The Time Patrol ship showed up again in mid-afternoon, as it had done for the past four days. As soon as the first flying machine transporting a large metallic container loaded with foodstuff touched the concrete surface of the docks, where the previous deliveries had taken place, Ivan Zorokin ran to it. The machine, which looked like a giant spider, had a ladder running up along each of its giant legs, which were also used as grappling points for the container it had brought in. Zorokin grabbed the handles of one of the ladders and started climbing quickly towards the machine’s main body, where a sort of control cabin was visible at the front. As he was halfway up, an amplified voice speaking Russian boomed in his ears.
“CLIMB DOWN IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL BE FORCIBLY REMOVED! I
SAY AGAIN, CLIMB DOWN IMMEDIATELY!”
Zorokin clenched his teeth but continued climbing: he knew the risks of his actions but the lives of hundreds of thousands of his people depended on the success of his plan.
Thankfully, nobody shot him while he climbed up and he finally stepped on a narrow steel platform connected to the control cabin. He knew better than to pull out his pistol 761
now, figuring that this would bring him only trouble. Instead, he walked to the large windows of the cabin and looked inside. What he saw was a giant of a bald man sitting at a complicated-looking control station. There was also a normal-sized woman with blond hair facing him with suspicion and pointing a pistol at him. Both were dressed in gray uniforms. Zorokin hurriedly waved to the woman while shouting.
“DON’T SHOOT! I WANT TO SPEAK TO NANCY LAPLANTE ABOUT A MOST
URGENT MATTER.”
In response, the woman spoke in the microphone of her helmet, with her words coming out of an external speaker.
“Who are you and what do you want exactly?”
“I am Colonel Ivan Zorokin, of the NKVD. I have some vital news to pass on to your leader, Nancy Laplante.”
The woman’s face hardened at the mention of the NKVD.
“And why should I believe you? The NKVD is as bad as the Gestapo.”
It was Zorokin’s turn to look offended. He however had to recognize that the woman was mostly correct.
“Look, I received yesterday an order from Moscow telling me to destroy the food supplies you are bringing to Leningrad and to pretext that they are poisoned by you. I refused to obey that order and want to discuss a plan with Nancy Laplante on how to react to this.”
The woman hesitated only slightly before going to a door near Zorokin and opening it, inviting him inside. She however kept her pistol pointed at him.
“Alright, lean against this wall and spread your hands and legs.”
Zorokin obeyed and let the woman search him, which she did expertly after taking his STECHKIN pistol out of his belt holster. She then made him turn around to face her.
Only then did Zorokin see the nametag on the woman’s right breast.
“Helena Groth? You’re a German?” Nearly shouted the Soviet, shocked. The woman, a pretty blonde with blue eyes and a round face, smiled at his reaction.
“Yes I am, like some other members of the Time Patrol, but I am no Nazi. We have members of many nationalities and from different centuries in the Time Patrol. Do you have that message from Moscow on you?”
“Of course I do.”
Zorokin took the folded sheet of paper out of his breast pocket and cautiously handed it to the woman. She read it quickly and frowned, then spoke briefly in an unknown 762
language to the bald giant, who grabbed his flight controls and made his machine lift off.
Groth stared at Zorokin as the machine flew towards the giant spaceship that had brought it to Leningrad.
“Colonel, you just won yourself a paid return trip to England. We should be there in a few minutes.”
“A few minutes? How is that possible?”
“We jump spacetime directly from point to point, which is instantaneous. In the meantime, you can take place in that seat. Are you hungry or thirsty?”
“Hungry, mostly, but less than most people in Leningrad.”
The German went to a sort of storage locker and searched through a drawer, pulling out of it a bar of chocolate and throwing it at Zorokin, who eagerly grabbed it and started munching on it with delight. The machine was now entering a cavernous cargo hold inside the giant spaceship that was big enough to put a cruiser in. Huge doors closed behind them as the flying crane landed in the cargo hold. Groth spoke again in her helmet microphone in the same language she had used with the giant pilot. She however spoke with an unseen person for a good two minutes. Zorokin was about to ask what was happening when a flash of white light briefly bathed the control cabin, surprising him.
“What was that?”
“We just jumped spacetime. We are now over our temporary base in England and will land in a short while. Follow me, Colonel.”
