TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS IN AUGUST

By J. McKinley Gibson

James McKinley Gibson wrote this novel after retirement, but, passed away before he was able to publish his work. His daughter and her husband were inspired to bring his unique work to fruition to honor his legacy and to bring attention to this possible scenario.

Twenty-Eight Days in August is a fictional novel of war over Europe. It is about the Soviet Union attacking NATO forces without the use of nuclear weapons. This war is portrayed through the viewpoint and actions of General Officers of all sides. The justification for nonnuclear tactics is laid out for the reader by the highest decision-makers of all sides, including the USA, Britain, Germany, France, Russia, and others.

The readiness of NATO forces and the reliance on sophisticated weaponry to act as a force multiplier is thrust against the invading enemy. It reveals the possibility of different tactics to negate NATO forces and highlights vulnerabilities of our established theory of War in Europe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781649522375

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TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS IN AUGUST

J. McKinley Gibson

Copyright © 2021 J. McKinley Gibson

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books, Inc.

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2021

Editing by Meredith Gibson Johnson

ISBN 978-1-64952-236-8 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64952-238-2 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-64952-237-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

THE PLAN

THE SEMINAR

THE RISKS

THE INDICATORS

THE REQUEST

THE DAY

CHECKPOINT

HIGH NOON

THE TOW, THE TOW

INFANTRY FIRST

NEUTRON WEAPONS

THE CHANCE

THE WESER

THE NORTHERN FRONT

WHO LEADS

THE BUNDESWEHR

THE MINDEN SALIENT

HILL TWO-ELEVEN

TANK BATTLE

THE AIR WAR

BADEN-BADEN

THE WAR AT SEA

THE RHINE

A PARACHUTE

TRAP DOOR

THE ELEVENTH DAY

TURNING MOVEMENT

AT HOME

INSPECTION TOUR

THE FRENCH

THE HURTGEN FOREST

THE DRAFT

THE MARSHAL

WITHDRAWAL

THE TWENTY-EIGHTH DAY

FOREWORD

This is a work of fiction, a story about war, a future war—World War III. The viewpoint is both Soviet and American, the Warsaw Pact and NATO, but the theme is singular. It is the author’s contention that the following pages present a most likely scenario, one which well may occur if—today, tomorrow, or the next day—another war comes to Europe.

The North Atlantic Treaty Organization was formed in the early 1950s. At that time, Korea was invaded, and a larger war appeared imminent. Europe was prostrate. France was weak, split asunder by political tensions. The British Empire was only a shell of its former self. The German Army no longer existed, and the Russians were on the Elbe River. The continent west of what Winston Churchill dubbed the Iron Curtain was defenseless. Thus, three hundred thousand American troops were committed to the defense of Western Europe.

Thirty years later, as these words were written, the nations of Western Europe were recovered. Collectively, they were the economic equal of the United States, and their industrial base far exceeded that of the Soviet Union. They had the population, the industry, and the military potential to defend themselves, but they were no more capable of doing so than in the 1950s. For all their newfound wealth, the Europeans were no less dependent upon American strategic power and no less dependent upon the presence of American troops on their soil. All that was despite the fact that in recent years, the United States lost its once-dominant military position in the world. No longer did she have a strategic nuclear edge over the Soviet Union, and she lagged far behind in conventional military strength.

For Europe, unprepared and unwilling to unite in her own defense, the results of another war could be only disastrous, but what of America? If every soldier did his duty, with drugs and disciplinary problems and low intelligence scores not being a factor, one wonders, what would be the condition of her defenses after the first twenty-eight days of such a conflict? Twenty-Eight Days in August attempts to answer that question.

—James McKinley Gibson

Part One

THE PROLOGUE

Chapter One

THE PLAN

The soldier held one gloved hand on the car’s door handle. He stood stiffly at attention in his great coat and his heavy fur cap with its small red star centered on the front. As he stared straight ahead, his pale-blue eyes fixed on some distant object, he said nothing. He had a florid complexion; a broad, flat face; and a small button nose that gave him the appearance, in the subzero cold, of being remote, opaque, and inscrutable. The bitter cold swept into the automobile and engulfed its occupants.

