The Free World War

by Matthew William Frend

  Eya smiled warmly at him, appreciating how they could talk easily about anything – even something as controversial as the CoT. There had been spirited dinner party conversations around the civic entity that was entrusted with the verification – and protection, of the truths that by their nature may not be self-evident.

  “You know I don’t always feel comfortable talking about them … they’re so secretive.”

  “Yes – I know … I sometimes feel the same – but I think it needs to be that way. It seems as though they do what they need to do better without external distractions, or interference. The last couple of hundred years of a CoT without any issues or controversies confirms it.”

  He watched her work at her sculpting for a moment, the light playing over her shapely figure. She was everything he could ever want.

  Talented, interesting, pleasing to his eye … perfect.

  He left, feeling gratified that his wife could always lift his spirits and help him to not take the world too seriously.

  ∞

  St. Querin, Germany

  July 1945

  Valentin Rhuzkoi was still looking around the great hall of the villa in Bad Tolz. He could have been in the country retreat of royalty for all the opulent history lining the walls. Portraits of noblemen on horseback, many in military uniform, were interspersed between vintage weaponry, sabers, cutlasses and several muskets. His inspection had relieved the boredom. He’d been waiting for over an hour.

  The clack of hooves on cobblestone alerted him to his host’s return. The aide who’d brought him coffee mentioned they’d been on a hunt since early morning. His stomach told him it was good timing, perhaps there would be some lunch before too long. If the surroundings were an indication of the fare, then he should look forward to a significantly better menu than the army diet that he was used to getting.

  He walked over to one of the room’s many floor-to-ceiling windows and caught a glimpse of a long white tail disappearing into the stable block. It swished impatiently, probably in anticipation of lunch.

  Presently, the ornate doors swung open and three men entered. Colonel Blackett he knew, as it was he who had arranged for his very covert arrival at the villa.

  General Patton he did not. The general paused at a table to take up and light a cigar. Blackett and the other officer, a Major General, continued on and made the introductions.

  “Major General Harker, this is Major Rhuzkoi of the Russian Liberation Army,” said Blackett.

  They shook hands, then, the Russian offered his palm to General Patton. As the General took it firmly, his blue eyes drilled coldly, leaving Rhuzkoi in no doubt that he was being analyzed, and critically. The Major couldn’t help but compare the stern grip to Stalin’s which was notably weaker.

  “What’s your function Major?” Patton asked brusquely.

  “I am Liaison Officer to General Andrey Vlasov’s Headquarters – Committee for the Liberation of the Peoples of Russia,” Rhuzkoi replied curtly.

  They sat in a circle of high backed chairs as Colonel Blackett began, “The Major has confirmation from General Vlasov that our plan should proceed with only one minor change.”

  Patton eyed the Russian officer warily. “I hope it’s only minor.”

  Rhuzkoi nodded. “Yes General, we are confident that it will not affect the outcome of the operation.”

  “Well then… spill it as briefly as possible if you will, and then we can get some lunch brought in.”

  The Major’s reaction at the mention of lunch looked a little pained, and the Americans mistook it to mean his forthcoming conditions could be serious.

  Although used to the manner of men in power, having served as an interpreter in the Kremlin, Rhuzkoi shifted nervously in his seat. General Patton was different to politicians – the authority was tempered from the heat of battle, not the debating room.

  “Da, you see …” he sputtered, “… it is the duration of hostilities … we wish to limit them – in order to reduce our casualties.”

  He opened his palms pleadingly. “Our Army fought vicious campaigns against Red Army, and then against Nazis …”

  “Yes, yes Major!” Patton insisted, “… we’re all aware of the RLA’s exploits.”

  He looked on indifferently, as though he’d read more impressive histories than those described by the reports of General Vlasov’s command. The former Red Army General had defected after being captured by the Germans, and his RLA had then fought alongside them against the Soviets. After mistreatment by Hitler, they had then turned against the Germans at the war’s end.

