Come into my Parlour (24 page)

The only hopeful feature of the campaign appeared to be the Russians' determination to stick at nothing that might eventually help to defeat their enemy. In all the previous German
Blitzkriegs
it had proved sufficient for them to send their armoured columns forging ahead to the limit of their endurance for all resistance to collapse behind them. But the Russians were made of sterner stuff than the other people that the Panzer armies had overrun. Army corps, divisions and even companies that found themselves cut off had no thought of surrender, but fought on to the last, knowing that by so doing they were giving invaluable help to their comrades further east, who were still opposing the enemy spearheads. Their stubbornness resulted in thousands of German troops designated for the front line having to be held back to deal with them; but even when their formations were cut up and they ran out of ammunition the survivors took to the woods, from which they issued as small, desperate bands at night to sabotage the enemy lines of communication.

Many thousands of women had joined those bands in the enemy rear and were fighting shoulder to shoulder with the men; and wherever the Germans appeared other women were deliberately setting fire to their own homes and crops in pursuance of Stalin's “scorched earth” policy. It was this nation-wide determination not only to die if need be, but to beggar oneself and even see one's children starve, rather than allow food or shelter to fall into the enemy's hands which provided an offset of incalculable value against the actual territorial gains of the German armies.

In their room that night, Gregory and Kuporovitch talked the situation over. The Russian was as confident as ever that his country would emerge from the struggle victorious, but Gregory was not so sanguine. It was obvious that these “Maquis” operations, which were being carried out behind the German lines on a scale never before envisaged, must be creating a heavy drain on the enemy's resources, but with so many Russian cities either captured or cut off the reduction of Russian resources must be even greater. If the Germans could maintain the momentum of their advance for another three months the whole of European Russia would be in their hands, and Gregory did not see how the Russians could possibly continue to keep their armies in the field if they had to rely entirely on their Asiatic territories for munitions and supplies.

Against this Kuporovitch argued that, even if it were early summer, no army could keep up the pace the Germans had set themselves for
a further three months, and that now that winter was fast approaching offensive operations would be rendered doubly difficult. He forecast that the Germans would continue to have gradually lessening local successes for another month, that the heavy snows would then bring about conditions much more favourable to the Russians, and that during the long winter new armies would be built up which would roll the Germans back after the ground had dried in the late spring.

However, they at length agreed that they were both only theorising, and went to bed.

The following morning they went over to the Embassy and the Press Attaché presented them to the Ambassador. Sir Stafford Cripps had already been informed by a “Most Secret” cypher telegram from London that they were being sent to Russia for special duty. However, in accordance with the Protocol, no Ambassador is ever embarrassed by being made aware of activities which might mitigate against his own standing with the foreign Power to which he is accredited, so Sir Stafford neither knew nor enquired the real reason why they had been sent out to him. His instructions were simply that they should be given some employment in his Press Section which would leave them such freedom as they might desire yet at the same time qualify them to seek interviews and be granted travel facilities as members of the Embassy staff.

The Ambassador gave his Press Attaché suitable instructions and enjoined secrecy upon him regarding the dummy posts that were to be created for the two new arrivals, then he formally wished them luck in their undertaking, and they left him to his papers.

The Press Attaché proved both amiable and helpful. He was clearly intrigued by these two “cloak and dagger merchants” for whose arrangements he had been made responsible and, taking them to his own room, he enquired if they had any suggestions as to suitable cover for themselves. Gregory replied that their work could best be accomplished under some apparent activity which would necessitate their visiting a number of Russia's principal cities and, if possible, making a few trips to various parts of the front as well.

“I'm afraid that is asking for the moon,” the Attaché smiled. “You can move about in Moscow quite freely and I can probably get you permits to visit some of the larger cities that are still a long way behind the battle zone, but visits to the front are absolutely out of the question. Our Allies are almost unbelievably cagey about everything to do with their military operations and even General Mason MacFarlane, the head of our Military Mission, has not been allowed to see anything of the fighting yet.”

“Visits to some of the big reinforcement depots, where the new
intakes of recruits are being mustered and trained, would probably serve just as well,” Kuporovitch remarked.

“That could possibly be arranged, but what excuse could we put forward as your reason for wishing to visit such places?”

“Statistics,” said Gregory thoughtfully. “An enquiry into statistics would cover an interest in a multitude of subjects. We'd have to keep off figures which might be liable to reveal important military secrets, of course; but we could say that we represented certain important British scientific journals and were gathering data to write articles for them on the war potential of the Russians as a people. A lot of it would be semi-medical stuff. Average height, weight, age and general state of fitness of the recruits; prevalence of various hereditary diseases among them; their powers of resistance to cold and heat; typical diet upon which they have been brought up; percentages of pre-war types of employment; ratio of single against married men; average number of children; numbers in family, and so on. By and large, the Russians are an extraordinarily healthy looking lot, so their authorities should not object to that.”

The Attaché nodded. “No, that sounds a good idea. But of course, they'll lie to you like blazes, and let you see only the crack troops that have been specially hand-picked to reinforce their Guard Divisions. It's always like that here. They keep special hospitals, creches, factories, in apple-pie order solely to impress visiting foreigners, and over what happens elsewhere an impenetrable veil is drawn. It's not done with any deliberate intention of misleading one, but just because they want everybody to think well of them, and they honestly believe that in showing the sample they are only anticipating a little the high standard they will have throughout the whole country one fine day.”

“I don't mind how many lies they tell us,” Gregory grinned, “if only they'll let us get around a bit under our own steam.”

So the matter was arranged, and Gregory and Kuporovitch were given a small office at the top of the building, with two tables, four chairs, pens, inks, pencils, stationery and a card on the door bearing their names, underneath which was written “Statistical Department (Press Section)”.