The officers hardly noticed the soldier as quickly they left the warmth of the car and climbed the granite steps to the great oaken door. The snow crunched under their feet; the air was still and clear. Another soldier pulled open the door and clicked the heels of his heavy black boots as they passed by. Other officers hurried up the steps, and in the street below, white-coated military policemen directed Army sedans to a nearby parking area. It was the second day of January in Moscow.

Inside the building, a long and high-ceilinged corridor was filled with officers who pulled off heavy outer clothing, stamped snow from their feet, and called to one another as they recognized old acquaintances. The room seemed a babble of voices. Most of the officers were middle-aged, very senior, and almost all wore the red-and-gold piping on their uniforms which marked them as general officers.

At the far end of the corridor, an open door led to a small auditorium. A young lieutenant stood at the door, checking off names from a roster as the men filed by. Two men in dark civilian clothes stood a few paces behind the lieutenant, watching the proceedings intensely. Even those urbane members of the KGB, the Soviet Secret Police, seemed impressed by the rank and bearing of the officers who passed. They recognized almost all of them by sight, and the few who were asked to identify themselves had no difficulty proving who they were—very high-ranking officers, ground, air, and naval, of the Soviet armed forces.

Inside the auditorium, the noise subsided to soft undercurrents of conversation as the officers found their seats.

Suddenly the lieutenant at the door called out in an authoritative voice, Comrades, the Minister of Defense!

Vladimir Vasilevich Kulenkov, marshal of the Soviet Union, entered with a deliberate cadence, followed by several aides. The officers in the room, arranged from front to back according to rank and position, were the immediate objects of his attention. Slowly he moved to a large leather-bound chair in the center of the first row. Before he sat down, he glanced to either side then half turned to stare balefully at the assembled ranks behind him. Satisfied by what he saw and confident that the members of his immediate party found their places, he sat down.

There was a scraping of chairs on bare wood as those behind the Marshal found their seats. He sat casually, his legs extended and his boots wide apart on the hardwood floor. He turned his head slowly toward the highly varnished podium on the left side of the stage. His eyes traveled up to the gold hammer and sickle inscribed on the front of it and over to the anxious face beyond. He nodded to the face, and the conference began.

The bald, bespectacled officer behind the podium said, Good morning, Comrades. Welcome to the Frunze Military Academy. On behalf of the commandant of the academy, I welcome the members of the Supreme Military Council to this meeting. He cleared his throat nervously. Each of you was asked to attend this conference by personal invitation. Needless to say, the information you are about to receive is of the very highest classification. It is most important to the security of our beloved motherland that no hint of it go beyond this room, certainly not at this time.

He glanced at his notes on the podium before continuing. My name is Major General Yuri Aleksandrovich Rudnov. I am a plans officer on the General Staff. Last summer, I was directed to report here to the academy and form a small planning staff made up of representatives of the principal arms of service, ground, air, and sea, as well as a few members of the faculty of the academy. Our task—and here again I emphasize its security classification—was to prepare an up-to-date contingency plan for the conquest of Western Europe. We have given our plan the code name Operation Borzoi.

General Rudnov was aware of a restless shifting in the audience. As he looked out over the gray plastic faces floating on a sea of mustard-brown tunics, he breathed deeply. It was the first time he attended a meeting of the Defense Council, the first time he had seen the most-senior officers of the Soviet Army and Navy together in one room. Even though he had over thirty-five years of service himself, it was an awesome sight to behold.

Down in front, he recognized the commander in chief of the armed forces of the Warsaw Pact. Beside him was the chief of the General Staff. To the left was the admiral who commanded the fleet in his dark navy-blue coat, and just beyond was the marshal in command of the air defense forces.

Rudnov, an old soldier who worked his way up from private to general, looked at the clock on the wall, made note of the time—eight o’clock—and returned to his notes. "Operation Borzoi has been studied by the presidium of the party’s central committee. It was approved by the first secretary as a planning document.

However, Rudnov said, raising his voice, no copies of it will be distributed to your commands until such time as its implementation seems imminent. Furthermore, you are requested to take no notes during the conference. At the conclusion of my briefing, you will have an opportunity to ask questions. He glanced at the marshal in the center of the front row. The conference will be concluded before noon. Marshal Kulenkov will have a few remarks to make at the end.

