It was understood that if they tried again, they would be killed.

  When the group arrived at Bergkristall, they were met by a huge man everyone just called Georgie. Once Georgie looked at you, you did not attempt to run or cause trouble again. He didn’t even have to say anything. You knew from his gaze what would happen if you tried again. Bergkristall was where the Germans assembled the first combat jet, the Me 262.

  At the end of World War Two, the Americans reached Bergkristall first, and looted all they could before the Soviets took over by a negotiated agreement after two weeks. Bergkristall was in the Soviets’ new territory as was Peenemunde, and most of the other secret Nazi weapons development sites. It turns out the Americans did not find the most important part of the complex. It was where Nebe had been sent to work along with his relatives and other tribe members.

  The Lalleri Gypsies were to become the most valuable factory workers in the Soviet Union. Sergo knew this from his tests that everyone had to take. This group had scored off the charts in various and very valuable skill sets. Their spatial skills were like something no one had ever seen. To a person they had solved incredibly hard third dimensional puzzles that Sergo had designed himself. And, they had all solved them with ease.

  In a world of brute strength and back breaking physical labor, these people were almost useless. In a world of science, they were worth their weight in gold. Sergo understood the extraordinary value of their skills and talents. His plan was to match them up with Alan Turing.

  Hervé’s Education

  He was so bored he thought he was going to jump out the window. Luckily it was closed. His “teacher” was more like a professional circus performer past his peak. He strutted around extolling the virtues of Stalin, the Soviet system, and Communism for hours on end. His performance was always the same, as if repetition would make it better but it didn’t.

  Hervé was being groomed for a high level position in the new French Communist Government once he graduated, but that was two long…long years in the future. Now, he had to memorize saying after Marxist saying and repeat them endlessly, so that they became second nature. Many of the bits of propaganda were so preposterous that it was very hard not to laugh even thinking about them much less perform them. He dreaded repeating the lines in front of the class, or god forbid the whole school on May Day, or some other ridiculous holiday. Oh merde, he thought about God and even used his name in a thought. He was back-sliding into the past.

  His father was a committed Communist and a Marxist scholar. Father had joined the Resistance because of his beliefs. He was overjoyed when the Soviets had come to replace Capitalism with the only true governing system that would let the common man live, truly live without the oppression of the controlling elite.

  Hervé tried to avoid the clichés even when he was thinking. Words like proletariat, bourgeoisie, Worker’s Paradise just seemed to fall flat and had no essence of what Communism was all about. He was a dedicated Marxist himself just not one who accepted the rhetoric of the current generation. Hervé’s generation would need more compelling rhetoric and not the repeated clichés his instructor was expounding upon now.

  Oh merde, it was his turn to recite, and then repeat the cliché response to the quote! He stood up and pried from somewhere deep in his memory…

  “Anyone who knows anything of history knows that great social changes are impossible without feminine upheaval. Social progress can be measured exactly by the social position of the fair sex, the ugly ones included...Karl Marx.”

  Oh, how he hated this quote and its response. His joy of joys, the love of his life, was considered by most to be ugly. Betty was so beautiful his heart ached thinking about her. But, to the society at large she was horrid. Her ample breasts, slightly protruding teeth, large lips, and those eyes that he could look into forever were most alluring to him. Others saw something quite different.

  Except for her breasts, Betty was very thin and her legs were so out of fashion as to be jeered at by many. To him, her legs were divine. They were muscular with the calves almost as wide as the thighs and slightly protruding knees. He could look at them and her walking for hours. Her stomach was amazing with the six muscles that were below the rib cage fairly well defined. He had only seen these muscles on a few occasions when they had snuck away and explored each other’s bodies. She had very un-lady like shoulders that were also quite muscular. He adored them and her very long and shapely arms. But, the defining fact was that she was from Haiti and considered colored. In fact what he loved the most about her was her skin. Skin so black, you could see stars if you looked close enough. Interesting enough her hair was naturally straight and soft. Probably some slave owner raped one of her ancestors, but he preferred not to think about that.