They had arrived in Moscow on a Friday and, having made their arrangements on Saturday morning, they spent the rest of the weekend wandering about the capital. Gregory found that having Kuporovitch with him now proved an enormous advantage, as the Russian could drop into casual conversation with all sorts of people who, regarding him as one of themselves, talked perfectly freely, and were not put off by his own presence, since he had adopted the expedient
of wearing a bandage, as though he had been wounded, over his mouth.

The Russians are a talkative lot and will argue with anyone about anything, until any hour in the morning, but despite the general garrulousness of the people with whom Kuporovitch scraped acquaintance they learned nothing that was of any value to them in connection with their mission. These personal contacts only confirmed what their Press colleagues had told them; the people were as uncompromisingly anti-Nazi as the British and just as confident in final victory. Uncle Joe Stalin, with his battle cry of “Death to the German Invaders”, was as popular as Winston Churchill was in Britain, and the masses were more solidly behind him than they had ever been before; but they knew nothing about his health and they had no idea of the size of their Army.

As Kuporovitch pointed out, rather glumly, this was not really surprising, as the Soviet Government issues no Army List and no details of the expenditure on the Fighting Services are ever published; but Gregory was not unduly disappointed, since he was more or less killing time until he could contact more promising sources, and mooching round like this both helped to fill in his background and gave him a good idea of the layout of the city.

The weather was becoming distinctly chilly and, it was reported, the first snow had fallen in Leningrad on the Friday; so on Monday morning they took some of their store of soap and went in search of furs, and the goloshes without which the Russians never move abroad in the winter. On their return with their purchases they found a message from their nominal master saying that he would like to see them, so they went along to his office.

“You are in luck,” the Press Attaché told them immediately they presented themselves. “It might have taken two or three weeks to get permission for you to visit the sort of places you want to see; but I ran into General Alyabaiev this morning. He used to be on the staff of the Russian Embassy in London, so he speaks English, and he is now one of the big shots in the Moscow garrison. I told him about you and he has offered to show you round some of the reinforcement depots personally.”

“Splendid!” smiled Gregory. “Thank you so much. When is this likely to happen?”

“He is completing a round of inspections tomorrow and will pick you up here in his car at eight o'clock. You will find him very easy to get on with. All the soldiers are. I don't know why it is, but they are always far more co-operative than the Russian Civil Servants.”

“Perhaps that is because the civilians come under the surveillance
of the secret police,” Gregory hazarded, “whereas the service people don't—at least not to the same degree—so they can afford to be more maty without drawing suspicions upon themselves. Anyhow, that suits me, as most of my business will be with the soldiers.”

When they had left the room Kuporovitch said: “Since this General speaks English it will be unnecessary for me to accompany you tomorrow. Although I know him only by name it is just possible that he might remember me. Someone is bound to do so sooner or later, but the longer we can avoid anyone raking up my past the better.”

In consequence it was decided that Stefan should develop a chill on the liver, and the following morning Gregory waited alone to meet General Alyabaiev, who was well over an hour late.

The Russian proved to be a short, thick-set, dark man, with merry black eyes and a ready laugh. He had spent eighteen months in London during the early days of the Soviet Embassy, when it was housed in Grosvenor Square, and had enjoyed himself immensely; as the amenities of Moscow before the era of the Five-Year Plans had been few indeed, and London, by comparison, an absolute Paradise. His sense of humour had prevented him from feeling resentment at some of the more stuffy English, who, he said, had clearly regarded him as a professional assassin, and he had met enough of the more broad-minded kind to secure for himself a thoroughly good time; and the memory of it had made him one hundred per cent pro-British.

Gregory was soon on excellent terms with him, and they spent the morning inspecting a number of depots, at which the visitor could not help but be impressed with the fine physique and high morale of the new intakes. He asked a great many questions, all of which were answered promptly and with apparent frankness, but he noted down the statistics he was given only because it was necessary to the rôle he was playing, since they had little bearing on the broad strategic picture that it was his object to obtain.

As they were driving back he remarked on the excellent discipline of the men he had seen training and their obvious respect for their officers.

“Ah, it took a war to do that,” laughed the little General. “In the old days of peace we 'ave the Political Commissar to every regiment, an' 'e push the nose in everywhere, so that 'alf the officers are frightened to ‘ave firmness with the men. But we fight the Finns an' these little people give great big Russia a black eye. The Marshals say to Stalin, ‘Without discipline wars cannot be won. You take away the Political Commissars an' we will soon have the war finished,' so the Commissars were took, a new spirit was quickly there, an' the war was won. Now, ef a sub-lieutenant gets in a tramcar every soldier jumps up to offer seat.
That ees good, an' right, because the officer ‘as passed 'igher tests than the man an' more is expected of him, so it ees proper that they should pay 'im respect.”

Just as the General was about to set Gregory down in front of the Embassy he said: “I can arrange for you to visit some of our intake centres further east, ef you are wanting that. But I think you waste your time, now I have shown you our routine. It ees much similar in all other places.”

“I suppose so,” Gregory agreed. “Still, my articles would carry more weight if I could write on data that I've acquired in other places as well as Moscow.”

“Perhaps,” the General shrugged, not very enthusiastically. “All right, then; let me ‘ave an outline of such programme as you propose yourself, at the reception tomorrow night, an' I will tell you then what ees possible.”

“Thanks very much, but I'm afraid I haven't been asked to any reception.”

“It ees given at the 'otel Metropole to receive the Polish Generals in exile. Many were our prisoners from the Polish campaign of nineteen-thirty-nine, but now they become Allies an' they will form a Polish Legion to fight the Germans with us. The Corps Diplomatic ees invited to send its representatives, but ef you are not of those selected I will ‘ave sent to you a special card.”