With the bald giant following them, Zorokin was led by Groth through a door and a short passageway, ending up in a small elevator cabin that went down one of the machine’s legs and brought them to the level of the hold’s deck. A sort of small vehicle without wheels was waiting for them there. Looking in vain for a driver, Zorokin nonetheless got in the open-top vehicle with the two others. The vehicle then started moving, crossing the expanse of the cargo hold and entering a large cargo lift that went down for a few seconds before stopping and letting the vehicle out in a wide hallway. Half a minute later they emerged outside, going down a huge ramp before the vehicle stopped at the foot of the ramp. Groth and the giant got out, making Zorokin do the same. Looking around him, he saw what appeared to be a standard military airfield, with its wide grassy surface and hangars. The row of spaceships parked nearby and the big, futuristic tower standing a few hundred meters away were however far from standard. Examining the parked spaceships with intense curiosity, Zorokin was not a little surprised to see one 763
that had the name ‘WHITE ROSE OF STALINGRAD’ painted on its nose. He looked at Groth questioningly.
“You have Russian members in your Time Patrol?”
“A few and they come from two different centuries, Colonel. Ah, here is Nancy.”
That made Zorokin snap his head towards an approaching vehicle that looked like a flying platform. A tall woman with black hair and wearing the same gray uniform as Groth and the giant was piloting the platform. She landed besides them and looked with cold interest at the NKVD officer while the two others got in.
“Colonel Zorokin, I am Nancy Laplante. I believe that we have to have a serious talk together.”
“We certainly do, miss.”
“Then hop in! We will speak in my office.”
The trip to the tower took only a minute or so, with Laplante piloting her platform directly inside a hangar situated in the lower level of the building. Zorokin couldn’t help look around him constantly as he followed Laplante inside the tower, fascinated by so many novel sights. He quickly noticed that there were at least as many women as men working in the building, most of them bald giants. He and Laplante finally entered a comfortably furnished office, where he was invited to sit in a plush sofa.
“I hope that the decadent comfort of my office will not appear too ‘bourgeois’ to you, Colonel.” Said Laplante, deadpan. Zorokin smiled at her attempt at humor.
“Some Party apparatchiks, including Chairman Beria, enjoy at least the same level of luxury, Miss Laplante. It is one thing that grates me to no small degree when I see the starvation and misery around Leningrad these days. That is why the latest order from Beria disgusted me and prompted me into wanting to see you.”
“Could I see that message, Colonel?”
“Of course!” Replied Zorokin, taking out again the sheet of paper. He was about to get up to hand it to Laplante when it flew out of his hand and floated in the air all the way to her. Laplante calmly grabbed it in midair and unfolded it, reading it while Zorokin unconsciously made the sign of the cross, sweat appearing on his forehead. The Russian didn’t say a word, though, not wanting to appear too intimidated. Laplante soon looked back at Zorokin, clearly upset by the message from Beria.
“I knew that Stalin was a monster, but this tops everything. What did you plan to do about this, Colonel? Is anyone else aware of this message?”
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“Colonel General Chernikov, the military commander of Leningrad, knows about it. What I had in mind was to rid the Soviet Union of Stalin, Beria and their henchmen, and to put the interests of the Soviet people back at the top of Moscow’s priorities. I would however need your help in order to be able to do that.”
Laplante stared at him with her penetrating gaze, making him feel uncomfortable.
“Colonel, do you believe in either socialism or pure communism?”
“I am a communist, miss, and always will be. What is practiced in Moscow now has little to do with true communism.”
“Colonel, this may surprise you, but I believe that I am what you would call a socialist. I come from a country and time where, while capitalism heavily influenced the economy, the domestic policies would certainly be deemed to be socialist, or even communist, by Americans or British of this time. The giants you saw around today come from a future society that would probably appear to you to be a model of communist paradise: all the basic necessities of life are provided free to all by the government, while one has to pay only for what are considered luxuries. Also, if some economic downturn threatens basic services and necessities, then production of luxury products will be curtailed until the economy improves. Their society is however so prosperous that they have not had to cut production in centuries. They also have not known war for five centuries and are not burdened with any military expenditures, except for the few needed to support the Time Patrol. They have no secret police and enjoy total freedom of expression, apart of being able to elect democratically their leaders or even oust them via referendums. What do you think of that kind of society, Colonel?”
“That I would love to see the Soviet Union becoming such a society, Miss Laplante. But that will be impossible as long as men such as Stalin and Beria hold the reins of power in Moscow. Will you help me and General Chernikov in getting rid of them?”
Nancy was silent for a while, scrutinizing the NKVD colonel sitting in front of her. The old saying ‘better the devil you know than the devil you don’t’ kept coming to her mind.
