The Scarlet Generation

by Christopher Nicole

*

  “Do you really think that is so?” Jennie asked, clinging to her husband’s arm. “That Tatiana and Feodor could have survived?”

  “And Sophie?” Galina had come down to see if there was any news. “Her name was never mentioned, either.”

  “Josef certainly seems to think so.” Ivan looked at Joseph, who was also present.

  “I hope to God he’s right,” Joseph said. “But the name of this SS colonel the Germans are publicising as the man who destroyed the partisans, Holzbach...I knew someone with that name once.”

  “You knew a Nazi?” Jennie was appalled.

  “He wasn’t a Nazi then. They hadn’t been heard of. But he was a German, with a Russian mother. He and I fought together, briefly, for Denikin’s White Army against the Reds. That was in 1919.”

  “I am sure that is an episode in your life you will wish to forget,” Jennie said severely.

  Joseph grinned. “I’m afraid not, Sis. It happens to be the episode of my life in which I met Priscilla. I have no intention of forgetting that.”

  “And you really think this may be the same man?” Ivan wished to defuse the incipient quarrel.

  “Well, twenty-three years ago? Hardly likely. There has got to be more than one Holzbach in Germany.”

  “Don’t you know what happened to yours?”

  Joseph shook his head. “The last I saw of Holzbach was him riding off with Colin, to continue the fight.”

  “Colin survived. Up to a point,” Ivan remarked.

  Jennie flushed.

  “Yes,” Joseph said, thoughtfully. “In Paris. I suppose it is possible...In the present circumstances, I don’t think this fellow’s identity is relevant, Ivan. I think my people, and yours, need to be pulled out. They’ve done their bit.”

  “I understand how you feel, Joe,” Ivan said, sympathetically. “But there is no way they can be pulled out; they are several hundred miles behind the German lines. Even supposing they could be found; we have lost radio contact with them. No, they will have to sit it out until our armies reconquer that territory.”

  “And when do you think that will be?” Joseph demanded. “Before this coming winter?”

  “I’m afraid that will not be possible.”

  “And you expect them to survive the winter in that marsh?”

  “They survived last winter,” Jennie said.

  “God! What is Priscilla going to say? What’s the word on her arrival, anyway?”

  Ivan turned his hands out. “There is no word. But I am sure she is on her way. However, we must continue the fight. And in this regard, I have the most tremendous news, Joseph. Listen to what you and I are going to do.”

  The band played as the train pulled into the station. Alexander stood to attention and gave the Nazi salute, Pritwitz and Clausen to either side. Heydrich stepped from the train and touched his cap with his stick. “Welcome to Brest-Litovsk, Herr General,” Alexander said.

  “I can only spare an hour.” He led Alexander aside. “Berlin is disappointed in you, Holzbach, for not carrying out your mission with the degree of success we had anticipated.”

  “With respect, Herr General, what the Russians have called Group One has been liquidated. Those were my orders, and that is what I have accomplished.”

  “At the cost of one of our generals and a considerable additional loss of life. Also,” Heydrich added, “your claim to have succeeded in your mission would appear to be slightly exaggerated. Where is the woman Tatiana Gosykinya? The one they call the Red Maiden.”

  Alexander gesticulated. “Somewhere in that bog. Dead.”

  “You have seen her body?”

  “Had I seen her body, I would have had it hanged, dead or alive.”

  “Then you cannot be sure she is dead.”

  “Nothing has been seen or heard of her for the past three months.”

  “Nothing was seen or heard of her for most of last winter, until she suddenly erupted into your midst. It is her body we wish to see hanging from a balcony in Brest-Litovsk, Holzbach, not that of her underlings. Your mission is not yet completed.”

  Alexander swallowed. “And my promotion?”

  Heydrich gave one of his cold smiles. “As I have just said, your mission has not yet been completed. Your future is in your own hands. However, I should warn you that you will no longer be working directly under my aegis. I have been promoted, in a manner of speaking. I am to go to Prague, where there has been some subversive activity, which I have to stamp out. I can tell you that I shall succeed in my mission.”