  Hervé especially liked Stalin’s version of Communism because he preached racial equality. Not many practiced it, but it kept others from attacking him and Betty when they were in public. Oh, it still happened in private when no one else could hear. Nègre was uttered under the breath of many a good Commu
nist student when they thought they could get away with it. It hurt. It hurt both of them a lot. But, they had each other and a society that overtly condoned their love for each other, and it was love.

  They had actually had many chances to make love, but had decided to wait until they were more mature. They really wanted to do what their bodies wanted. Nevertheless, their heads and hearts stopped them from consummating their physical desires for each other. His parents loved Betty and her family. The two groups had raucous dinners together. In fact that is how they had met, through their parents. His parents were French to the core and that was just fine with him.

  Betty and Hervé were very excited about the coming summer. The Young Pioneers program had been imported to France from the Soviet Union. Technically they were part of the Soviet Union now, but everyone knew what was meant when that term was used. The program had proved wildly popular. So much so that sons and daughters of staunch Capitalist parents were sneaking out to meetings, to the Centers for comradeship, and all that the program had to offer. The Soviet troops were building meeting halls all over France and Germany and the youth were responding. The parents were having fits, but the authorities were on the side of the youth. Those in charge even went so far as to make the clubs mandatory in areas where attendance was low. From what Hervé had seen in his area, it was very popular.

  Betty and he were going to be camp counselors this summer. First they would have to help build the camp, and then they would be on the staff. A beautiful area near their hometown had been acquired, much to the chagrin of a formerly rich family. The property had beautiful woods and a large lake. There was plenty of acreage for the camp to grow and offer a good variety of programs. It would be a summer made in heaven as far as Hervé was concerned. If he was a counselor, no one could whisper Nègre at Betty without repercussions of some sort. Repercussions he was happy to mete out. The camp gave them a chance to truly be alone.

  Excitement was in the air tonight. The famous movie “Circus” was being shown at the Pioneer Center. [9] It had French subtitles and was about a white American woman who almost gets killed in a small town when she gives birth to a half Negro baby. It is supposed to be very well done and is a heart-wrenching story about the racial problems in America. He was going to proudly hold Betty’s hand and sit next to her. Maybe, he would even put his arm around her. He would have to see what she had to say about that though.

  For now, he had to recite the entire justification memory the communist cliché he had just read. The recitation was really very boring even as he was doing the exercise and all eyes were on him. Normally he enjoyed the spotlight, but this was so mind numbing. As he slogged through it, he knew he was going to get good marks. The instructor was smiling away with each rote phrase come from somewhere in his young brain to the fore and translated into sounds others could understand. Some of the audience would never fully understand the meaning but they would understand each word.

  Hervé was so good at memorizing and regurgitating meaningless phrases that his mind started to wander. He glanced at Betty who was sitting very properly but with a quite mischievous and exciting look on her beautiful face. Her outward show caused uncontrollable physiological change in his teenage body that he did not want to happen as he was standing in front of the class. She knew exactly what she was doing and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

  Thank goodness the time to change classes arrived before his urges became totally obvious to all his classmates. He was able to make it to his seat before being discovered by all but Betty. He waited for everyone to leave the class and pretended to rearrange his books on his lap. Just as he got up to leave, Betty who had also been waiting for her turn to speak to him did the worst …or best thing he had ever experienced.

  She made sure they were alone and reached over and gently brushed her hand over his crotch. He thought he was going to die but was in heaven. Then she bounced everything she had and walked out of the room to leave him alone in his agony. Oh she would pay he thought she would be so frustrated when he got done with her. He could hardly wait for tonight and this of course did not do his condition any good.

  Chapter Six:

  Death

  Figure 14 - Serbian officer on the grave of his son

  The Skinny

  1 December 1946

  0724 hrs

  US Army Headquarters

  Mediterranean Theater of Operations

  Cairo, Egypt

  General Patrick said “Give me the skinny, Frank.”

