Two hours later, a brigadier general was ushered into the office where Truman worked.

  “I know you,” Truman exclaimed. He snapped his fingers. “Indiantown Gap. You testified about the cost overruns. I’ll have your name in a minute.”

  “Clarence Topf, Mr. President.”

  “Of course, General Topf. How may I help you?”

  “Colonel Galpin reported to me. To my shame and embarrassment, I must confess I was unaware of how badly he had failed. Colonel Tom Hardy will be here in the morning to take over.”

  “Thank you for acting quickly. At some point, we will have a conversation about situational awareness, but not today.”

  “I need to get out and take a look at the situation, Sir,” Topf said.

  “I will go with you.”

  For the next hour, the president and the general toured the camp. Captain Todd Smart accompanied them. Smart had worked at the base over the previous years.

  “Do those barracks belong to us?” Topf asked, pointing across the airfield.

  “Yes, we have quarters for the officers and enlisted men,” Smart replied.

  “Is there enough space there to hold all of the refugees?”

  “Most of them, Sir.”

  “Okay, then, you know what to do,” Topf said. “Get the military people out of quarters and start moving the civilians in.”

  “I think we could get started tomorrow, Sir.”

  Top glanced over at the president and then back at the captain. “No, Captain. It will start right now.”

  “Where will we put the military personnel, Sir?”

  “I don’t care. Put them in tents. Half the camps in the country have civilians in tents. We can do better than that. Our overseas units live in tents. I don’t see a problem.”

  “But, Sir, our people won’t like that.”

  “Which people are that?” Topf asked icily.

  Smart bulled along, not realizing how thin the ice had become. “Sir, our military personnel, and it is a tremendous inconvenience.”

  Topf took a deep breath and took a step back. He turned back to Truman.

  “Mr. President, the situation here is even worse than I imagined. This is a major command failure. I will remain here to assist Colonel Hardy until we get things under control. You have my deepest apologies. I stand ready to accept whatever judgment you may render.”

  “Let’s leave that for the moment, General. We have a problem to solve.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Topf turned to Smart. “Let me give you a basic Civics lesson, Captain. The purpose of the military is to do what?”

  “To preserve and protect the Constitution of the United States of America, Sir.”

  “And what else?”

  “Sir?”

  “To protect the citizens of the United States of America. Do you see the failure here? We have American citizens living in squalor while the military personnel has warm barracks and clean streets.”

  The general pointed his index finger to the ground. “Beginning right here, right now, we are going to fix this. I want you to immediately suspend all other activities on the base not directly associated with supporting the refugees. All Army personnel will clear out of the barracks. They will then clean the barracks, and we will conduct a white-glove inspection. Then we will move the refugees in. After that, we can look at setting up lodging for the Army. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, Sir. What will we do with the Army’s belongings?”

  “I don’t care. Dump it on the parade ground. That’s your problem to solve, Captain. Do not disappoint me.”

  “Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir. By your leave?”

  “Dismissed.”

  Topf and Truman watched as the captain trotted away and turned to face each other.

  “This just gets worse and worse,” Topf commented. “I wonder if I am going to have to replace all of the command staff here. I hope they won’t decide to try foot-dragging.”

  “If they know they won’t get to bed until the job’s done, that should motivate them,” Truman commented.

  Topf laughed. “That is true. If you will excuse me, Mr. President. I probably am going to have to manage this evolution personally. I wonder if Captain Smart uses an enlisted man to tie his shoes for him in the mornings.”

  “God help us.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-nine

  August 8, 1944; 3 PM

  Stalin’s Meeting Room

  The Kremlin

  Moscow, USSR

  Sergei Kruglov walked into the meeting wondering what Stalin would do today. The war was no longer going well if it ever had, and circumstances had backed the General Secretary into a corner. Nobody responded well in that kind of situation, but Stalin had become unpredictable. Yesterday he had shot his private secretary for missing a piece of correspondence. Kruglov had never cared for the secretary, but Stalin’s actions seemed extreme for dealing with a minor error.