  Alexander was not in the least interested in Heydrich’s mission. “Then who is to be my superior, Herr General?”

  “You are to come under the direct command of Reichsfuehrer Himmler.” Alexander gulped. He had only met Himmler once, and had not liked him. “The Reichsfuehrer is taking a personal interest in the settlement of the outstanding problems in Belorussia and the Ukraine,” Heydrich went on. “As you know, Holzbach, we have plans to resettle these areas with Germans, but that cannot be done until the population has been entirely pacified. The Reichsfuehrer wishes this accomplished as rapidly as possible. Now I must return to Berlin. There is one more thing. Tell me about your wife.”

  “I have had to send her home, Herr General. She happened to be in the Headquarters building, playing chess with General von Blasewitz, when the partisans attacked the town. The general was shot before her eyes. I’m afraid she became rather hysterical, and refused to be calmed.”

  “Yes. A pity. May I give you a word of advice, Holzbach? Divorce her. I do not think her behaviour is fitting in the wife of a man who may yet rise high in the Party.”

  Divorce her, Alexander thought. Yes, he wanted to do that. “But...what grounds do I have?”

  “I will tell my adjutant to contact you,” Heydrich said. “He has a file on your wife. He will be able to provide you with the necessary grounds.” He smiled. “Do not look so concerned, Holzbach...Buelow has a file on you as well!”

  *

  As it was high summer it was already growing light when the aircraft touched down at an airstrip some miles outside the city. It was a military strip, and as the windows were blacked out the two women had no idea what to expect. In the event, there was very little to see; merely a scattering of buildings and widely dispersed aircraft, and several craters in the various runways.

  “I’m glad I didn’t see those before we landed,” Sonia commented, as they were hurried across the tarmac, along with the other passengers, mainly military personnel.

  “I imagine the pilot knew they were there,” Priscilla said, pulling off her headscarf and shaking out her golden hair as they entered the very small Arrivals Hall. She had come equipped for a long stay, but she had been assured her heavy baggage was following by road and rail, travelling well to the east of the German positions outside Leningrad and north of Moscow. She wondered if she would ever see it again. But for the time being she was just happy to be here.

  “Priscilla? Gosh, you haven’t changed a bit.” Priscilla, who had been looking for Joseph, gazed at the big, handsome woman with the grey-streaked auburn hair. But you have, she thought. It was 20 years since last she had seen her cousin, who was at the same time her sister-in-law. Searching for Joseph during her last visit to Russia in 1935, Stalin had offered her a meeting; Jennie’s then husband, Andrei Gosykin, had just been condemned and shot for mass murder, and Stalin could not do too much for the visiting aristocrat — one of the men Gosykin was supposed to have murdered was Joseph Cromb. Priscilla had believed everything she had been told, something for which she had never forgiven herself, but she had not been able to bring herself to meet the widow of her husband’s murderer, no matter how closely they might be related. Now that was history and yet she could not prevent the stiffness which overtook her as Jennie came forward for an embrace. “And Aunt Sonia!” Jennie said.

  The two had also not met for nearly 20 years, since Trotsky had been degraded and banished from Moscow with his mistress.
“You are looking well,” Sonia said.

  “Welcome back!” Jennie embraced her in turn, watched by interested officials, as they had been speaking English. “I have a car,” Jennie said. “Is that all your stuff?”

  “All we were allowed to bring,” Priscilla said.

  They were led out to the chauffeur-driven limousine. By now it was broad daylight, and they looked at green fields and low hills. There was little evidence that a major conflict was raging only a few miles away. “You will hear the guns, as we get closer,” Jennie assured them.

  “Where is Joseph?” Priscilla asked, as they joined the road — hardly more than a track — outside the airport. “I’m afraid he is down in the south.”

  “You mean he’s not here? But I sent him a message from Archangel, that we had arrived.”

  “Did you? It never got here. But I’m afraid communications are a bit chaotic at the moment.”

  “But, then how did you know to meet the plane?”