  Patton’s indifference poured ice over any previous cordiality. “This operation will be conducted with the same unrestrained execution that it would be if it began under any other circumstances.”

  “Of course General, we just …” Rhuzkoi’s voice tapered away, and he looked to the other two officers for a reprieve.

  General Patton continued emphatically, “We don’t give a damn about how long it takes Major, but it is going to achieve what it is intended to do … and goddamned well better look good while it does!”

  The Russian looked to Colonel Blackett.

  The OSS man took a deep breath and looked at Patton, “General, if we assure General Vlasov that we can minimize their potential casualties … perhaps by accepting their surrender sooner than we’d originally planned … there shouldn’t be any impact on the overall picture.”

  Patton drew on his cigar and signaled to Harker, his Chief of Staff, that a drink may now be in order.

  “I’m sure you gentlemen remember when you came to me with this scheme – I explained that it will only work if it looks authentic. That no one can possibly question its credibility.”

  Blackett still felt obligated to advocate on behalf of the Russian RLA officer.

  “Nobody here doubts the importance of secrecy around this. Only Vlasov himself and his most trusted staff officers have any idea what they are about to start.”

  Patton took his bourbon from Harker, “And once it starts, nothing but total capitulation will end it – I’ll see to that.”

  “Yes General …” agreed Blackett, “… once the conflict begins, and then spreads, the identity of those who initiated it will be easy to obscure amongst the chaos that follows. The whole frontier is on a knife-edge. We’re getting more reports of Soviet patrols infiltrating our occupation zones every week.”

  “Convenient … they may even do your work for you,” Patton said to Rhuzkoi.

  “As the incursions are into all of the Allied zones, would it be more effective if the French or British were attacked first?” asked Blackett.

  “But Colonel,” said Rhuzkoi, “then there could not be guarantee that our forces would avoid being eliminated by an army other than your own.”

  Patton’s expression said everything.

  So? You’re a soldier willing to die for a cause, aren’t you? Harker interjected, “Fair point Major, in addition, we cannot know whether the British or French are capable of putting up a convincing fight. I doubt they have the political will to do anything other than try to negotiate a quick peace, after what they’ve been through.”

  “No … you’re probably right …” Blackett conceded. “… and they won’t have the military build-up we’re going to have.”

  Patton viewed Rhuzkoi through eyes that had seen first-hand the devastation of two world wars. He was also a believer in his own destiny – and that his destiny served a greater purpose than any individual part he would play in world events. He wanted to make sure the other players were going to follow the same game plan.

  “Colonel Blackett explained to me that your RLA will be fighting against Stalin. To free your people from Bolshevik tyranny.”

  The Major returned Patton’s gaze with a look haunted by decades of murderous oppression against his own people. Millions cast aside to starve in the name of collectivism, or purged at the hands of an ideology which put the State above its own people.

 
; Patton softened his tone. “If General Vlasov wants to save his country, then he knows there’ll be a cost.”

  The bourbon was doing its work, freeing the daily pressures, and loosening the grip that ordinarily suppresses the imagination of such a far-sighted visionary.

  “Gentlemen, there can be no constraints that jeopardize the outcome.”

  He looked beyond his colleagues and through the window to the distance. “I believe the world will be in a much worse state for the generations to come, if we do not succeed in our endeavor.”

  ∞

  Cherish therefore the spirit of our people, and keep alive their attention. Do not be too severe upon their errors, but reclaim them by enlightening them.

  Thomas Jefferson

  The Great Hall reverberated with the excited hum of the gathered crowd. Many thousands had converged on the city for what was sure to be an historic event. Arjon and Eya stood among a group of their friends and colleagues. The day had been full of speculation. What would the Enlightenment be? An extra-terrestrial civilization discovered? The timing of the end of the universe confirmed? Although the suspense was becoming almost unbearable for Eya, she and everyone else’s spirits were high.

