Chapter 5: The Axis threat
1 February 1938, Yagoda's office, Dzerzhinsky Square
Yagoda waited impatiently for the connection to complete. A man's voice responded "Это Пастернак. Что это?" ((This is Pasternak. Who is this?))
"Это Ягода. Что нового?" ((This is Yagoda. What's new?))
Pasternak paused for a moment and replied in English. "Everything is going fine, my friend! How are the kids?"
Yagoda, who was unmarried, started to respond, then recognized that Pasternak was probably being overheard. "They are well. Do you have the latest stock report?"
"I do, sir. My analysts tell me that stock you asked about is up 7 points. Mr. Black will be an excellent CEO for the Chevrolet branch in Sheboygan!"
Yagoda mentally translated the code and scribbled it down on the paper in front of him.
"Good to hear. Joe reminded me that if the increase drops to three points, you should sell."
"Understood, Hank. Have a great day!"
Yagoda hung up the phone and picked up his briefcase. Stalin wouldn't be pleased about the efforts (or lack thereof) of Pasternak in Washington so far, but the news that Hugo Black was in charge at the FBI was a welcome bit of information.
8 February 1938, Sukhoverkovo
Private Gennady Vladimirovich Konstantinov hated being a soldier. He would never admit that to anybody, but he was already regretting joining the army. He'd volunteered at the end of 1937, hoping to get into a tank company. Gennady was an excellent mechanic, and had joined the Red Army as a way to see more of the world and possibly even find adventure. Instead of getting his preferred assignment, though, when he completed basic training he was assigned to the 11th infantry brigade of the newly formed 6th Rifle Division. Instead of repairing trucks or serving as part of an armor crew, he was stuck lugging a rifle as part of a mortar team. He also got to carry the rounds, which would make him an excellent target in the event of war.
But, deep down, Gennady didn't expect a war. His father had fought in World War I as a Lieutenant in a rifle division, then joined the Bolsheviks during the Civil War. His father's stories had captivated young Gennady. Instead of fighting against the Hun, as his father had done, Gennady sat trying to stay warm. He started dreaming of home when he found himself laying in the snow face up. Senior Sergeant Grazhdanin peered down at Gennady.
"Problem, Konstantinov? You can't even sit properly."
"S-sorry, Senior Sergeant. Won't happen again, Senior Sergeant."
"It better not, Corporal."
It took Gennady a moment to register the news. "Corporal?"
"Did you get snow packed into your ears, idiot? Report to division HQ at once; you've been reassigned."
"I serve the Soviet Union!"
As Konstantinov scurried off to the motor pool, the Sergeant smiled. He liked the new Corporal, and when the new project began, Grazhdanin himself had proposed Konstantinov for it.
10 March 1938, Vienna
A. I. Petrova had jumped at the chance to get out of Moscow; she'd been stuck in the Soviet capital for a few months, poring over paperwork. When Stalin asked her to go to Vienna and get the truth of things for herself, she treated it as a vacation. Granted, Berlin was no socialist paradise, but she did rather like some of the art museums. She patted down her coat for a cigarette lighter, to no avail. She sighed and opened the folder on her lap.
The Japanese defeat of Nationalist China was wholly unexpected, and the creation of Mengukuo something of an irritant to Mao and his friends in China.
Yet that wasn't what Petrova was worried about. It was the spontaneous annexation of Austria by Nazi Germany.
Anschluss, they call it, she muttered.
Symbols of the Third Reich were literally on every street corner. Petrova was flabbergasted. Even members of the Austrian SPD cheered as German panzer divisions went down the Ringstrasse.
Comrade Stalin will be furious with these reactionary lunatics. Socialists indeed! The only people not delirious with joy were the few Communists Anastasia had met. To her horror, not only was one of them Polish, but he even propositioned her, like some sort of bourgeois dandy! With a blank expression that would have done even Comrade Molotov proud, she asked the Pole if he wouldn't rather prefer to spend the night a little lighter between the legs. The Pole continued to smile until he realized what she said. He turned white as a sheet and left.