  Jennie had been briefed; it did not bother her to lie to this woman, who she had never really liked. “The pilot called ahead on his radio.” She smiled. “Got me out of bed. But there is nothing to worry about. Joseph is on a tour of inspection, with my husband Ivan. It is part of his job, you know, seeing what we need in military aid, and — what I think the Americans consider more important — seeing how their materiel is being used. They will soon be back.”

  “But Alexei is in Moscow?” Priscilla asked, anxiously. “He wrote to tell me that.”

  “Ah...yes, he was here,” Jennie said. “But he has been transferred to another post, outside of the city.”

  “You mean I can’t see him, either?”

  “Not right this minute. I’m sorry.” Now they were close to the city and could see evidence of the German bombardments. And as Jennie had promised, through the open windows of the car they could hear what sounded like a continuous rumble of thunder coming from the west. “It is really a stalemate out there,” Jennie explained. “The Germans are making their main effort in the south.”

  “You said Joe was in the south. Do you mean he could be in danger?”

  “Good heavens, no! He is with my Ivan.” Jennie giggled. “Ivan never gets into danger.”

  Sonia gazed at the craters in the streets, the damaged buildings, some of them entirely collapsed. Nor were there many people to be seen. “Has the city been evacuated?” she asked.

  “Well, partly. All non-essential mouths have been sent east. But the majority of the population is still here. You will not see them, because they are all working.”

  “And what work do you do?” Priscilla asked.

  Jennie giggled again. “I am the wife of a senior Party Official.”

  She took them to the Metropole. This had sustained some bomb damage, but there were still flunkies to assist them out of the limousine and into the lobby. “Could be New York,” Priscilla remarked. “Well, not quite!”

  Two army officers saluted them as they went to the desk. Sonia stared at them in amazement. “They have epaulettes, and red tabs!”

  “They are colonels,” Jennie explained.

  “In the Great Civil War, whenever an officer was captured with epaulettes, Trotsky had his men nail them to their shoulders.”

  Jennie gave a little shudder. “Those days are history. Oh, I know that down to the German invasion officers wore no proper insignia, but now Uncle Joe wants everyone to have a pride in the army, and the uniform.” She gave one of her little giggles. “He has even allowed the churches to be re-opened, so that if they wish people can pray. It hasn’t been popular with some of the hardliners in the Party, of course, but they can’t do anything about it, and it is certainly popular with the soldiers and the people. Now...” she was busily signing forms. “We have put you in Joe’s room for the time being, Priscilla; we’ll move you to a double when he gets back. Sonia is just along the corridor.” She accompanied them upstairs with the porter. “I hope this is all right.”

  “It seems very comfortable.” Priscilla opened the wardrobe and looked at Joe’s clothes hanging there; the sight of them was reassuring.

  “I know you’ll want to bathe and change after your long journey,” Jennie said.

  “We were told that we should report our arrival to the Embassies,” Sonia said. “I am travelling on a Mexican passport.”

  “We’ll do that this afternoon. But first, Sonia, I would be very pleased if you would have lunch with me, at Aragvi.”

  “That would be very nice,” Sonia said, “but...” she looked at Priscilla.

  “Oh, Priscilla will be busy. She has been invited to lunch, with Uncle Joe.” Sonia’s mouth opened, and Jennie misinterpreted her expression. “I’m afraid the invitation is for Priscilla only,” she explained. “She and Uncle Joe are such old friends. But I am sure you will receive one, in due course.”

  Priscilla was actually very content that her first meeting with Stalin would be without Sonia; the situation was so terribly ambivalent. She had not expected to meet Stalin at all, except perhaps in passing, as it were, at an official reception. But to be invited to lunch on her first morning in Moscow...He had to know that she had learned the truth about him, that she knew he was a mass murderer on a scale even Hitler had not yet, to her knowledge, achieved. More importantly, she now knew how casually he had lied to her about Joseph. Equally, he would know that she had been the prime agent behind Joseph’s eventual rescue and return to the States, to write those damning articles, which, sadly, so few people seemed prepared to believe.

