The discussion then focused on the matter of selecting a specific target. Alexander wondered whether conventional carpet bombing of an area wouldn’t be as effective and less sinister than an atomic bomb. Ike agreed to a point but insisted that the shock value of a single atomic bomb would be so much more effective.
Within the Russian perimeter west of the Weser, there were three major areas of concentration. Ike reviewed the virtues of each and decided on the northernmost area and that the bombing would occur as soon as possible. The next morning if it could be done. All were in agreement that the sooner the terrible bomb was used, the more devastating the effect would be, as the current massive troop concentrations could easily disperse.
With that, the meeting began to break up. Burke was concerned. The generals had missed a point.
“General Eisenhower,” he said, “may I speak?”
This earned him a deadly glare from Beetle Smith that told him whatever he was doing had better be worth it.
“About what?” asked Ike.
“Sir, it’s about the Russian command psychology and how using the bomb might affect that.”
Eisenhower, who had risen, sat back down and smiled slightly. “All right,” he said and turned to the others, who had paused. “Gentlemen, before joining us Burke was General Marshall’s resident expert on the Soviet Union and, most particularly, an expert on our antagonist, Josef Stalin. He is also the man who brought Marshall the warning that the Reds were going to attack the Potsdam column what seems an eternity ago.”
Burke saw many eyes staring at him with surprise. Even Patton seemed respectful. “General,” he began after taking a deep breath, “the Russian command structure is very tightly controlled. The Russians are taught to obey their orders and not to deviate from them. In the past, anyone who deviated in the slightest from Stalin’s orders was dismissed, even executed.”
Patton whistled. “What a nasty bastard. And he was our ally?”
Burke continued. “When their war with Germany started, most of the Russian generals were sycophants who had survived on their loyalty to Stalin, not because of their military abilities. Stalin is a pragmatist, so, when the defeats began to pile up, he replaced those toadies with real generals like Zhukov, but the psychology of the structure remains the same. You obey your orders, no matter what they are. Disobedience can be fatal, even if that disobedience results in victory. Stalin cannot stand the thought of a rival.”
Ike leaned forward. “What will happen after the war to men like Zhukov?”
“Sir, Zhukov and others have been given considerable latitude in order to win the war against Hitler, and now against us. As a result, they have become personalities and heroes. In my opinion, they will either be banished or executed when their usefulness is over.”
Patton laughed. “Shit, I think I prefer our method of retirement, even with the lousy pay.”
After the chuckles stopped, Ike asked Burke just how that would affect their target selection.
“Sir, if you can take out their commanders as well as cause casualties, the survivors will be a leaderless mob until such time as Stalin is able to correct things. If the bomb is as good as it is supposed to be, that might be never.”
“Burke,” said Bradley, “are you suggesting we murder Zhukov and other leaders?”
“Yes, sir,” he responded without hesitation.
“Why not?” chided Patton. “They’re all soldiers, aren’t they? Didn’t we go after and kill Yamamoto in the Pacific? And didn’t we spend some tense moments last December when it appeared that the Nazis were going to try and kill Eisenhower?”
Ike tapped the table with his pencil. “Brad, do we have a good idea where Zhukov is?”
Bradley nodded. “Yes. The OSS people we left behind have reported that he is with Chuikov and they are just east of Paderborn. We can’t pin it down to a precise place, but we are pretty sure they are in the center cluster, not the northern one. It makes sense when you figure that the center is where Zhukov’s old command is.”
“Then,” Ike said grimly, “it’s decided. We hit the center group. Brad, see if you can get more specifics on Zhukov’s possible location and convey them to Tibbetts. I still want them hit tomorrow, if possible. The sooner we kill Russians, the more Americans are saved.”
The generals left the bunker, and Burke found he was almost alone. “Now you’ve gone and done it,” said Godwin. “You’ve given yourself a place in the history books, at least the larger ones. Not bad for a clerk or scribe,” he teased, “but do you really understand what you’ve caused?”
“I’m not certain,” said Burke.
“To begin with, you’ve just been instrumental in determining the place where the weapon that will change war and history will be used.”
“That I understood.”
“But, by helping to change the target from the northern group to the middle one, you also just condemned men who were scheduled to live to instead die a horrible death, while others, whom Ike had previously determined would die, get to extend their lives. In short, you’ve played God, just like a real war leader. Rather much for a university professor, wouldn’t you say?”
Burke walked up the stairs and into the night. It had gotten dark since the meeting started. He walked briskly to his tent. He would have to write down everything that had transpired at this meeting before his memory dimmed. Somewhat against regulations, he had been keeping a journal since that fateful night in Washington when the Russian colonel slipped him the message.
If the atomic bomb did work and wiped out the Russian command, his comments could have indeed affected history. What would Natalie think of what he had done? And, he thought, what about his future students? They would be told as well. What would their reaction be? Would they consider him a hero or a murderer? Suddenly, he had doubts.
He could hide behind the fact that the ultimate decision was Ike’s, but his comments had affected the choice of where the most horrifying weapon in mankind’s history would be used. He had the feeling that the date of August 6, 1945, was going to go down in history.
A macabre predictability developed regarding the Russian artillery barrages at Potsdam. Although infrequent, the bombardments always began during the night and shook Logan and his men out of their sleep, so that they spent the rest of the night either cringing from the shells or awaiting the infantry attack that they all knew would someday follow. With the fighting on the Weser coming to a head, it seemed logical that the Russians would soon decide to end the siege of Potsdam once and for all.
But the bombardments, although heavy, came at intervals. The shells would land all along the defenses and then the Russian artillerymen would walk their following rounds through the perimeter and in the general direction of the river. It was as if, lacking solid knowledge of specific targets, they were going to try to destroy everything. As before, American counterfire was limited to specific targets to conserve ammo and not give away the guns’ locations. The American command wondered if the Russians had gotten more ammo or they were using up all they had.
By midafternoon it seemed apparent that this day’s softening-up process would continue for a while, although the outposts had noted no signs of any major Russian troop movements in the direction of the American positions.
“We got us another lull,” said Bailey. He was covered with dirt from earthshaking near misses, as were Logan and the others. “You gonna check?”
Logan was in agony. Were they safe? But could he leave his men?
“Lieutenant,” snapped Bailey in a low voice the others couldn’t hear, “get the fuck out there and find out. All of us want to know. You’re not the only one who likes her.”
Logan darted from the bunker and found one of his men’s bicycles undamaged on the ground. He mounted and pedaled furiously to where Elisabeth and Pauli had been sheltered in the basement of a church. When he arrived, there was a crowd around the entrance and there were bloodied bodies on the ground.