  The surrender of the Red Army in Silesia had shaken everyone. The reversal was stunning, considering that the German army had been on the ropes just weeks previously. Kruglov had reached the rank of major in the Red Army before transferring to the NKVD. He had taken courses at the Frunze Military Academy and remembered one lecturer on military history who was known for creating witty aphorisms. The one that came to mind for Kruglov was, Never believe your eyes when you see what you expect to see. The lecture was on achieving tactical and strategic surprise, and it was clear to him that the Germans had done that very thing.

  Now entering the presence of the most dangerous man in the country made him wonder what he should expect to encounter today. He was not optimistic about his prospects. Stalin was fully capable of killing everyone around him regardless of the cost to the nation.

  Malenkov was already in the room, as was Molotov. Stalin puffed great clouds of vile smoke and glared at everyone in the room. At least he hasn’t set the pipe on the table yet, Kruglov thought.

  “Sit down, Sergei, so we can get started,” Stalin said cordially. “We have a lot to cover this afternoon.”

  Kruglov dropped into his chair and pulled it under the table. He looked expectantly at Stalin.

  “I have decided to appoint Ivan Koney as the commanding general of the armies in the West,” Stalin said without preliminaries. “He has a reputation as a loyal son of the party as well as being an able tactician.”

  Kruglov nodded. “That seems reasonable to me, Comrade General Secretary. Whoever we send out is going to have a tough job reconstituting our forces.”

  “Everything seems reasonable to you, Sergei,” Stalin said conversationally. “Yet, you continually fail in the tasks I give you. Why is that? I have wondered if we have a German agent in our midst. The only way we could fail as we have in Poland and Germany is if someone is giving Schloss information on what we are doing. What do you think of that, Sergei?”

  “It is something to consider, Comrade,” Kruglov responded. “We have people placed in the OKW and the Reich Chancellery. So it is not unreasonable to assume they have done the same.”

  Stalin laid his pipe down. “So that is a reasonable assumption, Sergei? Why have you allowed it? Perhaps it is because you are one of those German agents, no?”

  “If I were a German agent, Comrade Party Secretary, you would already be dead,” Kruglov said. “I have had ample opportunities to kill you.”

  “Ha, you would have failed at that, as well. And you, Georgy,” Stalin turned to Malenkov, “You cannot quite produce the necessary armaments for this war. Are you also in collaboration with the Germans?”

  Kruglov was sure Malenkov recognized the danger they all faced. Abstractly, it would be interesting to see how the man responded.

  Malenkov decided to go on the offensive. “Comrade General Secretary, that would not have been necessary. Our industrial infrastructure was a mess when I took it over. You refused my recommendations to purge those men who spent their time to their own personal profit rather than helping the party.”

  “And you, Vyacheslav,” Stalin said, now raising his voice, “you are back here because a German agent recommended that I rehabilitate you.”

  “I serve the Soviet Union,” Molotov shouted. “I have always served the party and you, Comrade. If you refuse to believe that, you ought to shoot me, now.”

  Kruglov thought that was gutsy of Molotov, but they were all in incredible danger right now. Stalin had always been unpredictable, but now the tension had ratcheted up further than anyone in the room had seen before.

  Stalin glared at the men around the table for a full minute and then picked up his pipe. He carefully stuffed the tobacco leaf into the bowl and lit it again. When he had once again begun fouling the air, he looked up.

  “We have received a communique from the Japanese. They would like us to consider coming to a closer understanding.”

  “What does that mean?” Molotov asked.

  Stalin tilted his head slightly. “That is the question, isn’t it? The Japanese are masters at obscurity. But it seems they want to do more than just speak politely to us.”

  “What value does this bring to us?” Malenkov asked. “It would be useful not to worry about Vladivostok, but our main problem is to the west.”

