Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6)

by Colin Gee

  The two men were old friends so Trubnikov, recently sent from 3rd Red Banner to command 2nd Red Banner, welcomed the interruption to the medical examination the headquarters doctor was undertaking.

  “Enough for now, Comrade. I’m fit as a borzoi.”

  “Not so, Comrade Leytenant General. Your blood pressure is raised, so avoid stressful activities. Plus, there’s some noises on your chest, so no smoking.”

  In open defiance, Trubnikov made a great play of lighting a cigarette, and grinned at the doctor as he picked up the telephone.

  “Trubnikov.”

  His grin widened as he recognised the voice of his friend, although warning sounds coursed through his brain as he also detected something more sinister in the man’s voice.

  “Pavel Alekseevich, how…”

  Had the doctor been measuring Trubnikov’s blood pressure as the commander of Second Red Banner listened to the report, he would have had a fit.

  “What? We’ve done fucking WHAT?”

  Across Europe, telephones rang and incredulous ears received the news of the Soviet gas attack.

  As more and more details were confirmed, anger and disbelief grew hand in hand.

  The heads of the Alliance were all informed, and there was a general universal call for a reply in kind but not, as some had expected, or even hoped, for the use of atomic weapons.

  In Moscow, Stalin’s reaction was measured by the number of arrest orders he issued.

  NKVD officers went forth and worked their way through the 98th Guards Mortar Regiment, all the way to the commander of Sixth Army, who blew his own brains out before the arrest squad could do it for him.

  Interrogations were swift and brutal, and the Sixth Army lost many of its finest officers for no other reason than a lack of knowledge that Tabun weapons were even present within their unit.

  The reasons that had ensured no chemical exchanges in the German War were still sound: more so in many ways.

  Stalin talked urgently with Molotov in Sweden, passed on the incredible news, and gave his instructions on how to proceed once the full situation was understood by the Allied politicians.

  Zhukov dispatched his two colonels, Ferovan and Atalin, armed with a defined brief to investigate the incident in a different way, and he also ensured that every supply depot was swept for any more such weapons.

  Just to make sure, Stalin had Beria do the same.

  On the Allied side of the line, lights burned well into the night, on both sides of the Atlantic.

  The words were ones of horror and incredulity…

  … of retribution…

  … of revenge…

  … and of The Bomb.

  Meanwhile, word spread around the globe.

  1857 hrs, Wednesday, 14th August 1946, 733 15th St NW, Washington DC, USA.

  Careful not to risk her recently applied nail polish, she lifted the phone to her ear.

  “Oh-three-oh-six.”

  “Hi honey.”

  “Hello Humphrey, I’m nearly ready. Shall I com…”

  “Sorry honey, I can’t make it. Things have taken off here in the office. There’s an emergency meeting of the committee in half an hour.”

  “Aww Humphrey. I bought that red dress I was talking about too.”

  In truth, Olivia von Sandow was not disappointed, as her liaison with the Senator from Illinois had not proved as fruitful as her masters had expected, and the sex was simply lousy.

  All that changed in one simple statement.

  “So sorry, honey, but it’s big, really big. The lousy commies’ve used some sort of chemical and killed hundreds of our boys, and a lot of civilians in Germany. Between you and me, I guess the bomb’ll be back on the table, and I doubt anyone’ll try hard to stop it being used.”

  “Oh no, that’s horrible, Humphrey.”

  “We have all sorts of chemical stuff too, stuff we had set aside for use on the nips. You can betcha that’ll be on the table. The Brits are hopping mad too, and they’re on board with whatever we decide, so there’s no checks from that angle. The whole thing just went to hell in a handcart, Olivia.”

  She heard his final words and made appropriate noises, and returned the phone to the cradle when she realised that Senator Humphrey Randall Forbes, member of the Armed Services Committee, had rung off.

  She quickly decided that this was just the sort of emergency that the rapid contact system was established for, and picked up the phone again and obtained a connection.