  “So how can you know?” She nearly screamed at Margeaux.

  “Yes!” Arjon joined in. “This has been the best kept secret since they found life on Europa!”

  Margeaux could barely restrain herself, “Oooohhh! It’s been torture to keep it to myself!” She clutched her partner Grillon’s hand tightly, as if she could draw the strength to resist letting it all out. “I can’t tell you anything – except…” and she looked at Grillon for approval. He nodded reluctantly, so she quickly whispered, “My office … wewere assigned the processing of the legal documents that were finally submitted to the Protectorate!”

  “Really?” Arjon felt as though he’d been scolded. “A legal firm? I would have thought all that went through the Protectorate’s own administration.”

  Grillon spoke up, driven by a compulsion to keep Margeaux from saying too much. “Yes, you’re right, that’s been the case in the past. The last Enlightenment as you know, was sourced from the academic institutions whose research had proven the existence of gravitons.”

  “So why the legal involvement with this one?” Arjon demanded. His work in Genealogical Litigation seemed insignificant in light of his friends’ revelation. He looked sheepishly at them, suddenly aware of his impatient tone.

  “Why … I’m afraid I can’t reveal that without breaching disclosure.” Margeaux said with palpable discomfort, “You all know how impossibly secretive and remote the CoT are … I’ve never even spoken to one of them in person!”

  No one responded – they all knew the reason for the CoT’s remoteness, and why the secrecy around Enlightenments was paramount. History was replete with instances of documented events being tampered with, and the truth distorted, for the self-perpetuating purposes of powerful entities such as monarchies, governments – even churches.

  The Center of Truth was independent of all external influences. The people knew the truth when they heard it.

  Eya glanced up at one of the stadium screens. “Well, we won’t have to wait long to find out what this is all about.”

  The main lighting dimmed, as illumination from above signaled the start of proceedings. Four thin columns of light descended around the perimeter, and began to increase in size and intensity. Four columns representing the Four Pillars of Society. They soon became too bright to look at. All eyes were averted, and then closed, as the brilliance became so radiant, so intense, that it would penetrate a closed mind.

  The Light of Truth.

  Moments later, the brightness of the columns diminished suddenly and they materialized into spectacular pillars of transparent crystal.

  The Reification. The solidification of the Light – the symbolic opening of a Special Session of the Protectorate.

  “How do they do that?” whispered Eya, not wanting to disturb the quiet awe of the crowd around them.

  “I don’t know … perhaps it’s something to do with lasers interacting with the air molecules … but like water freezing into a solid.”

  “Shhhh!” someone hissed from behind.

  Around the world, in auditoriums exactly the same as this one, millions were watching.

  The Orator appeared.

  Wearing the black and white cloak of his office, he was the spokesperson for the Protectorate, the governing body of the Center of Truth. Those who verified, and then preserved the highest ideals and lexica, the scientific and spiritual knowledge, for all of humanity.

  “People of the Free World!”

  He paused, allowing the immensity of his words being broadcast around the planet to float in the air for a moment.

  “This day will be remembered with the same reverence as all of those days that have changed the course of our history!”

  He waited for the cheering and applause to die down. “Many decades of endeavor and experiment have finally borne fruit, and the human race is entering a new era – a renaissance of the spirit!”

  Eya and Arjon tore themselves from the spectacle and looked at each other, laughing, as they were caught up in the building excitement.

  Above the platform, an enormous holographic image of the Orator changed focus, zooming in on his astute features.

  “The Protectorate of the Center of Truth, in its capacity as defender of human integrity, declares …”

  Eya held her breath, oblivious to her red hair fading as though being drained of blood.

  The Orator raised his arms, “The human soul has been scientifically proven to exist!”

  ∞

  St. Querin, Germany

  July 1945

  “You ride well Major,” General Patton observed. “Do you have any Cossack in your family tree?”

  “No General. I was fortunate enough to spend some years on a farm outside Kiev.”