Petrova chuckled, but only for a moment. She had to get back to Moscow as soon as she could.
15 May 1938, Voronezh
Gennady Konstantinov smiled as he read the letter from his old Sergeant. The new Sergeant Major was attached to one of the NKVD's new military police brigades, and had lots of unflattering words to share about the undisciplined Чекисти. ((Chekist is a very, very unflattering term which refers to the old Cheka, or predecessor to the NKVD. They were known for being especially thuggish.)) It was a well deserved promotion, thought Gennady.
The Corporal liked almost everything about his new assignment. These wonderful new machines would completely change the way Red Army infantry fought, and he was part of the team designing them!
He sat in the mess hall among a couple other Corporals and a Private. The private was a very cocky youngster, insistent that he could beat the fascists single handedly. "At least, I could if I could understand that barbarian of a Lieutenant! Doesn't he know Russian?"
It got deathly quiet. Gennady coughed. "Private, I would keep your voice down."
"Why the hell should I, Corporal? Just because he's got a bowlful of consonants at the end of his name? I don't even think he's really Soviet!"
Gennady grabbed the private by the scruff of the neck and dragged him out of the barracks. "You are going to get yourself killed!"
"Aw, Corporal, he's just an officer."
"Just an officer?! What's his last name?"
"Damned if I can say it. Dzugosh... Dzugrash..."
"Dzhugashvili."
"So?"
"Do you know his son he is?"
"Hell no."
The Corporal whispered the name in the private's ear. The private's face turned deathly pale, and he ran back to the barracks. He didn't speak again for the next two weeks.
1 July 1938, Moskva
Anastasia chatted with the Turkish ambassador while she waited for the meeting to start. For a few weeks, Turkish radio had been full of praise for the Soviet Union, although that moment had passed.
A strikingly young and handsome officer saluted Marshal Tukhachevsky and departed. Anastasia waved over Milena Kamensky. "Who is that man?"
"Lieutenant Dzhugashvili. I think he's a bit out of your league, Anastasia."
Petrova snorted. "I can't handle a Lieutenant?"
"Not this one." The Commissar for Foreign Affairs watched as the Lieutenant walked up to Stalin and shook hands.
"So he's a gutsy young man. I like that." Then Petrova's face froze as she heard the word отец ((father)) pass the young man's lips. "He isn't...?"
"Yakov Dzhugashvili. Comrade Stalin's oldest son."
Stalin pounded on the table for a couple of moments and everybody quieted down. Anastasia noticed a mature but still virile officer sitting next to Tukhachevsky. "That isn't Stalin's son too, is it?"
Kamensky laughed quietly. "No, that's General Voroshilov."
"Oh, the recruiter! He certainly looks imposing."
"And our manpower has gone through the roof, I've heard!"
All of a sudden, Petrova felt Stalin's heavy gaze. "Er - sorry, Comrade Stalin?"
"You promised to give us an update on the world. I trust you haven't forgotten?"
"No, sir."
Petrova cleared her throat. "Sinkiang and Mao's communists move steadily closer to us each day. Turkey, Switzerland, and Tibet all have reported interest in moving closer to us."
"Yes, but not very much. The Americans?"
Petrova checked a report. "If there's a war, Comrade Stalin, I do believe they'll side with the British."
Stalin grunted. He rose an eyebrow and glanced at Yagoda.
"Comrade Stalin, Comrade Pasternak has informed me that his men have begun penetrating some American laboratories; we expect results soon."
"What are the Americans doing?"
"Building new factories, it seems. Improving fortifications in the Pacific, too."
Stalin nodded. "Thank you, Comrade Yagoda. Comrade Pasternak does not mind staying in Washington?"
"Of course not, Comrade Stalin. He serves the Soviet Union, as do we all."
"Then let us move on to new business, Comrades..."