Zorokin, from what she could read in his mind, was what one would easily call a fanatic, with a rock-hard belief in communism and its superiority over all other political systems.
He however appeared genuinely concerned about the interests of the common Soviet citizen and had been absolutely honest up to now with her. Stalin and his dirty executioner, Beria, had gone way too far this time and had just proved that there would be no peace in Eastern Europe as long as they were alive. Nancy was loath to make 765
them martyrs of communism, though, which was what probably would happen if the Time Patrol publicly killed them. In a way, Zorokin was presenting her with a convenient solution to a tough dilemma. It was a nasty, sneaky solution but it was probably the only practical solution.
“Colonel Zorokin, I believe that our interests and those of the Soviet people meet in this case: you want to rid the Soviet people of the tyranny of Stalin’s rule while I want to ensure a lasting peace in Europe after the end of this war. When you return to Leningrad, you may give this piece of news to General Chernikov: two days ago, I served an ultimatum to the High German Command to either start withdrawing on all fronts back into Germany by noon of this Saturday or face total destruction. Both Field Marshal Von Rundstedt in the West and Field Marshals Kluge and Manstein in the East have accepted my terms and are in the process of preparing to withdraw. In exchange, I have promised the Germans that they will be allowed to defend the borders of Germany as they stood in 1938, before the start of this war. On the part of the Soviet Union, I expect it to stay within its borders of 1938 and refrain from entering Poland and the other countries of Eastern Europe.”
Zorokin first felt joy at these news. Then, the thought of letting those murderous Germans withdraw peacefully started getting to him.
“And what about all the deaths and destruction the Germans caused to my country? How could they be allowed to go free, as if nothing had happened in the last three years?”
“The persons responsible for causing this war are already either dead or in jail, including Adolph Hitler, Heinrich Himmler and Herman Goering. We nabbed them four days ago. They will be publicly tried for their crimes once this war is over. As for reparations for war damages, Germany will be made to pay a certain amount, but I do not want to repeat the mistakes made in 1918, when overly harsh terms caused long-term resentment in Germany and contributed to the rise to power of Hitler and his gang.
It may be an imperfect peace in your mind, Colonel, but it is still a whole lot better than to let this war go on. We need peace and we need it now.”
“And what do you and your Time Patrol get out of this?” Asked Zorokin, suspicious. Nancy kept a firm eye contact as she answered him.
“What we get is the satisfaction of saving lives and of stopping human suffering, Colonel. Also, peace now means peace in the future, which is in our interest. We have no wish for personal power or enrichment.”
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Zorokin nodded to that: while Laplante was not a communist, she was widely acknowledged in the Soviet Union as a brave and honorable soldier. She did not strike him at all as a person seeking personal power. There was also a powerful, indescribable feeling emanating from her. It was hard indeed not to succumb to her charisma.
“Then, I can live with your conditions. What do you propose that we do?”
“What I had in mind will need the support of the Red Army. You, Colonel, can take care of Beria…”
21:15 (Moscow time)
28 Kachalova Street, Moscow
Soviet Union
Lavrentii Beria slapped hard the teenage girl tied naked and spread-eagled in his bed.
“Will you stop crying like this, you young slut, or do you want to experience real pain?”
The fifteen year-old blonde, who had been picked up an hour ago in a nearby street by a roaming team of NKVD secret policemen, strangled her sobs as best she could, terrified by her rapist. She was only the latest in a long list of girls picked at random to satisfy Beria’s lust for teenagers. Beria himself was naked and had already abused her once.
He didn’t have a chance to rape her a second time, though. A male voice, disgust and anger audible in it, then snapped in Beria’s back.
“Leave her alone, you filthy bastard!”
Surprised and alarmed, Beria turned around to see a man in his late thirties and wearing civilian clothes. The stranger was also pointing at his head a pistol equipped with a silencer.
“Who…who are you? How did you get past my bodyguards downstairs?”
“Your bodyguards are a bunch of incompetents. As for who I am, just know that you raped one girl too many. You will now pay for the dishonor you brought to my daughter. Now, untie the girl!”
Beria, not known for his personal courage, promptly undid the ropes holding the teenager, who immediately jumped out of bed and ran to her clothes, thrown into a pile in a corner of the room. The gunman looked at the girl as she dressed.
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“Once you are dressed, leave this house and go home. If this bastard’s bodyguards ask you, tell them that he is finished with you for the night. Don’t say anything to anybody, if you don’t want to put your family in danger.”
“I…I understand. Thank you, mister.”
