The General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union glared at the two men during one of his famous long pauses. He then picked up his pipe and began filling it from the tobacco bag. The tension eased out of the room.

  “Has the Politburo suggested a replacement for Chuikov?” Stalin asked.

  “They have not done so,” Kruglov replied.

  “We will rebuild our armies, of course,” Stalin said as he lit his pipe. “Sergei, you will let me know when the Politburo suggests a new general.”

  “Of course, Comrade General Secretary.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Kruglov nodded. “Of course.”

  After puffing on his pipe for a few minutes, Stalin waved them out of the room, indicating the meeting was at a close. The two men stood and walked out quietly as Stalin studied them. The war was not going well, and the General Secretary was rightly frustrated.

  As Kruglov and Malenkov walked into the summer night, they had moved some distance from the guards.

  “We need a private conversation,” Malenkov whispered.

  Kruglov nodded as they got into their respective Chaika limousines. Kruglov knew what they needed to discuss. They were going to have to do something about Stalin. Yet, Kruglov did not trust Malenkov. The man spoke boldly but consistently failed to deliver. Of course, that seemed to be the curse of anyone in that position. The Soviet productivity levels were nowhere near what the Germans achieved, let alone the rest of the western world.

  The Soviet Union had geared up a war economy and was producing vast amounts of armaments but at the cost of impoverishing an already hungry people. The conflict was more prolonged than anyone expected, and the Germans had not proven to be the easy conquest Stalin predicted. It threatened not just the legitimacy of the Soviet government but its very survival.

  The only potential ally that Kruglov had any confidence in was Khrushchev, and that man was now a tool of the Nazis. To be honest, he thought, Stalin had put the man into an impossible situation. When The Berlin debacle forced Smirnoff to do the honorable thing and surrender, Khrushchev had taken full advantage of the opportunity. Kruglov wondered what the bald man was doing right now.

  § § §

  July 11,1944; 11 PM

  Reich Chancellor’s Residence

  Nordend-Ost

  Frankfurt, Germany

  “Have we won the war, Hennie?” Gisela asked.

  They had retreated to the bedroom with two glasses and a bottle of brandy. Peter was pacing the lower floor with Gratia, and they had decided to give him his privacy.

  “Unfortunately, we won’t win the war until Stalin decides the game is not worth the candle. But I am optimistic the way will be clear to occupy Silesia, the Polish territory, and East Prussia. I have pressed Guderian to determine whether we could hold it afterward.”

  “Has he said, either way?” she asked.

  “He thinks we need to move quickly before the Russians can recover after two major defeats. They have not only lost two armies but also their equipment. If we can get to a defensible position in the east, then we may be able to prepare for a general offensive into Ukraine.”

  “Is that where you will use Smirnoff's army?”

  “That is my thought,” Schloss replied. “It is currently a matter of debate within the OKW. We have teams collecting Russian equipment from the battlefields, and we will need whatever we can find to equip Smirnoff.”

  “And the OKW will debate it to death before moving?”

  Schloss chuckled. “No, I won’t let them do that. Rommel has given us an enormous gift, and I want to take advantage of it.”

  “When will we win this thing?”

  “I don’t know. And I’m tired, Schatzi. This is our time tonight.”

  He took her glass and set it with his on the nightstand so they could embrace. Schloss had concluded they spent little enough time together and determined that tonight offered an opportunity. Later, when they pulled apart, they could hear Peter downstairs singing to the baby.

  “Peter is in for a long night, I’m afraid,” Gisela commented. “I have discovered with Erich that when they catch a cold and can’t breathe, all you can do is hold them upright and soothe them.”

  “He has a good voice,” Schloss commented. “I wish I could sing.”

  “I wish you could too. What is Peter going to do, Darling?”

  “You mean about Gratia?”

  “Yes. I mean, between Frau Marsden and us, we are caring for the child. But, she needs a mother.”

  “I suspect Peter would not appreciate you interfering in his life, Gisela. You give her plenty of love, so I don’t think she will grow up neglected.”

  “Yes, but do you think Peter will ever remarry?”

  “As you and I did?” Schloss asked.

  “Well, yes.”

  “Remember that you and I weren’t looking for it. It just happened—the same with Karl. I don’t want to sound like some torrid romance novel, but Peter will be surprised by it if it happens. Right now, though he is still grieving.”

  “I know some very nice ladies who would be good for Peter.”

  Schloss grinned broadly.

  “What?”

  “Renate used to do that to me. She thought it was time for me to marry and kept introducing me to what she thought of as the perfect woman. I was nearly thirty when I married Hannalore.”

  “Did Renate introduce Hannalore to you?”

  Okay, Hennie, you have driven yourself into this corner. All of those events occurred before you landed in this land and your only knowledge of prior events in your family came from Renate’s elliptical comments.

  “You know, I really don’t remember the first time I met Hannalore. But things came together for us rather quickly.”

  “Do you miss her, Hennie?” Gisela asked softly.

  “I think I have now known you as long as I knew Hannalore. I won’t forget her, but time fades things. And I have discovered that my love for you continues to grow.”