The marshal nodded slowly, and as their glances met for a moment, Rudnov felt the glint of steel in Kulenkov’s light-gray eyes. He pushed a buzzer on the side of the podium, and curtains parted behind him to reveal a huge map of Europe, displayed from floor to ceiling across the entire length of the stage.

"I will not take your time to describe in detail the forces available to the so-called North Atlantic Treaty Organization. I know you are very familiar with them. However, I should point out that Operation Borzoi ascribes the most optimistic NATO posture that seems reasonable at the outbreak of any hostility in which we take the initiative, that is to say, in which we attack first.

In broad outline, the imperialist coalition on the Western European mainland will have thirty Army divisions organized into two Army groups, one in the north between the Baltic and Kassel, and one in the south from Kassel to the Alps.

A soldier in a loose-fitting khaki uniform stepped from the shadows at the edge of the stage and rested a long, slender pointer on the huge map at the locations mentioned by General Rudnov.

At the outset of hostilities, Rudnov continued, the imperialists also will have at their disposal three thousand tactical aircraft organized into what they call Allied Air Force, Central Europe. He looked up from his notes. These figures include five French divisions, which may or may not be available. As you know, the French withdrew their forces from this military coalition some years ago. However, since these five French divisions are stationed at Baden-Baden in western Germany, and just across the border in eastern France, we have included them.

The officers in the room were oblivious to the presence of the soldier with the pointer as it moved across the map.

General Rudnov continued in a slow, measured tone. "The figures also include six American divisions, two of which have only one-third of their strength now stationed in Germany. To give the Americans the benefit of the doubt, however, we assumed that the remainder of the divisions would be deployed from the United States at the first indication of a possible attack by our forces.

In addition to these forces, our plan assumed the reinforcement of NATO within fifteen days by seven additional Army divisions and five hundred more tactical aircraft. This includes two additional divisions from America, two from Germany, and one each from England, Belgium, and Holland—a total of thirty-seven. Rudnov hesitated, then added parenthetically, We have not included any French reserves or additional American reserves in our calculations because we have every reason to believe they could not be deployed in time to have any measurable effect on our plan. I am prepared to enlarge on this point during the question-and-answer period if any of you cares to pursue it further.

Rudnov stepped from behind the podium. "Now, for our forces! Operation Borzoi calls for the employment of one hundred and seven Soviet divisions and fifty other Warsaw Pact divisions, for a total of one hundred and fifty-seven divisions on the day of the great offensive. This ground force will be supported by three air Armies totaling about five thousand aircraft. Of course, our strategic forces—sea, air, and missile—will be available to support the assault force in very important ways.

You will notice that to this point, I have discussed only the forces opposing each other in Europe. Of course, a major sea campaign is contemplated, and the very likely use of our strategic missile force must be considered. Also, there is a separate plan being prepared for an operation in Iran and in the Arab countries to the south. However, Rudnov said, reaching toward his audience with arms extended, these are major subjects in their own right. They will be dealt with in a later conference. I’m sure you can now appreciate the magnitude of my task.

Rudnov returned to his position behind the podium and studied his notes again. Now let me give you a general description of the plan against the imperialistic forces in western Europe. He paused. "A major peacetime maneuver will be scheduled in late July of the year selected for the attack. These maneuvers will be conducted in the general area of Dresden and Prague. They will be much publicized as the annual field maneuvers of the Warsaw Pact nations, but they will be much larger than usual, thus permitting us to concentrate the forces required without unduly alarming the imperialists. A few days later, these forces will be moved at night, under strict radio silence, to their forward attack positions. Then the grand offensive will begin.

The Plan—Operation Borzoi

Operation Borzoi will be conducted in three broad phases. The first will be a huge double encirclement to seize and destroy most of the NATO forces east of the Rhine River. This phase will conclude when our forces close up on the French border in both Belgium and Germany. Rudnov looked up from the podium. "Comrades, we believe that the Battle of Western Europe essentially will be won at the conclusion of this first phase.