As the girl left once fully clothed, the gunman went to the bedroom’s window while keeping his pistol pointed at Beria. Opening the window wide, he then got closer to the NKVD chairman, staring at him with intense hatred.
“This is for the people of Leningrad, whom you were ready to let starve to death.”
The pistol then coughed once, the noise barely audible for anybody not inside the room.
The bullet struck Beria right between the eyes, killing him instantly. As Beria’s inert body flopped down on the bed, the gunman quickly unscrewed the silencer off his pistol and threw a sheet of paper on the floor, then went back to the open window after locking the door. He waited a few minutes, in order to let enough time for the girl raped by Beria to escape, then passed his right arm outside and fired one bullet skyward, careful to catch the ejected brass casing, which he pocketed. He then fired two more bullets, this time in Beria’s body. The noise of running feet could be heard as he took out a spherical object from one pocket of his trench coat and pressed the red button on top of it. He disappeared in a flash of white light seconds before the first violent knocks shook the bedroom’s door. The door soon gave up, two burly men with revolvers at the ready crashing through it. They found only Beria’s body, the open window and the sheet of paper on the floor, along with three spent bullet casings. One of the bodyguards picked up the sheet of paper and read aloud the short statement written on it in rough lettering.
“For the rape of my beloved daughter…”
21:32 (Moscow Time)
Soviet Army Chief of Staff’s office
The Kremlin, Moscow
Marshal Georgii Zhukov was a busy man tonight, what with all the reports coming in of unspecified German troop movements at night along the whole front. When told that Colonel-General Chernikov had unexpectedly arrived from Leningrad, however, he made the time to receive him, as Chernikov was an old classmate from the military academy. Zhukov didn’t recognize the NKVD officer who came in with Chernikov, 768
though. The latter saluted Zhukov and shook hands with him before presenting the NKVD man.
“Comrade Marshal, this is Colonel Ivan Zorokin, NKVD commissar for Leningrad.
He is part of the reason I came to Moscow to see you. Yesterday, Colonel Zorokin received an order from Chairman Beria. That order was so shocking, so cruel that he came to see me to ask for my counsel, as he could not in all decency obey it. This is the message he received.”
Now frankly curious, Zhukov took the message from Chernikov and read it. His reaction was the same as that of Chernikov a day ago. Both angry and disgusted, he went to one of the large windows of his office to take in some fresh air and calm down. He finally faced his visitors, his face hard.
“You know what this means, comrades? If Beria wrote this, then it was probably at the request of Comrade Stalin himself.”
“We realize that, Comrade Marshal. However, that is not all. Yesterday again, when the Time Patrol cargo ship made its now customary delivery of foodstuff, it also delivered a letter from the Time Patrol. Its content was so sensitive that I decided to bring it by hand to you.”
Zhukov took the envelope Chernikov handed him and opened it, finding inside a single sheet of paper bearing a holographic logo with the emblem of the Time Patrol. Zhukov knew from the hologram that this could not be a fake, as nobody but the Time Patrol could produce such pictures. The content of the letter was a real bombshell.
“The Germans are withdrawing back to Germany on all fronts? So, that is what those German troop movements are all about. We can’t just let them go like that, unmolested.”
“We will have to, Comrade Marshal: the Time Patrol envoy was very clear about that. It doesn’t want our forces to go further than our national borders as they stood in 1938. If we do not respect that clause, then the Time Patrol will use force to stop us.
You know that we would not stand a chance in that case, Comrade Marshal. Their envoy also emphasized the importance of the last paragraph.”
Zhukov reread that part aloud, intrigued.
“We want durable peace for all of Europe and also to see the Soviet people enjoy such a peace free from terror from whatever origin. I am not sure I understand, Comrade Chernikov.”
It was Zorokin who spoke then.
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“We believe that Miss Laplante, who signed that letter, meant the terror from within the Soviet Union, Comrade Marshal. The Time Patrol somehow knew about Beria’s order to destroy the food and to blame this on them. They were understandably unhappy about it and threatened to clean our house if we didn’t do it ourselves.”
Zhukov looked again at the envelope: it had been addressed to him and not to Stalin, something that was most probably not a simple mistake.
“Comrade Zorokin, did you destroy the foodstuff, as ordered by Chairman Beria?”
“I didn’t and I won’t, Comrade Marshal!” Replied forcefully the NKVD officer.
“That order was nothing less than an act of treason against the brave people of Leningrad, who have been enduring hell for a year while resisting the German invaders.”
