Colin Gee - Opening Moves

“It will be ready for immediate dispatch after the GKO meeting Comrade.”

The order was already prepared and in his briefcase.

“Good. Now tell me more of this plan for the slant-eyes.”

At 1542 hrs precisely, the members of the GKO departed from the committee room where they had met. If anyone had been watching their arrival and subsequent departure they would have noticed a defined variation in mood.

The men leaving wore gaunt and set expressions, appearing burdened, almost as if the weight of the world had been placed upon their shoulders.

At the same time as they left the Kremlin, a small message was starting its journey down the line to a number of Soviet agents throughout the whole project. The message was simple.

‘Priority 7. Prepare to damage/destroy Manhattan within 72 hours of receipt of codeword “Napoleon”. Codeword ‘Wellington’ when ready to proceed. Imperative be ready to expedite by 6th July latest.’

Mathematician Perlo opened the letter, ostensibly from a cousin in Washington with whom, the FBI had noted, there was regular correspondence. Waiting until privacy was assured, a small geometry reference book was taken from a bedside drawer, and an exercise in decoding commenced.

The message was as clear as it was surprising, if not terrifying. A slightly trembling hand sought and found a bottle of bourbon and a large measure was consumed to steady the nerves.

Quickly reverting to proper field craft, the textbook disappeared back into the drawer and the decoded message was burned, a chesterfield being lit from the burning embers to cover the fumes. The pad was checked for impressions from the soft pencil used but none was apparent. None the less, the top two sheets followed the message into the ashtray. Lastly, a brief note was penned to the cousin, using a simple phrase that would acknowledge receipt and understanding to the recipient, actually an undercover communist agent working for the Turkish Embassy in Washington.

Another chesterfield was lit, this time for pleasure, and Perlo lay back on the bed and prepared to spend a restless night wrestling with the technical issues of effectively destroying years of scientific work.

The mathematician’s security access did not cover the physics labs, engineering and assembly areas, so how could successful sabotage be undertaken?

When morning came, Perlo was no closer to knowing how to damage the important work.

About the only decision reached in the restless slumber Perlo had experienced was that to damage the project irreparably was virtually impossible. The project had assembled the world’s finest minds and any damage that was inflicted would be purely temporary.

Sitting on the side of the bed, naked and red-eyed, Perlo reached across for a pack of cigarettes, lit up and drew the heavy smoke into expectant lungs. The dawn sun suddenly broke through the window, bringing light, and also bringing with it the germ of an idea.

Perlo’s face started to come alive as the suggestion grew further. Bringing the lighter up parallel to narrowed eyes, a simple flick of a finger brought it to life, its yellow flame steady in the breezeless air, suggesting the resolution of the problem.

‘ The world’s finest minds ,’ words that echoed in the mathematician’s own mind as it devised the way to damage the important people.

The simple message to return for briefing and consultations had gone out all over Europe two days before, arriving on a Saturday lunchtime and spoiling the plans of a number of very senior military men; Marshalls of the Soviet Union mostly. The same message had gone eastwards a day earlier. When such a summons was received, it normally spelt either death or promotion. Marshall was virtually the pinnacle of Military advancement in the USSR so some in that rank feared the worst. But still they came, flying into Vnukovo Air Force base and making the short journey to the seat of power in staff cars sent specifically for the purpose.

One by one, they arrived, until the chosen meeting place was full of senior officers and their aides. Cigarette smoke filled the room and whilst some of the talk was of wives, daughters and mistresses, or a son needing advancement in someone else’s area of responsibility, the conversation eventually turned to the one question no-one could answer but, about which, everyone was prepared to venture an opinion. Why on earth was every senior commander from the entire Red Army and Air force assembled in this room? The interestingly small numbers of naval seniors present fuelled speculation further.

Some still expected a squad of heavily-armed NKVD to rush in and spray the room with bullets but most appreciated that something very momentous was about to be revealed.

An NKVD Major-General entered the room at the allotted hour of eleven o’clock precisely and sent the aides away, leaving solely their bosses who submitted themselves to the requests of the NKVD officer and followed him into the larger chamber from which he had emerged.

Another room from the bygone age of the Tsar’s, gold leaf still shining on ornate cornicing and wooden wall panelling polished to a deep velvety glow by generations of servants. Some of the art works hanging on the walls or displayed on marble plinths represented an entire tank regiment in rouble value. It would be fair to say that most there failed to appreciate the beauty and opulence of their surroundings, especially once they saw the entire GKO assembled on a podium at the end of the former music room, with the General Secretary sat in the middle, silent and coiled like a snake about to strike.

Directed to their designated places on the arranged seating plan, Marshalls and Generals alike sat down and were presented with a simple folder. The name in large bold type on the front cover gave more than one a moment of mirth, but not one that survived a withering stare from Stalin or Beria. They knew better than to open the file yet but it did not stop their minds from working hard to fathom the meaning of the title. There were only two officers present that did not search for the link between their presence here and the title of the folder. Those two were GRU Generals who were intimately familiar with the documents it contained.

A nod from Stalin and the Deputy Commissar for Defence stood, the room hushed and waited expectantly.

Nikolai Bulganin stroked his goatee beard for a second and then spoke in a deep gruff voice.

“Comrades, you have answered the call to come here and you will now learn of the part each of you will be required to play in shaping history.” That certainly got their attention, especially as most felt they had already played a useful part in shaping a positive history for the Motherland and, for that matter, the world.

“The German is defeated and cowed, half his lands and cities are ours, and we will bleed all we can from them in reparation for their bloody unprovoked attack on our Motherland. That is our right.”

The surprising spontaneous but light applause died a swift death as a silencing palm was raised.

“But comrades, we cannot rest there whilst others go unpunished for their aggression and treachery. Part of Germany is still free, occupied by the capitalist states; the same capitalist states who prevaricated, doing nothing of worth whilst you and your men bled in 42, 43 and half of 44.”