  “Occidental Grill, good evening.”

  “Good evening, I would like to book a table for two tomorrow evening at eight in the name of von Sandow, and I would like to make sure that you set aside a bottle of the 1935 Latour Pauillac for me please.”

  “One moment please… yes, we have a table, and that is reserved for you. Would you like to hold whilst I speak to the sommelier, Madame?”

  “No, no need. I have an appointment at the Tabard for seven-thirty… just make sure he sets one by please. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Madame. We shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow at eight.”

  The phone connection had already been broken and Olivia von Sandow, happy she had set up a dead drop with her Soviet master, was making a new call.

  “Klaus, it’s Olivia. My date has cancelled this evening and I wondered if you would like to take his place. There’s a reservation for seven-thirty at the Tabard. You know it?”

  To make sure her superior understood, she gave him the urgent code.

  “I believe they have some fresh lobster just in.”

  The meeting was set, and within the hour the head of the German Intelligence Service in the USA was aware that the American government, supported by its staunchest ally, was considering responding with the bomb, or their own hitherto unsuspected stocks of chemical weapons.

  Which was not wholly accurate, for Senator Humphrey Randall Forbes did not speak for the White House.

  Having powdered her nose, Olivia returned to her seat, confident that the message she had secreted in the cistern of the third stall would soon ensure that her Soviet masters also had the details that Forbes had so willingly surrendered.

  2303 hrs, Wednesday, 14th August 1946, Vinogradar Young Communists Sailing Club, Black Sea, USSR.

  “Well, Comrade Kalinin, your report?”

  The Admiral was so keen to know that he overlooked returning Captain Second Rank Mikhail Stepanovich Kalinin’s crisp salute.

  Admiral Oktyabrskiy grasped Kalinin’s shoulder in a show of emotion.

  “Spit it out, Mikhail.”

  “I have signed off on vessel fifty-one, Comrade Admiral. The Chief Engineer assures me that fifty-four will be ready for my inspection as of tomorrow at 1500. I anticipate, if all goes well, that I will sign her off on Monday at the latest.”

  Oktyabrskiy clapped his hands in joy, for reasons that were not apparent to Kalinin, who had no idea of the nature and tone of the phone call that the Black Sea Fleet commander had just endured.

  “Forget fifty-four, Comrade. You are ordered to commence sea trials.”

  “When, Comrade Admiral?”

  “Your crew have done their training. I’ve seen your efficiency reports…”

  “On the mock-up only, Comrade Admiral. I would require…”

  “You have the weekend only, Kalinin. You are ordered to undertake whatever sea trials you dictate to bring fifty-one to readiness and make her operational. Is that clear?”

  “Sir… Admiral… this is a magnificent submarine… but if I go to sea in it without a properly trained crew… and I mean not one trained on mock ups… but with water under and over them… I cannot…”

  “You will do it, Comrade Kapitan. I have received a direct order, and I pass it on to you. You will take fifty-one to sea at 0900, Monday morning and conduct trails to bring her to a state fit for the Motherland’s use… for use as soon as is possible.”

  Kalinin looked hard at the Admiral, and then at the sleek form of fifty-one, a
nd then back, his face set in resolution.

  “Comrade Admiral, you know… you have to know… this is madness…”

  “It is an order, Comrade Kapitan.”

  “It’s fucking lunacy, that’s what it is, Comrade Admiral, fuc...”

  Again, Oktyabrskiy grasped the junior man’s shoulder, this time in warning, more than friendship.

  “Shut up, you fool, shut up.”

  The furtive glances that the Admiral shot in all directions told Kalinin all he needed to know about where the order had come from.

  “You will do your duty, Comrade Kapitan. You will take her to sea and perform whatever sea trials…,” Oktyabrskiy lowered his voice but increased the weight of delivery in such a way that Kalinin got the message loud and clear, “…that you dictate… before making her operational. Do you understand, Mikhail?”