“So, how are you supposed to explain that to Beria or to Stalin, Comrade Colonel?” Asked pointedly Zhukov. Zorokin hesitated for a moment then: Nancy Laplante had not told him how she would get rid of Stalin.
“The Time Patrol envoy said to us not to worry about Beria or Stalin, Comrade Marshal, and to worry only about the freedom and security of the Soviet people.”
Zhukov looked at him suspiciously: this sounded like a carefully elaborated plot. He however still had to plan for Stalin’s reaction to all this. He put the letter back in its envelope, then went to his large work desk and held the envelope over the big ashtray on it. Taking out his lighter, he put fire to the envelope and watched it burn, letting it go only at the last second. He then faced his visitors, his expression grave.
“Comrades, you never got that envelope. You only received a verbal message from the Time Patrol, who never mentioned the part about comrades Stalin and Beria.
We will now go inform Comrade Stalin about the German withdrawal and the Time Patrol restrictions to our movements, but nothing else.”
“What if he insists that we pursue the Germans all the way to Berlin?” Asked Chernikov anxiously. “That could be the death of the Red Army.”
“The Red Army will not die, not as long as I live.” Replied resolutely Zhukov while taking out his pistol and chambering a round in it before holstering it again.
“Follow me and be ready for everything but don’t draw your pistols unless I do so.”
Their hearts pounding with both excitement and fear, Chernikov and Zorokin followed Zhukov out of his office and along the corridors of the Kremlin. Zhukov’s authority made all the doors open for them and they arrived in the anteroom of Stalin’s 770
office six minutes later. Stalin’s political aide, Georgi Malenkov, was still working there at that late hour and greeted them.
“Comrade Marshal, what can I do for you and your two officers at this hour?”
“Is Comrade Stalin still in, Comrade Malenkov? We have news of the utmost importance for him.”
“He still is.” Replied the fat man, smiling amiably to Zhukov. “You know how hard our leader works for his people. Give me a minute to announce you.”
The trio repressed its nervousness as Malenkov knocked lightly on the door of Stalin’s office. After a few seconds and no answer, Malenkov knocked again, harder, but still without results. Getting worried, the aide then cautiously opened the door and stuck his head inside. He immediately jumped back, panic on his face.
“Comrade Stalin…he is lying on the carpet and not moving.”
Zhukov immediately rushed past Malenkov, followed by Chernikov and Zorokin. They found Stalin lying still besides his desk, his mouth open and his right hand grasping his chest at heart level. An expression of intense pain was frozen on his now white face.
Malenkov finally approached the body of his mentor and looked with horror at it.
“Is
he…”
“Dead? Yes!” Replied Zhukov, having checked for a pulse and finding none.
“Get a doctor here, quickly!”
As Malenkov ran out of the office, Zorokin examined the attitude of the body carefully.
“It looks like he suffered a heart attack.”
“It appears so to me as well.” Replied Zhukov. “The doctor should be able to confirm the diagnostic.”
The doctor presently on duty in the Kremlin showed up, out of breath, six minutes later, along with Malenkov and a few guards. The doctor knelt besides the body of Stalin and took a minute to examine it before pronouncing his diagnostic.
“A heart attack. All the telltale signs are visible. I am afraid that the Comrade Premier worked too hard for his own good.”
“So, it is not an assassination?” Asked the guards officer standing behind him.
The doctor gave him a dubious look.
“No, Comrade Major, it isn’t. There are no wounds visible and a victim of poison would grab its throat or belly, not its chest. I will have an autopsy made right away but I don’t expect to find anything suspicious.”
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“What do we do now?” Nearly shouted Malenkov, near panic again. Zhukov got up and stared hard into his eyes.
“We make sure that the Soviet Union survives its great leader. I will order our forces to stand fast on all fronts. In the meantime, Comrade Malenkov, advise the members of the Politburo and of the Council of People’s Commissars of this tragic loss for our country. General Chernikov, Colonel Zorokin, come with me!”
The trio waited until they were back inside Zhukov’s office to blow air out in relief.
“God, that was a close call!” Said Chernikov, his hands shaking from the release of stress. “How could the Time Patrol arrange Stalin’s death to look like a heart attack?”
“The how is not important, comrades.” Said Zorokin firmly. “How we act from now is the important thing. This may be an opportunity that will probably be unique.
Let’s use it wisely.”
Zhukov suddenly swore to himself.
“Beria! If he uses Stalin’s death to succeed him, things will be even worst, with the NKVD in total control of the coun