  She leaned over to give him an extended kiss. “You are sweet, Hennie. But you did change the subject.”

  “About Peter?” He shrugged. “You are going to do whatever you decide to do. Peter will be gracious about it, but he probably won’t be pleased.”

  “Sometimes men have to be managed.”

  “Is that what you do for me?”

  “Of course, Darling. Between Frau Marsden and me, we somehow keep you on track.”

  “It’s a good thing the people of the Reich don’t realize who runs the country.”

  “Hush, Hennie!” She elbowed him the ribs. “You are not funny, sometimes.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  She snuggled in closer to him. “That’s what I love about you. You are easy to convince.”

  He rolled his eyes but decided to say nothing further. He wanted to enjoy the closeness.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  July 14,1944; 8 PM

  Great Horn Bay

  Vladivostok, USSR

  “Steady as she goes,” Captain Alan Carper ordered. “Turns for three knots.”

  The men on the diving controls acknowledged the orders and signaled the engine room. The muted bell of the engine room semaphore seemed loud in the hushed environment of the U.S.S. Essen. The crew seemed to collectively hold its breath. No one wanted to be discovered in Soviet territorial waters. The Russians were unsympathetic to spying, which is what they were doing.

  Carper walked over to where Greg Rogers stood. “We should be well into the harbor, Jolly. I want to take a peek to localize our position. I have no idea what the current is doing.”

  “Very well, Sir.” Rogers pointed to the rating who controlled the periscope.

  Since they were well above periscope depth, raising the mast would have to be done carefully. The submarine’s sail was barely underwater.

  “The way we will do this,” Carper said conversationally, “is that we will listen carefully for a bit. If nothing is around us, we’ll raise the radio whip and get a sniff at what’s going on. Then we’ll ease the periscope up.”

  “It’s going to have to go up quite a way for the eyepiece to clear the well,” Jolly commented.

  “That’s why we picked this time of day,” Carper answered. “It is somewhat less likely that anyone will see the mast during the twilight.”

  Jolly used a knuckle to knock on the side of his head. Carper grinned. “As soon as it clears the well, get the camera attached to the mast.”

  Carper looked around the control room. “Are we ready? Okay, Jolly, bring us down to turns for one knot. This time of the summer, I’m betting there isn’t a lot of current here.”

  “Turns for one knot,” Rogers ordered.

  Carper walked over to where the acoustics operator was glued to his headphones. He looked over the operator's shoulder at the screen, picked up the spare phones, and held one can to his ear. After a few moments, the operator spoke.

  “I think we’re golden, Sir. Nothing is moving in the harbor. It’s quiet as the grave.”

  Carper decided to say nothing about the operator’s taste in language as he walked back over to the periscope station. He sat on the raised platform and faced the periscope mast.

  “Raise the radio mast, Exec.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir. Radio mast going up.”

  Behind them, they hear the whine of hydraulics as the whip antenna went up. Because the boat was just below the surface, there was no outside pressure to speak of, and the equipment did not labor.

  Rogers looked over at the radio operator. “What do you have, Sparks?”

  “Usual traffic, Sir. Same as we’ve heard for the past couple of days.”

  “Look alive then.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  “Let’s start bringing up the periscope,” Carper ordered.

  Rogers nodded at the rating who controlled the periscope mast. The periscope mast eased out of the well. When the camera connector cleared the floor, another rating quickly connected the camera and handed the shutter button to Carper. Once the viewer was at eye level, Carper began scanning the harbor. He scooted around the platform on his seat to make sure he was seeing everything. He would occasionally halt and press the shutter control, and the sound of the camera shutter clicking was loud in the control room. He halted at one position.

  “Mark Beacon A,” he said.

  Rogers looked at the indicator on the periscope housing. “Confirm Beacon A.”

  Carper scooted around again and stopped. “Okay, mark Beacon B.”

  Rogers read the dial on the scope. “Confirm Beacon B.”

  “This is undignified of a Naval captain,” Carper said as he slid around again. “Okay, mark Beacon C.”

  “Confirm Beacon C.”

  “Can you localize, Jolly?” Carper asked.

  Rogers quickly used the protractor to pinpoint the Essen’s location. “Sir, we are 200 yards west of where we thought.”

  “Not bad for dead reckoning,” Carper muttered as he swung the scope around and tripped the camera shutter. There’s a lot of hardware in the harbor, but nothing has steam up as far as I can see.”

  He slid back from the scope. “Disconnect the camera and then drop the scope,” he ordered.

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  “Jolly, maintain course and give us turns for three knots.”

  “Aye, aye, Skipper.”

  The Essen crept further into the harbor where the Soviet Pacific Fleet rested. The lack of any sense of awareness amazed Carper. It was like everyone was asleep. This time of day, probably the sailors were all drinking themselves senseless, he thought. Nobody was at war with the Soviets in the Pacific, and it was apparent their alert levels were deficient.

  An hour later, Carper took another look at the harbor. They were deep into the anchorage now, and the deepening shadows of the evening made it difficult to see much.

  “Change out the film on the camera,” Carper ordered. “Use the night film.”

