Fox at the Front (Fox on the Rhine)

by Douglas Niles

  He looked both ways before crossing the street. As he stepped off the curb, however, a large white delivery van sped around the corner and accelerated. “Look out, man!” a voice cried. Philby looked up at the van and tried to move.

  “Here, now; here, now; move along; nothing to see,” came the comforting voice of a policeman.

  “He’s alive, just a few broken bones; he should heal up pretty well.” There were hands touching him gently, but they still hurt. All of him hurt. He opened his eyes. The figures wore white. Ambulance workers. They were moving him onto a stretcher. “Be careful with him. Don’t want to move his back or neck until after X-rays.”

  He found himself trembling. “He’s going into shock. Get a blanket over him. Keep him warm. You’re going to be all right, sir. Don’t worry.” The accent was thick and somewhat furry.

  “Think there’s any internal bleeding?” one medical person asked another.

  “Can’t tell. Possible, but can’t be too serious or we’d see summat more going wrong with him here. They’ll deal with it over at hospital.”

  They were lifting the stretcher now, loading him in the ambulance. Every jostle, every slight movement was agony. He was alive, but he would not escape now. At least his message had been sent. He closed his eyes.

  “Mr. Philby?” The sound of his name made him open his eyes again.

  “Yes, Mr. Philby. We know who you are. Just wanted you to know we took the message out from behind the brick, and turned the little ring back around.” A man wearing hospital whites was filling a hypodermic needle. He looked nothing like a nurse or doctor. Philby’s eyes grew wide, questioning.

  “How did we know about that, you ask? Oh, we’ve been watching you for a very long time. We would have been happy to keep the game going, but you had to run off all in a hurry. Now, I’m afraid we can’t keep playing anymore.” He rolled up Philby’s sleeve, inserted the needle into the inner arm. “Now it’s sleepy sleepy, Mr. Philby. Game’s over. Point, set, match: England.”

  The pain began to ebb as the darkness grew.

  THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW, USSR, 1300 HOURS GMT

  Hartnell Stone had seen Josef Stalin be the warm and friendly Uncle Joe and an ice-cold Josef Vissarionovich. Now he was seeing a third Stalin—the Man of Steel, an eruption of molten fire. “No matter how many of these devil’s weapons you have, we will root you out, we will destroy you, we will bury you and every vestige of your corrupt, treacherous, capitalist system!” His fist pounded on his desk over and over, making papers and pens and baskets jump and scatter. Stalin was a strong man, massively built and physically powerful. When enraged, he was terrifying—Stone had never seen anything in his life that scared him as much as Stalin did at that very moment. He stole a sideways glance at Harriman, standing beside him. The American ambassador seemed unfazed by Stalin’s rage. Later, Stone would have to remember to ask if that was an act or if there was some secret he should learn.

  The news of the atomic bomb had started to arrive in the embassy late the previous night. The more that came in by teletype, the harder it was to believe the magnitude of the device. A Soviet Front headquarters, an army HQ, hundreds of guns, sizeable chunks of three tank divisions—gone in an instant. This weapon would change warfare as dramatically as the invention of gunpowder.

  “What have you got to say for yourselves? What lies do you bring us from the capitalist power brokers today?” There was visible sweat on Stalin’s forehead. His veins were showing; his face was red. There was always the suspicion that temper like this was a calculated act, and sometimes it was. This, however, seemed to be the real thing.

  “How can we work together to meet the legitimate needs of the Soviet Union along with the legitimate needs of the other parties?” asked the ambassador. “We are willing to help resolve your goals. We are not willing to surrender ours in the process. That is the same thing we have said from the beginning, ever since you withdrew from our alliance against the Nazis.”

  “We fought the Nazis longer and harder than anyone else! How dare you criticize our commitment to fighting the Nazis? No one has suffered more than the Soviet Union at the hands of the Nazi criminals. No one! It is you, Mr. Ambassador, who is seeking to protect the Jew-murdering Nazi scum from justice.”

  “The United States of America and its remaining alliance partners have pursued and have received unconditional surrender, not only from the Nazi government; but also from the provisional German Republican government that has temporarily taken charge until elections can be held. There will be demilitarization of Germany, there will be full investigation of all war crimes and crimes against humanity, with trials and punishments for those responsible. It is not too late for the Soviet Union to be a partner in that process, although not on the original terms that applied before your withdrawal.”

  “Partner? Partner? You talk to us of being a partner? This, after dropping the atomic bomb on our forces? What kind of capitalist double-talk is this?”

  “The siege of Berlin had turned into the battle of Berlin. The United States has made it clear for several months that it would not permit the Soviet Union to take Berlin by military force, and has repeatedly insisted that you withdraw behind the Oder River line. When it became clear that your objective was to take Berlin by force in spite of everything, we had no choice but to use the weapons at our disposal.”

  “It was the aggressive and provocative actions of your own people that started the battle.”

  “I do not believe that to be the fact. There is reason to believe that this battle began by a series of tragic accidents. As we both know, this is hardly unknown in wartime. But you had troops massed around a military objective, and once the situation began, your generals decided on the military goal to be pursued. Your artillery bombarded our troops in Potsdam for three days. That wasn’t an accident. More to the point, however: How it started is therefore of no ultimate consequence.”