  “Yes, Comrade Admiral.”

  “Good.”

  He released his hold on the submarine commander’s shoulder, and his posture became more relaxed.

  “I have other news… good news… Comrade Kapitan. Your vessel will be J-51 of the Soviet Naval Submarine force, and will have a name, especially chosen for her by our glorious General Secretary.”

  Kalinin noted the J-51 with approval, as he and his crew had started calling the Type XXI ‘Jana’, after the young NKVD officer who had been killed when a crane dropped part of the submarine on her.

  Oktyabrskiy motioned to a group of four waiting sailors, who struggled forward something, clearly heavy, concealed under a canvas.

  “Come, Mikhail.”

  They descended from the gantry onto the dockside.

  The Admiral waved his hands and the sailors dragged the cover away, revealing a nameplate.

  Kalinin read the two words.

  ‘Sovetskaya Initsiativa.’

  “What do you think, eh, Comrade Kapitan? A fine name, eh?”

  “Yes, indeed, Comrade Admiral. One worthy of her purpose.”

  “Have one of your officers oversee its installation before the official launch ceremony, Mikhail

  With a hearty slap on the back and a soft-spoken reminder of his orders, Admiral Oktyabrskiy went on his way.

  Watching him depart, Kalinin resolved to call her ‘Jana’, as ‘Soviet Initiative’ was far too much of a mouthful.

  All you have to do is hold your first soldier who is dying in your arms, and have that terribly futile feeling that I can't do anything about it... Then you understand the horror of war.

  Norman Schwarzkopf

  Chapter 170 - THE RESPONSE

  1000 hrs, Thursday 15th August 1946, Camp Vár conference facility, Lungsnäs, Sweden.

  The atmosphere in the bespoke meeting room was little short of openly hostile, the encouraging air of détente and cooperation washed away by the events in Hofbieber the previous day.

  Undén called the meeting to order and, as he had agreed, despite the pleading from Minister Molotov, gave the floor to the Allied delegation.

  “Thank you, Chairman Undén.”

  Eyes turned away from US Secretary of State James Byrnes towards the man who unexpectedly rose in his stead.

  Ernest Bevin, Foreign Secretary in Churchill’s coalition government, was to deliver the Allied response.

  “Chairmen Undén, fellow delegates, it with a heavy heart, and with incredulity, that I must report a change to the war situation that has now been confirmed since we last convened.”

  His West Country accent was difficult for the translators to fully understand, so he spoke slowly, and as precisely as he could.

  “At roughly one pm yesterday, in and around the German villages of Hofbieber and Allmus, the armed forces of the Soviet Union employed a deadly weapon against soldiers of the Allied Armies, one employed in direct contravention of the 1925 Geneva protocol for the prohibition of the use of Asphyxiating, Poisonous, or Other Gases, and of Bacteriological Methods of Warfare, which came into effect on the 8th February 1928, and to which the government of the gentleman opposite is a signatory.”

  He took a sip on his water as the translators caught up.

  “Chairman Undén, the Allied Alliance has entered into these discussions in good faith, accepting the generous offer of the Swedish Government to come here and meet with our enemies, to find common ground, and to attempt to establish some means of ending the conflict and returning the world to the peace it so richly deserves… and desperately needs.”

  Molotov was white, not through fury, but through his embarrassment and his shock at the events being described, even though he had been told the previous evening.

  The phone call, from no less than the General Secretary, had been very much one-way, and he was left in no doubt as to what he needed to do when the strangely accented Englishman had stopped prattling on.

  “Chairman Undén, these proceedings will be terminated with immediate effect whilst we consider our position, a position that includes a response with any and every means available to the Allied Alliance, including the use of our Atomic weapons.”

  The entire Allied negotiating team rose as one, intent on departing, but Minister Undén responded loudly.

  “Gentlemen, please! Remain seated for a few moments longer, please.”