The second phase will be the conquest of France. We will employ a modified von Schlieffen plan, wherein our forces will attack simultaneously from Belgium and Germany’s Black Forest to meet south of Paris. The phase will end when the Atlantic Coast is secured from the Pyrenees to the Danish border.

The soldier moved his pointer smoothly over the map of Europe, from place name to place name.

The third phase, Rudnov continued, "will consist primarily of a campaign against the British home islands, to be accomplished as soon as possible after the fall of France, because we don’t want to repeat Hitler’s mistake and leave Britain free to act as a springboard for another attempt by the Americans to return to Europe. This phase will end with the occupation of Denmark and Norway, in addition to Great Britain.

And now I’ll give you some specifics about Phase One. Rudnov paused to study his notes. The forces allocated to the northern front will consist of fifty-nine divisions—forty Soviet, six German, and thirteen Polish—plus one air army. It will make the main effort and form the northern arm of the double envelopment. When ordered to do so, it will attack across the northern German plain on the axis Magdeburg-Brunschweig-Munst er-Venlo. It will cross the Rhine River in the vicinity of Wesel.

The soldier at the map moved his pointer more quickly than before.

"After crossing the river, the major portion of this force will attack not toward the Channel Ports but south on the general axis Aachen-Zaarbrucken. The attack will close on the French border, on the line Luxembourg-Zaarbrucken-Strasbourg, thus closing the northern jaw of the pincer. Then, after crossing the Rhine, it is contemplated that the reserves of the northern front will concentrate in the vicinity of Venlo. There they will be reinforced with fifteen additional Soviet divisions released from the general reserve."

Rudnov looked directly at the commander of the Soviet forces in Germany, who sat behind the marshal. With this force, it is expected that the northern front will attack to secure Amsterdam-Rotterdam-Antwerpen and close up on the French border on the general line Mons-Lille-Dunkerque. It is important to note that the northern front must first turn south and secure the Zarbrucken area as a priority over the seizure of the channel ports if the grand design for Operation Borzoi is to be fulfilled.

Rudnov shifted his eyes back to his notes. "During the July field exercise, the southern front will concentrate in the Prague-Jihlava area of central Czechoslovakia. The forces allocated to that command will consist of thirty divisions—twenty-seven Soviet, three Hungarian—and one air army. It will move forward into attack positions in the vicinity of Ceske-Budejovice. When ordered to do so, it will attack across the Danube Valley and through the Black Forest on the axis Deggendorf-Munich-Ulm-Tubingen. The front will form the southern arm of the encirclement and close on the French border along the Rhine River from Switzerland to Baden-Baden. The northern and southern fronts will join hands on the Rhine at the point where the French border leaves the river and turns northwestward, thus closing both jaws of the pincer.

To complete this picture, the central front initially will concentrate in the Pilsen area. The forces allocated to this command will consist of twenty-five divisions—twenty Soviet, five Czech—and one air army. When ordered, it will conduct strong holding attacks on the line Regensburg-Bayreuth-Eisenach to hold the Americans in position east of the Rhine River. The American Army in Europe, as well as the two German corps deployed in the same general area, are the core of the enemy force to be enveloped.

As General Rudnov spoke, the soldier at the map drew a large circle with his pointer around an area in central Germany bounded by Kassel and Bonn to the north and Karlsruhe and Nurnberg in the south.

The general reserve, Rudnov went on, will consist of forty-three divisions—twenty Soviet, two Polish, five Czech, three Hungarian, eight Bulgarian, and five Rumanian. However, we doubt that all these Warsaw Pact units will be needed, but they are available if required.

Again Rudnov stepped from behind the podium and looked directly at Marshal Kulenkov. This first phase of Operation Borzoi is expected to result in the capture of well over a half million prisoners of war, to include the vast majority of American troops stationed in Europe. Huge amounts of war material and many thousands of American civilians also will fall into our hands. Refugees who flee their homes will be a major problem for the French and for us. At the conclusion of this phase, we can expect that only the French Army and whatever NATO forces are able to escape to France will be in a position to oppose us in western Europe.

