Red Storm Rising

"What kinda lunatic is going to fight on a frozen lake when he's wearing a half ton of sheet steel?" Toland groaned. Lowe explained that it had really happened that way, more or less.

"I'm sure they played around with it some, like They Died With Their Boots On, " the colonel observed. "But the battle really happened."

The battle was a truly epic scene. The German knights attacked with casual disregard for proper tactics, and the Russian peasants, ably led by Alexander and his two sidekicks, encircled them with a Cannae-like envelopment maneuver. Then, of course, came single combat between Prince Alexander and the German chieftain. There was no doubt of the outcome. Their commander vanquished in single combat, the German ranks came apart, and when they tried to rally on the edge of the lake, the ice gave way, drowning nearly everyone.

"That's realistic enough," Lowe chuckled. "Think how many armies have been swallowed up by the Russian countryside!"

The remainder of the movie resolved the love interest (each buffoon got himself a pretty girl), and liberated Pskov. Curiously, while the prince hoisted a bunch of children into his saddle for the ride in, he never showed the slightest interest in female company-and ended with a sermon, Alexander standing alone and speaking about what happens to people who invaded Russia.

"Trying to make Nevsky look like Stalin, eh?"

"There is some of that," Lowe agreed. "The strong man, all alone, a fatherly benefactor-some benefactor! Anyway you cut it, this is just about the best propaganda movie ever made. The punch line is that when Russia and Germany signed their non-aggression pact a year later, Eisenstein was detailed to direct a stage production of Wagner's The Valkyries. Call it penance for offending the German sensibilities."

"Oof. You study these guys more than I do, Chuck."

Colonel Lowe pulled a cardboard box from under his desk and began to load up his personal effects. "Yeah, well if you have to face the possibility of fighting a man, you might as well learn all you can about him."

"You think we will?"

Lowe frowned briefly. "I saw enough of that in Nam, but that's what they pay us for, isn't it?"

Toland stood and stretched. He had a four-hour drive ahead of him. "Colonel, it has been a pleasure for this squid to work with you."

"It hasn't been half bad for this jarhead. Hey, when I get the family set up down in Lejeune, why don't you come on down sometime? There's some great fishing down there."

"Deal." They shook hands. "Good luck with your regiment, Chuck."

"Good luck here, Bob."

Toland walked out to his car. He'd already packed up, and drove quickly out Terminal Boulevard to Interstate 64. The worst part of the drive home was the traffic to the Hampton Roads tunnel, after which things settled down to the usual superhighway ratrace. All the way home, Toland's mind kept going over the scenes from Eisenstein's movie. The one that kept coming back was the most horrible of all, a German knight wearing a crusader's cross tearing a Pskov infant from his mother's breast and throwing him-her?-into a fire. Who could see that and not be enraged? No wonder the rabble-rousing song "Arise, you Russian People" had been a genuinely popular favorite for years. Some scenes cried out for bloody revenge, the theme for which was Prokofiev's fiery call to arms. Soon he found himself humming the song. A real intelligence officer you are... Toland smiled to himself, thinking just like the people you're supposed to study...defend our fair native land...nashu zyemlyu chestnuyu!

"Excuse me, sir?" the toll collector asked.

Toland shook his head. Had he been singing aloud? He handed over the seventy-five cents with a sheepish grin. What would this lady think, an American naval officer singing in Russian?

MOSCOW, R.S.F.S.R.

It was just after midnight when the truck drove north across the Kemenny Bridge to Borovitskaya, Square and turned right, toward the Kremlin. The driver stopped for the first group of Kremlin Guards. Their papers were fully in order, of course, and they were waved through. The truck pulled up to the second checkpoint by the Kremlin Palace, where their papers were also in order. From there it was five hundred meters to the service entrance of the Council of Ministers Building.

"What are you delivering this time of day, Comrades?" the Red Army captain asked.

"Cleaning supplies. Come, I will show you." The driver got out and walked slowly around the back of the truck. "Must be nice, working here at night when things are so peaceful."

"True enough," the captain agreed. He'd go off duty in another ninety minutes.

"Here." The driver pulled back the canvas cover. There were twelve cans of industrial-strength solvent and a crate of hardware parts.

"German supplies?" The captain was surprised. He'd been on Kremlin duty for only two weeks.