Chapter 191: Ideals and Reality
At the Moscow Military District Headquarters, the summary meeting had fallen into a silence so heavy it seemed to press against the walls.
Comrade Stalin sat at the head of the long table, pipe between his lips. Beside him, Tukhachevsky, who was responsible for military reform, sat almost motionless, barely daring to breathe.
The other officers present were just as silent.
No one dared look directly toward the head seat.
The problems exposed on the Spanish battlefield were too severe. One careless sentence might be enough to shatter a man's future, and perhaps more than his future.
Stalin slowly flipped through the report.
"The Air Force destroyed ten rebel aircraft," he said, his voice flat, "but lost twenty six fighters of its own. Many I 15 fighters suffered engine malfunctions. The performance of the experimental aircraft was far inferior to Germany's fighters."
No one spoke.
Stalin's gaze shifted.
"As for the Army..."
He stopped and looked at Tukhachevsky.
"Comrade Tukhachevsky, read it for me."
The summary report was placed in Tukhachevsky's hands.
Feeling the gazes of the officers converge on him, Tukhachevsky steeled himself and prepared to continue.
At that moment, someone knocked on the conference room door.
The sound was not loud, but in the oppressive silence it was almost startling.
The door opened.
Menzhinsky, then head of the Cheka, walked in. He completely ignored Stalin's questioning gaze and scanned the officers in the room with visible panic.
His eyes passed over one face after another before finally stopping on Tukhachevsky, who had just risen to deliver the report.
"Comrade Menzhinsky," Stalin said slowly, "what happened?"
Menzhinsky's panic did not escape him.
Nor did the way the man's gaze kept darting toward Tukhachevsky.
Stalin immediately realized that this matter was connected to the marshal beside him.
After a brief pause, Stalin declared the meeting suspended.
Then he stood and walked toward the waiting room guarded by soldiers.
Menzhinsky followed him inside.
"What happened, Comrade Menzhinsky?" Stalin asked.
He leaned forward slightly. His tone was gentle, but it carried a pressure more terrifying than anger.
Menzhinsky did not answer immediately.
Instead, right in front of Stalin, he carefully inspected the waiting room, checking the corners, the furniture, the walls, and every place where an eavesdropping device might have been hidden.
Only after ensuring that no one was listening did he speak in a low, urgent voice.
"Comrade Stalin, you must leave the military district immediately. I have already contacted Comrade Kalev of the garrison. He will ensure your safety."
At these words, Stalin could no longer remain seated.
His expression changed.
"What exactly is going on?" he demanded in a lowered voice.
Seeing that Stalin clearly would not leave without an explanation, Menzhinsky had no choice but to take out the intelligence intercepted at the Slovakian border.
He placed a group photograph and a secret letter in front of Stalin.
"I suspect there is a pro German, anti Party officer corps within the Party."
His voice was tense.
"They have already begun plotting a rebellion in Ukraine. Tukhachevsky is one of their leaders."
Stalin's eyes narrowed.
Menzhinsky continued rapidly, "They were corrupted by German spies during their studies at the Roman Military Academy. They have become a potential threat, and the greatest threat. In addition, this officer corps has very likely connected with Trotskyites."
He took out another telegram.
"Zhukov, who was sent to Spain, was also once a member of the Roman Military Academy. A secret telegram sent back by Cheka personnel deployed in Spain revealed that Zhukov had a conflict with Pavlov."
Stalin's fingers tightened around his pipe.
"Although the reason for the conflict remains unclear," Menzhinsky said, "based on Zhukov's dissatisfaction with our cleanup work inside the International Brigade, and his belief that it might lead to military failure, I have sufficient reason to suspect that Zhukov was attempting to recruit Pavlov into this treasonous group, but was rejected."
The moment Menzhinsky mentioned Zhukov, Stalin waved his hand repeatedly.
"Impossible."
His voice was firm.