Slowly Rudnov walked back to a position behind the podium. Again he studied his notes, looked at the clock, and then looked back to the audience. He was aware that every eye in the room was on him. Someone coughed nervously in the rear of the room; it was the only sound. There was silence, and no one moved.

Finally he spoke again. Comrades, this has been a very brief outline of a large and complicated plan, but I think we should pause for any questions you have. Who wants to be first with the obvious question, what about nuclear weapons?

General Volenko, commander of the Strategic Missile Force, shifted uneasily in his seat at the end of the first row. Yes, I’d appreciate an explanation of that. Judging from your concentrations, I assume you’re not planning to use nuclear weapons, and—

That’s correct, General Volenko. Rudnov smiled nervously. We plan to attack with massive conventional force and firepower. We’ll be prepared to employ nuclear weapons if the imperialists do so, but we’ll not initiate their use. Frankly, we believe the Americans won’t find it in their best interests to do so either.

I agree completely. General Volenko nodded. I’m very glad to learn that your plan recognizes that reality, Comrade. He raised his voice to say, We all must understand what has happened in the last twenty years… We have reached the point where any nuclear exchange in Europe would be mutually devastating. Tactical, or theater nuclear warfare, as the Americans like to call it, is no longer an option for either of us.

Rudnov sensed the urgency in the commander’s voice. He was almost pleading to be understood. What of strategic weapons, General Volenko? What of a strategic exchange?

Both sides have huge arsenals. Both sides have a second strike capability. Volenko shook his head. They cancel each other out! It’s that simple, Comrades.

Rudnov glanced nervously at the marshal, then back to General Volenko. Thank you for your comments, Comrade General. He sensed relief when another hand went up. Yes, General?

Rudnov continued answering questions concerning air support, logistics, and communications. Finally Marshal Kolenkov glanced at the clock, then at Rudnov. He fixed the officer behind the podium with a hard stare.

Feeling his gaze, Rudnov looked down at the barrel-chested marshal. Their eyes met, and Kolenkov made a thumbs-down gesture.

Time to stop, Rudnov thought.

A hush fell over the room as Marshal Kolenkov rose from his chair and turned to face the assembly. Comrades, I can tell you in all candor that not since the early days of the Great Patriotic War has our beloved motherland been so threatened as it is today! His deep voice resounded throughout the room. Ever since the end of that terrible struggle, we have worked to overtake the imperialists in military might. Our goal always has been the security of the Soviet people and the advancement of the proletariat.

Kolenkov’s heavy jowls shook as he shouted, Indeed, we have triumphed! Today we are superior to our enemy in every major category of military strength—land, sea, and air, nuclear and conventional forces, strategic and tactical forces! We now are their masters! He smashed a beefy fist into the palm of his other hand. But now we face the likelihood that all will be lost!

The marshal’s voice dropped. On the one hand, the Americans and their allies are making a great effort to catch up with us in military strength. On the other, our Soviet economy is undergoing internal strains so intense that the very fabric of our society is threatened. We dare not let the West overtake us. Yet the cost of staying ahead is draining away our lifeblood.

Kolenkov paused, and no one moved. There was absolute silence.

Our intelligence sources, he went on, tell us the imperialists are developing terrible new weapons of destruction which, if deployed, will give them a tactical advantage over us. He threw up his hands. The race goes on! Anything they can build, we can build better…but at what cost? When will it end?

The officers sat forward in their chairs, every eye riveted on the marshal.

Our leaders soon will face a terrible decision, he told them. "Will we permit ourselves to fall behind? Will we permit our economy to stagnate and our people to suffer, or will we strike while we are strong?

Comrades, he said in a voice just above a whisper, "I can tell you in all confidence that we have advised our new party leaders that the time has come to act to employ our military might against the west, now. To wait any longer is to invite disaster.

Well, there you have it. Marshal Kolenkov clapped his hands together. That is why General Rudnov’s study group has been directed to prepare this plan. Remember, he said, knitting his bushy black brow, "even though Operation Borzoi is offensive in nature, its purpose is defensive. We must defend our motherland.