  Standing next to Stalin, face carefully impassive, was Molotov, the foreign minister. Stalin looked at him, and then Molotov spoke. “Tell us of this Soviet-US partnership you propose.”

  “Thank you, Foreign Minister. The United States government fully recognizes that the Soviet Union has a vital interest in the process and decisions made regarding the fate of Germany following this war, in making sure that Germany does not further threaten the safety and security of its neighbors, in the economic redevelopment and reconstruction of areas devastated by war, and in general in the construction of international institutions to safeguard the peace and secure the future. Regardless of our differences, we believe it is important to the world that the Soviet Union be an active participant.”

  Stalin grunted. “Pretty words. Coming on the heels of the atomic bomb, what do they signify?”

  “As the Chinese say, ‘A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.’ Chairman Stalin, Foreign Minister Molotov, I offer no miracles and expect none in return. It seems to me that our choices are fairly clear right now. We go to war, or we attempt peace. The second option is not guaranteed to have a satisfactory outcome, but the first option is guaranteed to have an unsatisfactory outcome, is it not? The option of going to war is always with us, so we foreclose nothing. And as you in particular know, Chairman Stalin, President Roosevelt has a number of ideas for how to help the postwar world move beyond war to less violent methods of problem-solving among nations.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember. ‘United Nations.’ Bah. It will never work. Harriman, you are a liar and you work for liars. Your nation is embracing Nazis because you fear them less than you do Communists. You have a new superweapon and you plan to use it to expand global hegemony and economic domination. Nothing you say can be trusted. But we of the Soviet Union love peace, and love it with far more reason than you, for we have much more experience with the alternative. We will talk, and we will work alongside you. Although you have the atomic bomb, we have the future, for inevitably that future belongs to communism. Enjoy your little victory today
, for it will truly be fleeting.”

  Then, for the first time, Stalin turned toward Hartnell Stone. His eyes seemed to penetrate him. “Young man, I hope you have listened well. You are learning from a great liar in Ambassador Harriman, and a greater liar in President Roosevelt. You live in the heartland of capitalism itself, and to you it seems indestructible. It may well be that Harriman and Roosevelt and Molotov and I will all pass away before the day of the dictatorship of the proletariat truly dawns. But you, young man, will see the great change come upon the world. You will have a choice, to embrace Communism or end up on the ash heap of history. My advice, young man, is to study and think carefully.” He looked sharply at Harriman. “What do you think, Ambassador?”

  “I think that ‘study and think carefully’ is fine advice, Chairman. I concur.” Harriman smiled genially.

  Stalin’s face turned dour again. “Molotov will meet with you to work out details. Good-bye.”

  10 JULY 1945

  FROM THE TIMES OF LONDON, EARLY EDITION

  DEATH NOTICES

  PHILBY, Harold Adrian Russell. Deputy

  Section Chief, Secret Intelligence

  Service, in an automobile accident in

  London yesterday afternoon. Born

  1912, Ambala, India. Son of the influ-

  ential British explorer and Arabist Harry

  St. John Philby, adviser to King Ibn

  Sa’ud of Saudi Arabia. Educated at

  Westminster School and at Trinity

  College, Cambridge. Journalist, Spanish

  Civil War, London General Press.

  German correspondent, 1939, BEF war

  Correspondent, 1940, The Times. Joined

  SIS 1940. Survived by his father;

  divorced, no children.

  SHAEF, REIMS, FRANCE, 1202 HOURS GMT

  “The Soviets are going to back up to the Oder, Georgie. Uncle Joe is giving us everything we’re asking for.” The Supreme Commander sounded more relieved than triumphant, as he passed the news to the Third Army commander over the telephone.

  Patton drew a breath and let out a low whistle. “Damn, Ike. That was closer than I’d like to remember, but it was a gamble that came up all sevens! We kept the bastards out of Germany—most of it, anyway.”

  “Yeah, it looks like we did that. Of course, we’ll have to see if they go through with everything they’ve promised. I’m not holding my breath on that. But at least they’ve cleared the roads. Hodges and Simpson both have divisions on the way into Berlin. By tomorrow, you should have land connections with the rest of the expeditionary forces.”

  “So, General. What about these commie bastards? You know, that bomb really knocked them for a loop. I get the feeling that they’re kind of on the ropes. Maybe one or two more of those sonsabitches and we could break through their front line like—”

  “George!” snapped Eisenhower. “Stop it! We have an armistice. We have peace. Your army survived one hell of a tight pickle. Can’t you just take a deep breath, and enjoy it for a few days?”

  “Dammit Ike, you know how important timing is in this business. I tell you—hello? Ike?” General Patton couldn’t believe it.

  The Supreme Commander had hung up on him.

  12 JULY 1945

  THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW, USSR, 0600 HOURS GMT

  “Good morning, Nikolai Aleksandrovich,” Stalin said as his defense minister entered the chairman’s private conference room.