  Kruglov leaned back and listened to the discussion. He was curious about what the Japanese were doing, and he was also puzzled by Stalin’s reaction. He wondered if something else was going on.

  “As you know,” Stalin continued, “we have not been able to aid our fellow travelers in China as we desire. Since the Japanese came to terms with the Americans, we have discovered we have friends in Tokyo who are prepared to help with that aid.”

  Now Kruglov was concerned. Any contacts in Tokyo should have been with the NKVD. Where had Stalin gotten the contacts?

  “I see you are puzzled, Sergei,” Stalin said. “Do you not feel that I should maintain my own sources around the world to support International Socialism?”

  Now, what was the man doing?

  “It seems you thought it would be to your advantage, Comrade General Secretary,” Kruglov replied.

  “I did,” came the reply.

  Kruglov heard the note of triumph in Stalin’s voice and grew more concerned. Something was getting ready to happen.

  “I have decided that we need to make changes in our policy and governance,” the general secretary stated. “Bringing back Comrade Molotov was the first step. Molotov will be resuming his role as the Soviet Foreign Minister.”

  Molotov looked surprised. Okay, he doesn’t know what’s happening, either, Kruglov thought. And Malenkov looked bewildered.

  Stalin stood and turned to the door behind his chair. When he opened it, in walked Dmitri Sagatev, Kruglov’s assistant. With him were four NKVD guards.

  “I am placing Comrade Kruglov under arrest, Comrade Sagatev,” Stalin said. “Please see to it.”

  “Of course,” Sagatev responded.

  The assistant to Kruglov pulled out his gun, turned, and put a bullet between Stalin’s eyes. The body collapsed, and the spray of blood and brain tissue was now visible on the wall. Malenkov jumped to his feet.

  “What have you done, Kruglov?” he shouted.

  “I just saved our lives, Georgy.” Kruglov turned to Sagatev. “You know what to do.”

  “Of course, Comrade Director.”

  Kruglov looked at Malenkov. “Sit down, Georgy. We have much to do, and time is short.”

  “Are you going to kill me too?” Molotov asked calmly.

  “No, Comrade. You are our new Foreign Minister. Stalin just appointed you.”

  Molotov snorted. “Is this what is called shooting the messenger?”

  Kruglov laughed harshly. “It is true in this case, obviously.”

  They watched as the NKVD guards removed Stalin’s body. Kruglov looked back to Malenkov.

  “Georgy, you are the new General Secretary of the Communist Party, and you are also the Soviet Premier. We will need to have the Politburo and the Presidium confirm within the next day. Dmitri has printed up the announcements, and they will go out to Pravda and the radio stations within the hour.”

  “And how did Comrade Stalin die?” Molotov asked.

  “His doctor diagnosed the cause of death as a stroke.”

  “So sad,” Molotov commented. “Are you proposing any policy changes?”

  “Not at the moment. The three of us will need to review our policies and make any necessary changes. If I have to say it, we must maintain continuity.”

  “Have you thought through the transition mechanism?” Malenkov asked.

  “Dmitri has called out the Intervention Battalion, and they will escort Comrade Molotov to the Foreign Ministry to effect the transition there. Dimitri has people going through this building now making the announcement and also arresting anyone we deem a threat to peace and tranquility in Moscow.”

  “They will be purged, of course,” Molotov commented.

  “Not necessarily,” Kruglov replied. “Considering the terror we have all lived under for the past twenty years, I suggest that we all have an understanding. We work by consensus, and any change of government will be peaceful. I’m sure we all want to die at a ripe old age, and it’s time to end the purges.”

  “But what if we have a problem with recidivism?” Molotov asked.

  “If that occurs, we will deal with it. I want to safeguard the revolution as much as you. But I think we’ve reached the point of diminishing returns on the violence. It’s time to build on what Stalin accomplished and try to make our country mature.”

  “In general, I agree,” Molotov said, “but I refuse to compromise the revolution.”