Don’t forget that! he shouted. By attacking our foes, we will defend all we hold dear! The marshal smiled for the first time. I need not tell you what a glorious opportunity this will be for each of us. The dangers are formidable, but the rewards are enormous. With the successful conclusion of Operation Borzoi, the entire Eurasian land mass, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, will be under our control. With the exception of China, every nation on this land mass will fall under our hegemony. China too must become more cooperative under those circumstances. The Soviet state will be the dominant power on earth. Our party and our people will be in a position to lead the entire world toward a greater socialist life for all, even as Lenin predicted.

Kolenkov stepped to one side. Now, Comrades, I understand that the commandant of this academy has made arrangements for our lunch. We’ll have several more meetings such as this one in the next few months, but perhaps at other locations. We each must have a thorough understanding of Operation Borzoi. Again, let me remind you of the security classification. You must not discuss this matter, even with each other, beyond the walls of this room.

The marshal moved toward the door. There was a shuffling of chairs as the audience came to attention. General Rudnov watched from behind the podium as Kolenkov’s broad shoulders disappeared into the corridor. The officers filed from the room in order of rank. No one spoke.

The soldier on the stage pulled a curtain across the huge map, then assumed a stiff-kneed position of attention. Will that be all, Comrade General?

Yes, Comrade. Thank you.

The soldier marched from the room. General Rudnov picked up his notes, which he pushed into a briefcase, and stepped off the stage. As he passed through the door, a KGB man reached behind him and turned off the light.

*****

Rudnov hardly could wait to arrive at home. Xenya would be in the kitchen, and the warm smell of her cooking would fill the apartment.

Unlike many of his fellow officers, Rudnov had no desire to stop by the club for a drink. It was not that he did not enjoy their company; it was just that he felt it was a waste of time to spend hours like that. He always was a very serious-minded, tense individual, perhaps somewhat insecure in his relations with others.

Growing up, he was only a fair student, far from an outstanding athlete. As a youngster, he greatly admired the uniforms he saw on the street, those of young cadets from nearby Alexandrovsky Military Academy. His own grades did not permit him to hope he might become a member of the cadet corps. Orphaned at an age earlier than he could remember, Rudnov was raised by an unmarried aunt who made a meager living as an assistant librarian.

Often Rudnov dreamed of becoming a soldier and wearing a handsome uniform, but if war had not come to Russia, he probably never would have entered the Army. As a boy of fifteen, he found himself pressed into service with millions of his countrymen.

After only a few weeks of rudimentary training, he experienced his first combat. In November of 1942, he and a group of his fellows were ferried across the mile-wide Volga to join the defenders of Stalingrad. The months that followed were etched in his memory forever.

It was unadulterated slaughter. Thousands died each day. It became impossible to bury the dead or even to count them. In the inferno of Stalingrad, Yuri Aleksandrovich Rudnov lost his youth. After that, he firmly believed that each day of his life was lived on borrowed time.

Rudnov was a nineteen-year-old captain of infantry by the time the Red Army met the Americans at Torgau on the Elbe River in Central Germany. He was a rifle company commander. He never would forget that great day: the good humor of the Americans, the singing, drinking, and dancing. After the war, he never gave any thought to leaving the Army. It was the only way of life he knew.

At fifty-nine, Rudnov already was overaged for his rank. Other younger men, most of them too young to have served in the Great Patriotic War, were passing him by. He thought he knew the reason; it was not ability or intelligence. He had an impeccable record, a flair for command, and a reputation as an outstanding plans officer. Not mechanically inclined, he was an avid reader of military history. Over the years, he developed an ability to grasp the relationships between geography, politics, and military power, something few of his colleagues seemed able to do.

His problem was twofold. First, Rudnov was not a graduate of one of the military academies. Second, he seemed to lack the personality to ingratiate himself with those who were, particularly those who were senior to him. In other words, he had the feeling, rightly or wrongly, that he really did not belong. As the pass over for promotion became more numerous, the feeling of rejection grew stronger.

When Xenya heard the key in the front door, she looked up from the stove. Yuri, is that you?

Yes, love. Dinner ready?

In a few minutes. You’re late. How did your briefing go?

Yuri Rudnov looked tired as he entered the kitchen. Oh, very well, I guess. The chief seemed satisfied. I hope you’re not angry.