  He gestured them to sit, and they did, their theatrical attempt to leave wholly staged for dramatic effect, as they were well aware that Molotov had pleaded with the Swede for first statement, and had no intention of leaving before hearing his words.

  “At your request, we will stay, Chairman.”

  Undén bowed his head graciously in acknowledgement.

  It was all theatre, all the dance of brinkmanship and diplomacy, although it didn’t sit well with Byrnes, who was all for a ‘pistols at dawn’ approach.

  “Minister Molotov has asked to make a statement on behalf of his government.”

  The rumbles from the allied side of the table were unusually pronounced, and a number of choice words fell upon Molotov’s ears as he rose.

  “Chairman Undén, fellow delegates, I stand before you at this grave hour, charged to deliver the most sincere and contrite apologies of the people and leadership of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, in specific regard to the highly regrettable incident outlined by Secretary Bevan.”

  Surprise swept through the Allied negotiating team like an out of control brush fire.

  “I can confirm the following circumstances exist regarding the unauthorised and criminal use of a German-manufactured chemical agent on the battlefield around Hofbieber yesterday.”

  Johann Ludwig Graf Schwerin von Krosigk, the German Foreign Minister bristled at the deliberate negative mention of his country.

  “One of our rocket artillery regiments was supplied with some experimental ammunition that had been filled with a noxious substance captured from the Nazis during our victorious advance through Czechoslovakian Silesia in February 1945.”

  Some of the Allied contingent made notes, whilst others looked for signs of insincerity on the face of the Soviet Foreign Minister.

  Curiously, there were none.

  “It appears, from our initial investigations, that a number of Red Army officers acted without orders, in secret, and in knowing contravention of the Geneva protocols to which we were, and still are, willing signatories.”

  That was a huge signal, and it wasn’t wasted on a single person present.

  “Arrests have been made, from the commander of the Army within whose boundaries this appalling incident took place, down to those who perpetrated the attack. I can confirm that the NKVD officer, a colonel, who seems to have been responsible for delivering the shells to the frontline unit, is amongst those who has been executed on the personal order of the General Secretary, Comrade Stalin.”

  Molotov knew the man was already dead by a different mechanism, but he had specific orders.

  He produced a handkerchief and ran it quickly across his brow as the combination of an unusually warm Swedish summer and the number of bodies crammed i
nto the meeting hall, heated the room up beyond a comfortable level.

  Undén made a note to have some fans brought as soon as the meeting broke up.

  “The International Red Cross have been invited to participate in our investigations and, short of revealing military information, will, with our agreement, furnish the Allied nations with a full copy of their findings. We similarly agree that the Allied nations may select two persons from a non-aligned and neutral nation to join the investigations.”

  Pens scribbled noisily as Molotov’s words were faithfully transferred to paper for later examination.

  “By these demonstrations of our good faith, the Soviet Union hopes to demonstrate that there were no orders… no intent… no wish to operate outside the 1925 Geneva Protocols, and that the incident of yesterday was an aberration beyond its control.”

  Molotov studied his notes to make sure he got the wording absolutely as he had been directed.

  “Once again, Comrade General Secretary Stalin wishes me to pass on the full and total apologies of the Soviet Union for the unprovoked use of chemical weapons by rogue elements of the Red Army, and also the wish that further use can be avoided, either by way of retaliation, or escalation... by any means available to either side.”

  The meaning of that was very clear to all listening.

  “We have come to these proceedings at the request of the Government of our friend, Sweden, in good faith, and with open minds, and have no intent of initiating any unusual act of war, and we hope that our sincerity in that will be appreciated by our opponents, and that further action, of a nature that expands the type of weapons employed, can be avoided.”

  “Whilst we reserve the right to carry out full military activities, as already decided by all parties in this conference, the Soviet Union makes the categorical assurance that there will be no further use of any weapon cited within the 1925 Geneva Protocols.”

  Molotov sought and made direct eye contact with his American counterpart.