Harry Harrison: Stars and Stripes Triumphant

“That will be all for this evening, gentlemen,” Korzhenevski said. “Whenever you wish, you will be shown to your quarters. But perhaps, first, you would like to join me in a glass of cognac to seal this day’s momentous events.”

No one said no.

Soon after dawn a light tapping on the compartment door awoke General Sherman. A moment later the door opened and a mess boy brought in a steaming cup of coffee and put it on the table by the bed. Close behind him came a sailor carrying a gleaming white uniform. He smiled and said something in Russian and laid it carefully across a chair. On top of it he placed a large, white uniform cap.

“I’m sure that you are right,” Sherman said, sitting up in bed and gratefully sipping the coffee.

“Da, da!” the sailor said, and left.

It was a handsome uniform, with ornate, gold-braided shoulder boards and two rows of impressive-looking medals across the chest. And it fit perfectly. When he joined the others in the wardroom, he saw that Fox was wearing an equally imposing uniform, as was the embarrassed-looking Wilson.

The Count entered and clapped his hands with delight. “Excellent! Let me welcome you gentlemen into the Russian navy. Your presence here does us great honor. Later, after we have broken our fast, I will explain some slight differences between our naval service and your own. You will discover that we salute in a different manner and do too much heel clicking, which will not be familiar to you. But first, General Sherman — might I ask you to remove your jacket. Admirable!” He clapped his hands and a sailor led in two men bearing a large container of water, bowls, and jars. Sherman sat rigid as they draped him with towels, wet his beard and hair, even his eyebrows, then combed in a jet-black dye. With a murmured apology one of them even tinted his eyelashes with mascara. It was all done very quickly, and they were finished even as the stewards carried in the breakfast dishes; then his beard was trimmed into a more Russian shape. He admired himself in a mirror as the barbers bowed deeply and backed from the compartment.

“You look quite rakish,” Fox said, “and irresistible to the ladies.”

He indeed looked much younger, Sherman realized, for the dye had not only colored his red hair, but eliminated the strands of gray that were beginning to appear.

“Barbers and tailors available on call,” he said. “What other surprises do you have for us, Count Korzhenevski?”

“Why, there are farriers, blacksmiths, surgeons, lawyers — whatever you wish,” the Count said. “We tend to take the long view in Russia. Preparing today for tomorrow’s exigencies. Some would call these people of ours spies — and perhaps they are. But they are also reliable and patriotic Russian people who were paid well to emigrate and settle in this foreign land. They are now part of the community, here and in other countries — but they always stand ready to answer the call from the motherland when needed.”

“Do you have your agents in England, too?” Sherman asked.

“But of course. In every country where our homeland has an interest.”

“In the United States as well?” Gus asked quietly.

“You don’t really want me to answer that, do you? Enough to say that our two great countries are allied and united in this glorious mission.”

A sailor entered and saluted, then said something to the Count. He nodded, and the man left.

“All the visitors are now ashore. Let our prosperous voyage begin.” Even as he spoke, a steam whistle wailed and the decking vibrated as the engines came up to speed. “Pardon me for requesting that you remain belowdecks until we are out to sea. In the meantime — enjoy your breakfast.”

They did. Gus introduced Sherman to the joys of beluga caviar. Washed down, despite the hour, with chilled vodka. Thus began the first day of their perilous voyage.

When they finally came out on deck, the flat Belgian coastline was only a line behind them on the horizon. “We are steaming north for a bit,” the Count said. “When we get closer to the British Isles, it is important that we approach from the northeast, presumably coming from Russia. We shall sight Scotland first, then coast slowly south toward England. Now — if you will permit me, I will show you how to salute and walk in the proper Russian manner.”

They laughed a good deal as they paraded around the deck, until they could perform to Korzhenevski’s satisfaction. It was warm work and they welcomed the chilled champagne that followed.

“Next we will learn a little Russian,” the Count said. “Which you will be able to use when we meet the English. Da means ‘yes,’ nyet is ‘no,’ and spaseba means ‘thank you.’ Master these and very soon I will teach you to say ‘I do not speak English.’ Which is, ‘Prostite, no yane govoriu poangliyski.’ But we shall save that for a later time. Nevertheless, when you have done that, you will have learned all of the Russian that you will ever need during our visit here. The British are not known for their linguistic ability, so you need have no fear of being found out by any of them.”

When the Count left to attend to ship’s business, Wilson, for the second time, voiced his reservations.

“This trip, this scouting out of the British coast, is there any specific reason for our going? Are we looking for anything in particular?”

“I do not take your meaning,” Fox said, although he had a good idea what was troubling the naval officer.

“I mean no offense — but it must be admitted that at the present time our country is at peace with England. Won’t our mission be, well, at the least — provocative? And, if we are caught in the act, why, there will surely be international repercussions.”

“Everything you say is true. But in the larger sense, military intelligence must never stand still. We can never know enough about our possible enemies — and even our friends. I thought the Count phrased it very well when he said that they tended to take the long view in Russia about future relationships with other countries. They have the experience of centuries of conflict, of countries who were friends one day — and enemies the next. America has no such experience in international conflicts, so we have much to learn.”

Sherman sipped some champagne, then set the half-empty glass on the table. His expression was distant, as though he were looking at a future unseen, a time yet unknown.

“Let me tell you something about the British,” he said quietly. “A field officer must know his enemy. In the years that we have been fighting them, I have indeed come to know them. I can assure you that our success in battle has never been easy. Their soldiers are experienced and tenacious, and used to victory. If they have any weakness in the field, it is the fact that promotion of officers is not by ability but by purchase. Those with money can buy commissions of higher rank. Therefore, good, experienced officers are pushed aside and others with no experience — other than having the experience in spending a lot of money — take their places. It is a stupid arrangement and one that has cost the British dearly more than once. Yet, despite this severe handicap, they are used to victory because, although they have lost many battles, they have never lost a war. If this has bred a certain arrogance, it is understandable. They have world maps, I have seen them, where all of the countries that are part of their empire are marked in red. They say that the sun never sets on the British Empire, and that is indeed true. They are used to winning. An island race, war has not touched their shores in a very long time. There have been small incursions — like that of the Dutch, who once temporarily landed and captured a city in Cornwall. As well as our own John Paul Jones, who sacked Whitehaven during the War of 1812. These were the exceptions. Basically, they have not been successfully invaded since 1066. They expect only victory — and history has proved them right. Up until now.”