“You seem lost in thought Captain.”
“Yes I was. I can’t believe they let us go just like that.”
“Hell of a thing sir eh? I’ll be back in Montreal in no time. I’ll get to see Emily Jeff and Donny soon enough. Why’d they do it sir?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea first mate. We’ve searched the ship from stem to stern, and there was nothing. No bombs, or hidden compartments… nothing but the old tub we came into Gdansk on. I guess we’ll have to let the politicians work this one out. Maybe someone paid for us, but I doubt that.”
“From what I heard Stalin isn’t the sort to do many humanitarian gestures. Did you hear the rumors about all those Polish guys? You know the ones who were in the Polish underground. Rumor says that they were offered a flag of truce guaranteed by Stalin himself, and then were arrested and tortured put on trial and sent off never to be heard from again.”
“Yeah, and how about that bunch of officers and Polish leaders that were murdered right after the Russians took over their part of Poland in 1939?”
“Well, so far everything appears as it seems with this deal.”
“I bet those troopers are really feeling bloody alright. Imagine, surrendering to the enemy within days of the start of World War Three and then being sent home after only four months of captivity. Not like those poor bastards who did the same thing in 1940 and spent five years under the German boot.”
The sea was almost calm. It was especially calm for August. They could still stop us, in any number of places along the way. We’re just outside of Copenhagen, and the old Samthar was still doing her job; pushing up a good bow wave. We were told to keep it under five knots, for some reason. The time is 1423 hours. I wonder if the ship’s log is to be found. I’ve never seen the Baltic look so beautiful, as it does now, slipping behind in our wake. I wonder if I’ll ever come back. Not likely. I never did like the Baltic; too much to run into; too much to think about; too many countries on its shores.
The rail conversion is going faster than expected due to the lack of NATO airstrikes and good weather. Using the local labor pool, either by threat of force, or by the lure of food, the Germans are eager to get on the Commissar’s good side. ‘Work means life’ I think I read somewhere and in September 1946, in occupied Germany, this has never been truer.
The few demolitions that did occur are nowhere near the scale of what we encountered in Poland. There the Germans had plenty of time and very often blew up a lot more of the footings than necessary. This caused us to have to fill in an additional destroyed area. The bridges and tracks that the NATO forces were able to demolish were nowhere near as hard to repair as we had in Poland and without constant air attacks that the Germans were able to bring to bear.
The widening of the gauge has been accomplished fairly easily with the new double-screw we are using. We bore holes in the end of the existing ties and on the ends of the meter-long extensions. The double screws have a nut in the middle and as you tighten the nut it draws together the old tie and the extensions. To get the screws started, you simply put the screws in the holes and hit the end of the extension. Then you start tightening the nut. Quite an ingenious invention.
The rails are coming from all the other parts of Germany and France, as this line takes priority over civilian rail usage. If the rail has been damaged it is cut up and we use any undamaged section that is longer than two meters. Vichy France has again been spared the horrors of war, so once we reach the old border we will not have to worry about laying new rail to reach our comrades in the Pyrenees.
Why am I telling you all this my dear Nikolai? Because I hope that someday soon, you will be joining me here in France. I have spoken with the Commissar, and he will ask if family members can be allowed to serve together in non-combat functions. I do hope to keep you from harm.
Love,
Popop
The room was bustling with activity. Secretaries were scattered about doing the bidding of their supervisors. The smell of perfume and the sight of real silk stockings on long shapely legs was an indication that things were again normal, at least on the surface. The room also smelled of cigarettes and well-oiled mahogany paneling. Because of this paneling the room was on the dark side but the cream-colored ceiling helped to disperse the light.
Adams noticed none of this as he hurried the length of the great room dodging startled personnel, misplaced files, and furniture. “Coming through… coming through!”
Wilkins’ personal assistant was nowhere to be seen so he knocked on the door before barging right in. The papers in his left hand almost fell to the floor in his haste to open the door. The room was dark and he wondered at first, if Wilkins was in. He saw something move and as he jerked towards the movement, he did drop the files he was carrying. As he bent down to pick them up he was concentrating on collecting the strewn papers and missed seeing exactly what Wilkins and Miss Reynolds had been doing. When he did finally look up they were standing guiltily apart and breathing heavily.
“Jesus Adams! What the hell do you want? You may take the dictation and type it up Miss Reynolds. Thank you. That is all for now. For Christ’s sake! What caused you to barge in like that Jack?”
“Can’t say I’m sorry for interrupting during business hours, Fred; anyway here take a look at this. It just came in from Paris, through the usual channels.”
Wilkins reaches over and picks up the files, and begins to read. “Holy Shit! My God, this is truly diabolical. Is there any way to prove any of this? Is there any way to leak this to the press?”
“We have no proof; only secret sources. I mean, we knew that food was becoming a significant problem but he’s using the famine to strip Western Europe clean to feed his army and loyal collaborators. The only way to get food is to follow the communist line, to play by his rules. You do that, or you die. Furthermore he’s using the real famine and drought as cover. Who’s going to riot for food when by all accounts and even your own observations there is no food to riot over? Their harvest was obviously a bust and any fool can see that their food warehouses are empty. They shipped everything east in secret, during the confusion of the invasion, along with thousands of ‘special people.’ Look at page twelve and the following memo.”
Wilkins finds the documents Adams mentions and starts to speed-read them. “Let me get this straight… they’re testing all refugees, and then selecting the most intelligent, dexterous and creative, and shipping them back to Russia? Why not just kill them on site?”
“Read the memo.”
“The theory is that not only are these ‘special people’ going to live, but they are to be used as some kind of super-workers, experts and scientists to work on the production of current and future wonder-weapons? That really is ingenious and truly evil. The strong and dumb ones will work the fields and mines. The ones left behind are chaff and will be allowed to ‘expire by natural means.’ Who in the hell wrote this?”