Beyond the Call (33 page)

This time Robert was determined not to be bowed. He refused to clear the flight. There was a stalemate, and it was Kovalev who was forced to give a little. Would it help if he were to personally guarantee the safety of Colonel Wilmeth and the other passengers? Robert said that it would not. The flight could not be cleared. But sensing that Kovalev would never yield, and feeling the pressure from Moscow to get the King case settled, Robert had to be content with Kovalev's personal guarantee. Getting a Soviet officer to stake his honor on such a promise was quite an achievement.

Colonel Wilmeth and his party left Poltava that day, and made it to Moscow in one piece. They were taken directly to the embassy. Wilmeth had left this place over two months ago on his hopeful mission to help the prisoners of war in Poland. Having been treated shamefully by the Soviets there, he was returning in the role of their puppet prosecutor against a fellow American officer. As far as he could see, there was barely any case at all against the young lieutenant.
¹⁷
But he was under orders to ransack the rulebook and cobble together whatever charges he could.

The charade began on 25 April and ran for two days, in an atmosphere of unease and ill will. Lieutenant King was found guilty and, like Lieutenant Bridge, was fined $600, with a permanent black mark on his record.
¹⁸
The officers of the jury, ashamed of what they had taken part in, all signed a request for clemency, which they forwarded to General Deane, currently in Washington. Deane, effectively acting on behalf of the Soviets, denied the request. The purpose of this trial was not justice; it was diplomacy.

Diplomacy was satisfied. The sacrifices were sufficient, and the Americans had been humbled. The day after the verdict, General Kovalev officially lifted the ban on American flights in and out of Poltava. On that day, Captain Robert Trimble, sensing the return of peace to his command, cabled Moscow: ‘On twenty eighth day of Soviet grounding … local test hops for combat and transportation aircraft allowed. … One B-17 and one P-51 scheduled to depart for Italy tomorrow with Soviets quite cooperative.'
¹⁹

Knowing what this peace had cost, Robert was disgusted. He felt ashamed of himself and, for the first time in his life, ashamed of his country. It was only chance that had prevented Robert himself from being part of the court-martial. His name had been on the list of potential court members, and only his appointment as CO had saved him.
²⁰
The mood throughout Eastern Command was low. The officers and men felt that they had been let down by their superiors. The Soviets had been appeased when they should have been stood up to.

Lieutenant Myron King returned to Poltava that same day. He had been flown out of Moscow in a rush, in case the Soviets made a stink about the leniency of his sentence.
²¹
Captain Trimble took advantage of the lifting of the flying ban and ensured that King and his crew got on a flight the very next day to Tehran (their B-17,
Maiden USA
, had already been ferried back to England).
²²
When General Kovalev – learning of their departure after the event – complained, Robert advised him to take the matter up with Moscow.
²³

In his few quiet moments, when he was able to give thought to his own situation, Robert wondered what might have happened to him if he'd been caught in any of his prisoner-exfiltration missions. If this was what they would do to men who'd given the kind of trivial offense that King and Bridge had, what would the Soviets have done to him? Well, he knew the answer to that already – they'd most likely have killed him off quietly, somewhere out in the wilds, and blamed the partisans and terrorists. Would the generals in Moscow have stood up for him and held them to account? He doubted it. To do so would have been to admit their complicity. That was why there were no written orders and no trail leading from his activities back to them.

What Robert couldn't reconcile was the contradiction. On one hand there was the moral urge, the sense of loyalty and brotherhood that had made his superiors bring him here and send him out to rescue his compatriots; on the other was their willingness to sacrifice innocent people to the Soviets now – not just these three officers but the men and women left behind in Poland. Robert didn't understand politics, and maybe never would.

E
VERYTHING WAS COMING
to an end.

At 19:00 hours Poltava time on 7 May 1945, the BBC, broadcasting from London, announced that the war in Europe was over. They were a tad premature, as the final surrender would not be signed until the following day. Nonetheless, the pent-up emotions among the Americans at Poltava, and the natural joy at the end of the conflict, produced an explosion of celebration.
²⁴
They danced and sang in the streets, firing their weapons in the air.

Russian soldiers watched the display with surprise and puzzlement. When told the reason, they refused to believe it; the end of the war had not been announced by Moscow, so it could not be true. The next day, there was still no word from the Kremlin. Finally, in the early hours of 9 May, the word came through: the Great Patriotic War was officially over – the Germans were beaten. The Russian contingent at Poltava
erupted in a display of jubilation even greater than their American counterparts'. Later that day, a joint parade was held in the city. Once again Eastern Command marched in pride behind the colors of the United States. Soon, they believed, their job would be done and they would be able to pack up and go home.

Everything was coming to an end. Everything except the ghosts and the memories that would linger for decades among the men and women who had served.

A
RECEPTION WAS
held at the US Embassy in Moscow to celebrate Victory in Europe, and as CO of Eastern Command, Captain Robert Trimble was invited.