No, but wash your hands and sit down. I’ve been keeping dinner warm for over an hour. You just missed a phone call.

Who was it?

He said his name was Ivan and that he will meet you at seven tomorrow morning.

Rudnov, who was washing his hands at the sink, paused for a moment.

He said you would understand, Xenya told him.

Yes, dear. It means I’m off on another trip in the morning, this time to Berlin.

Oh. Xenya’s voice fell. How long will you be gone?

Not long. Two weeks at the most. Is the tea on?

Yes…but please, just sit down. I’ll get it.

Rudnov dropped wearily into a kitchen chair. Where’s Veronika? Another concert?

Yes. She’ll be home in another hour. Don’t worry about her.

I don’t like her going out at night so much. As pretty as she is, she can’t be too careful.

I’m far more worried about you, Yuri. Xenya filled his tea cup. I’ll be glad when you’re finished with this job. All the trips, the strange phone calls, the hush-hush business. When can we go back to a troop assignment again?

Rudnov shrugged. Not for a long time, I’m afraid. Perhaps never. It would require another promotion, and you know what my chances are for that.

Xenya looked at her husband as he sat there at the table. He was bald, wore glasses, and was a bit paunchy around the waist, but he was still a good-looking man. He’s tall enough to carry little weight, she thought.

Xenya met Yuri Rudnov in Moscow after the war, while she was working as a secretary in the Defense Ministry and he was attending a course at one of the staff colleges. It was love at first sight for both of them; they were married within a year. She was only nineteen then, very small, very blond, and very pretty.

Their children finally were both grown. Lyalka was married to a young Army major and living in Potsdam, just outside Berlin. Veronika still lived at home and studied music at the Academe. Xenya was very proud of Veronika’s musical talent. She hoped that someday her daughter would be a world-famous pianist.

Yuri and Xenya had a good life together, but she worried about him. She knew he was disappointed in his work in recent years. Though she did not know much about his present job, she knew it must be very important, very much the sort of thing Yuri did best, yet he was always preoccupied and moody. He did not seem happy in what he was doing.

During dinner, they talked about serious matters—the rising cost of food, the unrest in Poland, Lyalka’s last letter.

Finally Yuri pushed away his plate. Let’s have a glass of vodka in the parlor.

Yes, Yuri, let’s. I’ll do the dishes later.

He took a bottle of vodka from a corner cabinet, while Xenya brought two clean glasses into the room. Better make it three, Xenya. Veronika may want a glass when she comes in.

Just then, they heard the front door open.

Hi, everyone! called Veronika cheerfully. I’m home.

Just in time to join us in an after-dinner drink, replied her father.

It’s kind of late for that, isn’t it? asked Veronika as she came into the room.

We just finished dinner, Xenya told her as she went to the kitchen for another glass.

Working late again, huh, Papa?

Yes…but how was the concert? Rudnov smiled fondly at his daughter.

Veronika was a tall girl with long blond tresses that hung almost to her waist. She usually wore her hair pinned up in a large bun at the back of her head. She had her mother’s facial features but her father’s height.

Rudnov handed his daughter a glass of vodka then raised his own. Your health, ladies.

Your health, the women responded together.

Veronika bubbled with enthusiasm as she related the first incident of her day and proceeded to describe all that happened to her. Nothing was omitted; as she rambled along, her parents smiled and nodded, almost in unison. Xenya noticed that her husband seemed completely relaxed.

The trip on the train up to Leningrad should be great fun, Veronika said. All the girls are looking forward to the show.

What’s this, Veronika? asked Rudnov. Where are you going?

She smiled at her father, her bright blue eyes dancing. Oh, didn’t Mama tell you? Five of us girls are going to Leningrad next week to see a big musical show from America.

Rudnov looked dourly at his wife.

Now, now, dear, said Xenya, the girls were able to get five tickets for this show. You know how Veronika loves musicals.

Isn’t this midyear examination time? Has the Academe closed down?

I’m caught up in my work, Papa, said Veronika. It’s only for three days, and I don’t have any tests.

Where will the five of you stay?

One of the girls knows where there’s a hotel just for women in Leningrad.

"I