  “And good morning to you, Josef Vissarionovich,” replied Bulganin. “I have the new troop movement and dispersal information from Marshal Rokossovsky, who has taken over for both Zhukov and Konev for the time being. All the armies have begun movement back toward the new positions.”

  “Ah. Here. Let me clear space on this table. Now. Let us review them.” Stalin and Bulganin put down paperweights to keep the corners of the unrolled charts flat. “Exactly as I ordered. Good. Copies were furnished, per our agreement to the Western Allies?”

  “Suitably redacted, yes.”

  “Good. Now we make changes. Here … and here.” He marked off areas short of the Oder River demarcation. “I want these areas fortified with our troops. We will withdraw no further.”

  “Of course, Comrade Chairman. I will make the necessary changes. But, may I ask …”

  “Why? Of course, Nikolai Aleksandrovich. You see, Beria has informed me that our top man in the British intelligence service died in an automobile accident not long ago.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. A very valuable asset. A man of considerable intelligence and skill. Fortunately, he had recruited colleagues, so we are not left without our sources, but a man like Kim Philby cannot be so easily replaced. Philby, you see, discovered that the Allies had a total of twenty of these atomic bombs.”

  “Twenty! No wonder we had to withdraw.”

  “Indeed. We were in the position of savages, facing machine guns with bows and arrows. Of course, that will only be true until we have our own atomic weapons. Fortunately, we have deep cover agents inside the atomic bomb program in the United States, and so within a few years, we should have such weapons in our own arsenals. Those agents, however, had been held in secret cities in the American desert for several years, as were all those working in the American program.”

  “Very logical of them.”

  “Yes. Unusually so. Now that the secret is revealed, we have been able to contact some of our agents, but they have told us something strange—that to their knowledge, there cannot possibly be twenty bombs.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes, and Philby is mysteriously dead. It seems he left a restaurant hurriedly, and shortly thereafter, met his end.”

  “Oh. I begin to see.”

  “Perhaps we are savages with bows and arrows, but maybe all we are facing is an empty machine gun, comrade. What do you think?”

  “If we had only known for sure a few weeks ago …”

  “Ah, yes. Now, of course, Berlin has been reinforced, and total war is not necessarily the strategy to pursue right now. After all, even if the capitalists do not have twenty bombs, they might have two or three, and even that would not be so good for us. So that is why I don’t wish to withdraw as promised. We will sit on their side of the Oder and wait. If they drop another bomb on us, then we know they have more bombs. If they ignore our presence, or merely huff and puff, then that means they have no more bombs at present. This is worth learning either way, do you not agree, Nikolai Aleksandrovich?”

  “And we will eventually have this weapon?”

  “Oh, yes, that I can promise you. We will have it before too many years have passed. For now, it is time for peace. The communist movement will prosper in the years ahead, and when we have the bomb ourselves, we can at least show that we can inflict damage equal to what the capitalists threaten to inflict on us. And if necessary, we have demonstrated far greater ability to absorb punishment than they have.”

  Stalin smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “When we say that war is the continuation of diplomacy by other means, we normally think those other means are necessarily and always violent ones. That, however, is a narrow way of thinking. Violence has it uses, but it is not the only way to wage war. We Soviets know that fact intimately, because we know the power of our General Winter, who does not have a single soldier in his army.

  “We will be the peace-loving Soviet Union as far as unsubtle weapons are concerned, and we will wage war primarily through other means. Propaganda, of course. Economic warfare. Espionage and terrorism. Proxy warfare. Time—the capitalists tend toward impatience, for the stock market never waits. Political warfare. Subversion. Nonviolence—Gandhi in India is a most creative military commander who has developed a new form of warfare. If tanks and bombs and bayonets are necessary, we will use them, but we will not be limited. The struggle will be long and hard, but inevitably, we will win.”

  Bulganin laughed. “With you on our side, the capitalists don’t stand a chance!”

&n
bsp; PARIS, FRANCE, 1652 HOURS GMT

  Generally, a bureau chief of the Associated Press is not expected to cover the news personally. That is why he has reporters. Reporters get paid less. Unfortunately for Chuck Porter, he preferred the bureau chief’s salary but the reporter’s job. His excuse during his two prolonged absences from the Paris office was to plead “exigencies of war.”

  First, a routine visit to the Stavelot fuel depot had ended with his capture and presence at Rommel’s surrender—and the story got a Pulitzer. Second, going along on a parachute drop had gotten him trapped in the Siege of Berlin and made him an eyewitness to the dropping of the atomic bomb—and he was hoping for a second Pulitzer for that.

  New York was not amused. As penance, he had spent the Siege of Berlin setting up and running the AP Berlin Bureau, serving as acting bureau chief (with no extra pay) and as the entire news staff (with no extra pay). They had allowed him a single secretary, and that was it. More evidence, if any was needed, that you can’t spell “cheap” without “AP.”

  Well, here he was, home at last. Steve Denning, his senior editor, had been running the Paris Bureau in his absence. Now that the war in Europe was over, AP would be setting up shop in all the major capitals. Time to decide where he wanted to be—Paris, Berlin, maybe even Moscow—and probably time to settle back into his management responsibilities. The big stories, after all, were over.