  Major Rhuzkoi patted his mount, a Lipizzaner mare, on the wither. “But they were cart-horses compared to this magnificent warmblood!”

  “That she is, but goddammit what a waste!” Patton lamented, “Spending years being trained to do gymnastics in a barn, when they could be out here as they were intended to be – galloping through forests and over jumps.”

  Rhuzkoi cast his eye over the countryside. Patches of fog still blanketed the gullies between low hills, sheltered from the mid-morning sun by the multitude of dark tree-tops.

  “Da! Da! I agree completely!” he said, relishing his host’s perspective and feeling invigorated by the crisp, country air. He urged his mare on into a canter, lining her up on a fallen tree. The great mare leapt over it with graceful ease, and as Patton watched, he was compelled to exceed the effort.

  He spurred his stallion on, collecting him up expertly just before the jump, so that rider and horse arced over the huge log with a yard of clearance.

  “Oh Bozhe moi!” exclaimed Rhuzkoi, “you should be in show-jumping competition!”

  They continued at a relaxed walk, eventually coming to a dirt road cutting through a part of the forest that, due to its remoteness, had remained undisturbed since the end of the war two months ago. The road ran atop an embankment, rising several feet above the surrounding forest floor which flooded each spring.

  Their horses clambered up the bank, then stopped. Their relaxation was replaced by a tense wariness of the scene before them. The two riders were also taken aback by the sight that beheld them. The aftermath of an airstrike on a Wehrmacht column littered the other side of the road.

  “Poor devils” said Rhuzkoi, “… must have been strafed by allied fighters.”

  In amongst the twisted wreckage of half-tracks and transports full of dead Panzer Grenadiers, were the partially decomposed, now frozen bodies of dozens of civilians strewn amongst their pathetic little carts.

  “Allied fighter bombers,” Patton corrected him, pointing to a bomb crater with his cane.

  “Th
is is almost as wasteful as these fine horses not achieving their potential.”

  Rhuzkoi merely nodded. He understood that Patton wasn’t referring to the overall waste of lives, but to the fine soldiery laying on the field. Decimated before they could fire a shot.

  It was a soldier’s perspective. It wasn’t that remorse for the loss of innocent lives wasn’t felt, it was still there. However, after years of battling through cities and towns, seeing countless such incidents, a soldier naturally placed a greater value on those in uniform than for any other.

  They trotted along the road and soon dismissed the carnage left behind. Both warriors had seen enough destruction for it not to gouge any new scars in their memory.

  “Major, what can you tell me about Kursk?”

  “Why… yes, there is much to tell.”

  “Good. Of course, I’ve researched the Nazi experience – from captured reports and other intelligence, but I’m hoping you can confirm or elaborate on that.”

  “Naturally I shall do this.”

  The Russian considered his words carefully, mindful of the precarious position he and his comrades in the Russian Liberation Army were in. For all he knew he may be about to divulge information of a strategic nature. Information that may assist the Americans to not only defeat Stalin, but bring about the total capitulation of all Soviet armies. General Vlasov’s instructions had been clear – to only provide what was required to initiate a war. A war intended to bring about Stalin’s downfall – and the end of Bolshevism.

  “I must point out that I may only have intelligence that is of little use to you. Although I fought with the Red Army for two years before I was captured, that was two years ago – the data you have from the Germans may be more recent, and of more relevance.”

  General Patton cut him short, “Allow me to be the judge of that Major. And since you’ve brought it up … just how did you come to be an officer serving under a rogue general?”

  Rhuzkoi never responded to jibes with a courteous smile. He never smiled. His facial muscles were set to a squared, cold indifference. He sighed, “I was serving as a Lieutenant in the 348th Rifle Division at the battle of Kursk in 1943. We were encircled by an armored division on July 10th, then overrun and taken prisoner. His expression was pained at the memory of the savage conflict. Their weapons useless against the German heavy tanks, and their own T34s knocked out with impunity.