  “Yes, sir. The Soviets have crossed the Turkish Straights and have moved through Istanbul. They are now on a line extending from Izmit to Ferizli, where they are meeting some renewed resistance. Also, they have crossed the Bosporus and are moving on Balikesir from two directions. They should be there around the 15th. The Turkish forces are putting up a good fight and showing some real skill. But, they lack the equipment and supplies to stop the Soviets.”

  “So, all in all, it’s looking like the Turks are right on schedule and things are going well.”

  “That about sums it up, Sir, from our standpoint, although I doubt the Turks would agree.”

  “Yes…I fear this will go down with the killings of the Armenians, if historians ever find out how we did not support the Turks properly and basically let the Soviets overrun them. The critics would never understand that it was part of a greater plan to draw the Reds away from their homeland and supplies, and use up more and more fuel. It will be very hard to tell families that have seen their women raped, their homes destroyed and family members killed that they were sacrificed to win the war.”

  “I certainly would not like to be sitting next to a Turk wearing a knife when and if, they ever find out what we have done. The only saving grace will be that the Soviets should be there only a short time, and if all goes according to plan annihilated soon enough. But first the pain, before we close the trap. The Turks are the bait, or I should say the air force bases are the bait. Even the Air Force does not know that they are being use to lure in the Reds. The fly boys will be pissed as well when they find that out. Those missions never stood a chance of being completed once the Soviets had setup properly. The historians just won’t understand and don’t realize that the manned bomber is not the answer anymore.”

  “It does seem like a rotten thing to do, sir, but if it is key to winning this war against the godless communists then he will understand.”

  “Who will understand?”

  “Why the Lord, sir!”

  “Oh yeah … the lord.”

  “Shall we drop on one knee and pray for those poor families, sir?”

  “No, they aren’t Christian, Frank. So, praying would do no good.”

  On to more practical matters Frank. Have we heard from more of the Advisor Teams? It has been three weeks now.”

  “Team Four made it to the French lines in Syria. There is strong evidence that they had been moving towards the border since the day they got off the plane in Ankara. They apparently never had any intention of completing their mission, but that will all be sorted out when they report to US authorities. I recommend they be charged with desertion.”

  The rumors are that the day they visited the frontlines near…ah…Frank reaches for some papers and finally comes up with one and has to put on some glasses to read. “Canakkale … that’s the place. They were supposed to meet with their Turkish liaison and get to work but they never showed up according to the Turks. Then, we got periodic reports of them moving towards Syria. I mean I know these guys were fuck ups, but to not even report is absurd and a clear violation of...”

  “Can it, Frank. There will be no charges brought and no investigation. Can you imagine what would be revealed if a court martial was convened? I can see the headlines now. ‘US Army orders US soldiers on a suicide mission and then arrests them when they survive’. Don’t get me wrong, Frank, I know as well as you do that these guys were real screw-ups…all 270 them but they are US Army and American citizens.”


  The General continues, “We know they were sent there to show our support for the Turkish military and that we were going to great lengths to support them in their upcoming battle with the Soviet Union etc., at least officially. But, you and I know that they were really sent to appease the Turks when we didn’t give them jack squat in real support. We grabbed a bunch of fuck-ups as you aptly described them, and sent them off to show the flag and probably get killed. How do you think that will play in the press?”

  “But, Sir, you know as well as I do that the press will write and print whatever we ask.”

  “I don’t know about this operation, Frank. This one might just come back to bite us in the ass. Now, I want you to do all you can to rescue those brave American fighting boys and get them home to their mothers. IS THAT CLEAR? Frank?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “All right, then. Now, on to the rest of the teams. Have we heard from anymore?”

  “Surprisingly we have, Team Six has regularly reported in and are fully integrated with their Turkish units. The men are actually doing quite well according to their CO.”

  “Isn’t that the Team we sent all the way to butt-fuck Armenia?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “And, their doing OK and obviously surviving… hummm. Get me that Cranston guy.”

  “You mean the one poking around from the War Information Board. They’re a bunch of hacks, Sir.”

  “Yeah, but they’re our hacks and he may be able to get me in touch with someone like that Cronkite guy.”

  “With all due respect sir, you’re shooting kind of high aren’t you, sir? Cronkite is a pretty big deal.”