  “Nobody is talking about that,” Malenkov argued. “We just need to be more civilized. I think we need to talk about the war today, though.”

  “Do you have something to suggest?” Kruglov asked.

  “We have lost everything to the west of the Bug River, and that means the Germans are on our doorstep. If they decide to continue, can we stop them?”

  “We should find out what General Koney has to say,” Molotov stated. “Are you suggesting we approach the Germans about halting the war?”

  Malenkov looked around the room. “Please allow me to flip the question over. Is there any benefit to continuing the war? Everyone knows Stalin started it, except for the Narod, of course. We have an opportunity with the change of government to talk to the Germans.”

  Kruglov looked around the room. Sagetev had slipped into a chair and followed the discussion.

  “What are the risks we face if we open negotiations with the Germans?” he asked.

  “The Germans may see it as a weakness on our part,” Molotov commented.

  “I think they already know we are weak,” Malenkov said.

  The new troika chuckled together.

  “I suggest we allow a couple of days for the news to spread,” Kruglov stated. “After that, then Comrade Molotov can approach the Germans through a neutral third party – um, what would you suggest, Vyacheslav?”

  “Probably the Swedes. The British are still angry with us.”

  “That’s another area where we may want to consider mending fences,” Kruglov said.

  The discussions went on for four hours. After the others left, Kruglov turned to Sagatev.

  “Anything I have missed, Dmitri?”

  “I don’t think so, Comrade. It went far better than I expected.”

  “Who do we need to watch?” Kruglov asked.

  “We need to watch everyone,” he responded. “Molotov has always been loyal to Stalin. And he is very conservative.”

  “True. But he also gives us legitimacy. We just need to make sure he is involved in the decisions. He needs to be a part of it. But yes, watch him, Dmitri.”

  Sergei Kruglov sat alone in what was once Stalin’s meeting room. He pondered the changes he had effected today and how this would impact the future of the Soviet Union. Everyone was convinced that Stalin had been clinically insane, but Kruglov was well aware of the factors that drove the man over the edge.

  The economy was in rough shape. The harvests were perennially poor. The people were restless. And Stalin had started a war to focus and motivate the people of the Soviet Union. Kruglov thought they could probably stop the war, but that did nothing to solve the underlying problems.

  Kruglov knew he was flexible enough to make the changes to revive the economy, and Malenkov would do anything he was told. Molotov was the question mark, however. He was a doctrinaire Stalinist and fiercely dedicated to International Socialism. Any changes to the structure of Socialism would require Molotov’s acquiescence, if not full approval.

  Although the immediate threat of Stalin’s instability was passed, Kruglov thought that the Soviet Union was now entering dangerous times. And that meant that times were dangerous for the leadership. The Politburo was restive as well, and the leadership troika would have to make some accommodations there. There was no question that everyone would be very busy for a while.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  August 14, 1944; 2PM

  Governing Council Meeting

  Nazi Party Headquarters

  Frankfurt, Germany

  “And so, meine Herren, we expect Smirnoff to initiate his march into Ukraine on or about September first.”

  Schloss looked quizzically at von Rundstedt, who was presenting the military summary to the governing council.

  “Why is it taking so long? He should have been ready to advance weeks ago.”

  “Part of the reason is that we did not want to begin moving Smirnoff’s army into the Polish territory until we finished securing the Russian forces. We were concerned that would introduce potential problems into the equation.”

  “I can understand that, I guess,” Schloss commented. “What you are saying is that we do not completely trust Smirnoff and Khrushchev.”

  Von Rundstedt nodded. “That would be the case. Also, the Russian, or I guess we can call them Ukrainian, armies are not experienced in moving quickly like the Germans. We like the lightning strikes that achieve our aims and preserve our forces. It has proven successful for us. Smirnoff comes from a school of thought that operates its forces like an earth-moving machine. Slow and ponderous and very hard to stop. And let’s be honest, meine Herren. It works well for them.”