He arrived in Moscow filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Robert would be mingling with the very topmost of the top brass, and he had mixed feelings about them, and the contradiction that he would never be able to reconcile. It was they who had foreseen the cruelty of Soviet conduct in Poland and had conceived the humane covert mission that had brought him to Russia. They had, in effect, risked all for the sake of American servicemen. That made them noble and honorable, didn't it? He couldn't have done what he had in Poland if they hadn't put the means in his hands and provided him with cover. But when it came to the final diplomatic horse-trading, those same men had sold their own officers, and the entire nation of Poland, to the Soviets. Or their masters in London and Washington had, and they had helped enact the bargain.

What would happen to Józef now, or that delightful lady who ran the Hotel George, or the Kratke family on their farm at Staszów? Would the young girl's brother, Tadeusz, ever be able to return home? Would the citizens ever be safe after dark on the streets of Lwów?

Robert took a cab from the airport and was driven to the US Embassy. It stood on Novinskiy Boulevard, one of the grand thoroughfares encircling the heart of the Russian capital. The embassy was even bigger and more impressive than the one in London, a glorious, palatial
building in honey-colored stone and white stucco.
²⁵
Remembering what had happened to him the last time he entered an American embassy, Robert felt a little uneasy. And the idea of lavish parties when there were so many people suffering made him uncomfortable. Perhaps he could at least talk to someone in power, and get them to put pressure on the Russians to alleviate the situation at Poltava. Morale was still low, with the Soviets still being awkward about American flights. And mail was still not getting through.

He was greeted by a young attaché from the Military Mission, who escorted him to the ballroom. The place was brimming over with gold braid and satin gowns. Senior officers of the armies, air forces, and navies of the three allies mingled with civilians of the diplomatic corps, nibbling canapés and guzzling wine, and gossiping at the tops of their voices under the crystal chandeliers.

As he was escorted around the room and introduced to people, Robert was warned
sotto voce
by his companion that half the Russian women present were employed by the NKVD. There really was no escaping them – from the streets of Lwów to the heart of the diplomatic mission, the Soviets got their spies and informers everywhere. In a culture so obsessed with spying, it was hardly surprising that you ended up with the kind of mean-spirited paranoia that treated ex-prisoners of war like potential partisans, and men like King, Bridge and Shenderoff like terrorists.

The attaché steered Robert toward a little group of very senior-looking people. He recognized General Deane. Standing beside him was a thin man with a cheerfully gaunt face, as if someone had given Abe Lincoln a shave and told him a really good joke.

Deane drew Robert into the group. ‘Averell,' he said to the thin man, ‘this is Captain Trimble, our excellent new commanding officer at Poltava.'

So this was Ambassador Harriman. He offered his hand. ‘Delighted to meet you, Captain. So you're the interim commander I've heard about?'

Robert balked a little at ‘interim', but pressed on. ‘Sir, I was very
excited to receive your invitation. I hope we can find time to talk about a few matters. There are some problems still at—'

General Deane tensed beside him, but Harriman was already talking over Robert. ‘Captain, it's been great meeting you, and I hear you're doing a superb job. I have a lot of ground to cover this evening, so you'll forgive me if I circulate. Enjoy yourself, and take care!'

Robert was introduced to more people, and General Deane chatted with him a little, carefully steering the conversation away from shop talk. After a while Robert found himself alone again with the attaché.

‘Are the brass always this offhand with their soldiers?' he asked.

The attaché laughed. ‘Oh, always. I hardly ever know what's going on – until my superiors want something, and then I can't do it fast enough for them.'

‘My command at Poltava is being undermined by the Soviets, and my people are depressed. I've asked for help, but all I get is instructions to do whatever the Russians want.'

The attaché drew Robert to one side, away from some Russians who were standing within hearing distance. ‘Well, we are guests in their country. Over the past year we've had constant complaints from the Soviet authorities about American misbehavior at Poltava – road accidents, GIs exploiting the black market, local women being harassed.
²⁶
You name it, we've been accused of it, and some of the claims are true.' Robert didn't need to be told – handling such complaints was part of his daily round as CO. ‘As guests,' the attaché went on, ‘we have the obligation to behave impeccably. If we hope to maintain good relations with the USSR, we have to do what they want.'

During his evening in Moscow, Robert came to the conclusion – as if he'd needed any prompting – that he wasn't cut out for politics.

There were other things too that were outside his area of competence. A little later, as he was wondering whether it was okay to up and leave the party, he was approached by a glamorous lady with movie-star looks – the most beautiful woman he'd seen since the queen of Iran. She didn't bother introducing herself, and already seemed to
know who he was. ‘Do you smoke, Captain?' she asked. He admitted that he liked an occasional cigar. She took his arm in hers and guided him out to a balcony.

In the chill air and a haze of perfume and cigarette smoke, she plied him with conversation and questions. She was fascinated by his experiences as a pilot and very keen to learn about the condition of American flyers who had been forced down in enemy territory and how they were rescued.

Robert sighed. He had been here before, just a few days ago. On the evening after the VE Day celebrations, there had been a show put on at Poltava's theater and a party afterwards. Robert had met a pretty Ukrainian performer who called herself Lydia. He wasn't proud of what had followed. Having taken on board far more booze than was good for him, and with his innate susceptibility to female charm, he allowed himself to be persuaded to go back with her into the city to meet her parents; strangely, they turned out to be an old couple who didn't seem to know Lydia any more than they knew Robert. More vodka was drunk. Lydia took him up to her room.