  But she was Priscilla Bolugayevska-Cromb. Was she going to fear an elderly dictator who had once been overwhelmed by her beauty? She had no doubt at all the real reason she was going to lunch in the Kremlin was that like all megalomaniacs, and even more those who manage to become dictators, Stalin envisaged that he could explain away anything he might in the past have done to her or about her. She would happily meet him on those grounds. But she was glad that Sonia would not be present. Even if she did not believe that her old friend would break her word, there was too much between Stalin and Trotsky’s mistress for them ever to have a civilised meeting.

  To her surprise they were to eat in his office, tete-a-tete. There was a secretary present, but she was hardly more than a part of the furniture: a table was set, for two. against the wall beneath the window. “Madame Cromb!” Stalin came round his desk to embrace her and kiss her on each cheek. “It is such a pleasure to welcome you back to Russia! Even at so difficult a time.”

  “It is actually a pleasure to be here, Monsieur Stalin.” But she could not resist adding, “Quite a lot has changed since last I was here.”

  “What else is life, but change?” Stalin asked.

  Champagne was served by a flunkey, and then the secretary bowed, and withdrew. “But you are winning your war,” Priscilla said, allowing herself to be guided to a chair.

  “With America’s help, certainly. When the United States is able to deploy its great power in Europe we will win it even quicker. But for the time being, we are indebted to men like your husband for his unstinting support.”

  He had given her an opening she could not resist. “A man you once condemned to a living death.”

  Stalin’s eyes narrowed for just an instant. Then he said, “Do you still hold that against me?”

  “Should I not? You lied to me.”

  “Those were difficult times. Shall we eat?” White-coated waiters were hurrying in with caviare followed by sucking pig. Russia might be hanging on by her bootstraps, but Stalin apparently had no intention of starving to death. “I should like you to forgive me, Priscilla,” he said. “You do not mind if I call you Priscilla? And you must call me Josef,” he went on, without waiting for her reply. He smiled. “It is a name I am sure you will find easy to remember. But of all people, I wish you to forgive me.”

  “I can’t imagine why that is important to you.”

  “Because you are important to me.”

  My God, she tho
ught, I am being flirted with by the head of the Soviet State. But she had her reputation for icy calmness under any circumstances to maintain. “Tell me why.”

  He made a gesture with his good hand. “This war will see many changes. It is already seeing many changes. One thing is certain, Soviet Russia will never be the same again. It might even be possible for you to consider it again as your home.” He refilled her glass.

  “My home in what way?” she asked, as casually as she could.

  “I am sure you would find much to occupy yourself. Look at your cousin Jennie.”

  “You would offer my husband employment? Do you think he could possibly accept anything from you?”

  She could tell he was growing angry; his ears were red. But he continued to disguise his emotions behind the urbanity of his huge moustache. “No doubt that is a question I shall have to put to Monsieur Cromb, in the course of time. Supposing, of course, he survives this war.”

  “I guess we are all in that position.”

  “He is perhaps more so than the rest of us,” Stalin said.

  Priscilla frowned. “Jennie says he is with Ivan.”

  “That is perfectly true.”

  “You mean you have sent my husband into a war zone.”

  “I have sent him where he wanted to go, Priscilla. I am sure he understood the risks. As I am sure your son understood the risks.”

  Priscilla caught her breath. “Where is Alexei?”

  “Your son is a Russian. A misguided one, perhaps, but nonetheless a sincere patriot. He volunteered for work with the partisans. He wished to serve with his cousin Tatiana. We were flattered. Tatiana is a Heroine of the Soviet Union. One of our great leaders.”

  “You sent my son behind the German lines?” Priscilla was speaking in a low tone.

  “As with your husband, I sent him where he wished to go. Sadly, there seems to have been some trouble in the Pripet. The Germans are claiming that Group One, that is the group under Tatiana’s command, has been wiped out.” Priscilla clasped both hands to her neck. “I consider this to be Nazi propaganda,” Stalin said. “But there can be no doubt that Group One, after bringing off a great coup, has suffered a heavy defeat. Some of its commanding officers were certainly captured, and executed. After having been tortured, of course.”