"Zhukov came from the First Cavalry Division. There will be no traitors among the cavalrymen. They were tempered by blood and fire. If anyone has a problem, it will not be them."
He stared at Menzhinsky.
"Besides, Zhukov just achieved success in Spain. There is no way he would collude with the German Army."
Menzhinsky's tone became almost pleading.
"You are being too impulsive, Comrade Stalin. Is it not possible that this was merely a performance staged between him and the German Army?"
He lowered his voice further.
"We must prepare for the worst. Leave this place first. We can discuss Zhukov's matter later. How about that?"
Menzhinsky's near pleading finally persuaded Stalin.
"Return to the Kremlin."
Stalin's expression was dark.
"This intelligence must not be leaked. Do you understand, Comrade Menzhinsky?"
"Yes."
Menzhinsky left first to prepare the car.
Only Stalin remained in the waiting room, staring at the group photograph on the table.
The longer he looked, the heavier the doubts in his heart became.
Why had the Air Force suffered so many problems?
Why had the tank divisions, built at great expense to imitate Germany, failed to defeat the German Army?
Why were domestic Trotskyites and White Guards still showing signs of activity?
One question after another surfaced in his mind.
And all of them seemed to converge on the same shadow.
"Comrade Stalin?"
The secretary's whisper startled him.
Cold sweat had already appeared on Stalin's back.
The sudden interruption, combined with the conjectures twisting through his mind, made him even more convinced that a treasonous group closely connected to the Trotskyites existed within the Party.
"Send the Army from the Far East to Moscow by train," Stalin said coldly. "Monitor and isolate everyone in this photograph."
The secretary immediately understood the urgency of the matter.
He recorded the order and followed Stalin toward the car that had been prepared in advance.
In the conference room, Tukhachevsky received word that the meeting had been canceled.
He watched the motorcade depart through the window, completely unaware of what had happened.
Meanwhile, Stalin had just returned to the Kremlin when another secret telegram arrived.
This telegram further confirmed his suspicions and made him connect the matter directly to the survival of Soviet Russia.
The army on the Ukrainian border had rebelled.
A few days later, in Spain.
Zhukov, who was still planning how to fight the German Army around Salamanca, was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a Cheka special envoy.
"Comrade Lerf," Zhukov asked, "is something the matter?"
"Oh, nothing, Comrade Zhukov."
The special envoy smiled politely.
"It is like this. I have just received a telegram from Moscow. They are quite satisfied with your achievements and invite you back to Moscow to deliver a report. It is also part of a routine rotation of commanders, allowing more armored commanders to gain experience."
His expression remained calm.
"Have you received this order?"
No sooner had he finished speaking than the telegraph operator entered and handed an urgent telegram to Zhukov.
Zhukov read it word for word.
After confirming its contents, he nodded.
"I have received it now. May I hand over the troops first?"
"There is no need, Comrade Zhukov."
The Cheka envoy's smile did not change.
"Comrade Pavlov will ensure a smooth handover."
That night, under the company of the Cheka special envoy, Zhukov left Spain by ship.
At the same time, the Cheka launched a purge against all non Soviet factions within the Spanish Communist Party.
A large number of Spanish Communist Party members were labeled Trotskyites and taken to Soviet Russia.
The same situation unfolded inside the International Brigade.
In the barracks of the International Brigade, George Orwell was writing a letter when several men suddenly rushed into the room.
Before he could even ask what was happening, two burly men carrying guns began rummaging through his books, notes, manuscripts, and letters.
"What are you doing?"
Orwell stood up at once.
"These are my personal belongings."
The leading Cheka member looked at him coldly.
"Mr. George Orwell, we suspect you have connections with Trotskyites and British intelligence. Until our investigation is complete, you are not permitted to leave this room."
Orwell froze.
Then he sat slowly on the edge of the bed, disbelief written across his face.
"I came to Spain to support an ideal," he said. "Not to be monitored."
His voice rose.
"By what right do you investigate me? By what right do you monitor me?"
No one answered.
.....
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