  The Navy had provided the best Kodak film for the mission. The periscope optics and the camera optics were designed for light gathering capability. Hopefully, the film would resolve what Carper looked at through his viewfinder.

  “Skipper,” the Acoustic rating called out. “I have a small craft at zero-seventy-five.”

  Carper quickly spun the scope around. “Looks like an admiral’s launch. Down Scope.”

  The rating quickly removed the camera as the shaft of the periscope disappeared into the well.

  “Quiet on the boat,” Carper said. “All stop.”

  They were already rigged for silent running. “All stop, Aye, Sir,” Rogers replied.

  “Give me the plot on that small craft.”

  “Seems to be coming from shore, Skipper,” Rogers said. “He’s heading directly towards amidships.”

  “Crap,” Carper said. “We’re going to have to keep the boat steady and take our chances, Jolly.”

  If they tried to dive deeper, it would elevate the stern and possibly broach. There was also the risk of driving the bow into the mud. All eyes in the control room looked up as the thrumming of the small engine and propeller carried into the boat. It grew louder, and then there was a clang and a scraping noise. The Essen lurched slightly and then straightened.

  Rogers swore. A trickle of water began dripping down the trunk to the conning tower.

  “Sir,” the Acoustic Operator called, “I think the bogie is taking on water.”

  Carper shook his head and sighed. “Okay, Jolly, take us ahead one-third and bring us around one-eighty relative.”

  “Aye, aye, Skipper.”

  Carper watched the compass repeater as the Essen swung around. The Chief Engineer slipped into the control room and climbed up the ladder into the Conning Tower. Jolly eased over next to Carper.

  “What just happened, Skipper?”

  “I think we just sank an admiral’s launch.”

  “God, Sir, what do we do now?”

  Carper pointed up at the water dripping into the boat. “First thing is to get us out to open sea so we can take a look at the damage. I hope that it’ll be a while before they start wondering what they hit in the confusion topside. If we happen to drown an admiral, it’ll take them some time to sort things out. They will probably think that the launch either hit some debris in the water or the coxswain was screwing around and capsized the boat.”

  The Chief Engineer dropped down the ladder and turned to Carper and Rogers.

  “We got problems, Sirs. I think we took the hit on the periscope mast. We’re leaking around the packing where it goes through the top of the tower. I wouldn’t use anything in the tower until we can get a look at it.”

  “Gotcha, Chief. How’s the rest of the boat?”

  “Nominal, Skipper. The Krauts really know how to put these things together.”

  “Okay, thanks, Chief. How’s the battery?”

  “About sixty percent, Skipper.”

  Carper turned to Jolly. “Think we can dead reckon out of the harbor?”

  “Do we have a choice?”

  “We can’t raise the scope, and we probably can’t raise the snorkel, either. Let’s see where we are at midnight. If we are deeper in the bay, I think we can risk surfacing the boat. We can get a look at the masts and add a bit of charge at the same time.”

  “Gotcha, Skipper. I’ll start working on the course.”

  “Don’t take us any deeper. And keep a good sonar watch. I don’t want to bump into anybody else tonight.”

  “Oh, for sure, Skipper.”

  Two hours later, Carper stood on the bridge and scanned the horizon with his binoculars. The sound of metal tools clanking above him was in counterpoint to the muted thunder of the diesels. He heard the thud of the feet hitting the deck beside him. He turned to face the Chief Engineer.

  “We’re going to need a shipyard, Skipper.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “You’d better not use anything topside,” the Cheng replied. “The periscope and the snorkel are wrecked.”

  “What about the radio mast?” Carper asked.

  “If you can get it up, it will probably stay up.”

  “That will give us problems when we submerge,” Carper commented.

  “I don’t think you want to submerge the boat. If you lose the packing around the scope, we will likely flood the control room.”

  “Are you always this full of cheer, Chief?” Carper asked.

  “We’re still alive, Sir. We still have the propulsion.”

  “Right. It looks like we’re going to have to make an extended surface run.”

  Carper opened the watertight box and pulled out the phone.

  “Jolly, we can’t submerge, and we need to get outside of the Soviet waters by daybreak. Let’s go all ahead flank on this course for the moment. Once we clear the cape, we can go east-southeast.”

  A moment later, dark smoke belched from the exhaust vents on the desk, and the mutter of the diesels crescendoed to a roar. Carper hoped the Soviet Navy had nothing out on patrol tonight. His orders were clear. He would scuttle the Essen before allowing the Russians to capture it.

  He now needed to think about what port to steer towards. Pearl Harbor was out of the question. If they encountered any weather on the trip, they would be in trouble. And they were well into typhoon season. The situation in Japan was up in the air with the change of government. They might have to make for Subic Bay and take their chances on the weather.

  Carper put his binoculars to his eyes and scanned the horizon again. The weather was good, which made it easy to navigate. It also made it easier for the Russians to see the Essen. Anybody that was looking would spot their boiling wake.

  The Essen drove through the Soviet waters with a bone in her teeth. The Cheng was correct, Carper thought; this was a fine boat. Now they just had to survive to get into international waters again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  July 18,1944; 8 PM

  The Private Dining Room

  Sandringham House

  Sandringham, Norfolk, UK