- Chapter 21
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V. The Invasion
1
Arakal clung with aching hands to the rail of the Panther as the bombardment ship wallowed through seas that dropped away like canyons, then heaved themselves up like mountains rising to the sky. Arakal's gut was sore, his head ached, and his senses swam. There was nothing stable in any direction. The ship, massively reinforced to sustain the shock of its big guns, shuddered to the crash of uncountable tons of sea water.
"Sir!" called a voice, and Arakal turned from the slanting walls of gray water to see Admiral Bullinger clinging to the rail with one hand, his expression concerned.
Arakal managed to nod, and the Admiral leaned closer.
"We've found a spy device—built into the ship."
"A—What?"
"Spy device, sir. A listening device."
Arakal's attention was abruptly riveted on Bullinger.
"Is it effective? Can they hear anything with it?"
Bullinger leaned closer in the wind.
"It's a long-talker, a radio, sir. We've traced the connections. It's possible the Russ have overheard everything we've said on board since we captured the ships."
Arakal clung to the rail.
Bullinger, who had silently debated with himself how to tell his chief this terrible news, saw in surprise a brief look of grim exaltation as Arakal leaned closer.
"It's in working order?"
"Yes, sir."
"They could use it at this distance?"
"Can't be certain. But they could have arrangements to relay it. There are still satellites up there."
"Where does it pick up conversations from?"
"Your cabin, mine, the bridge—it's apparently connected to every cabin we use."
"If they picked up the signal, they know our plans?"
"Yes . . . If. There's still some hope, sir, that they didn't. But we don't know."
Arakal clung to the rail and watched the gray water climb up against the sky.
Bullinger said, "Shall we rip it out?"
"No. Leave it. You haven't disabled it?"
"No, sir."
"When was it found?"
"Late yesterday."
"In this storm?"
"Yes, sir."
"How?"
"There was a file case in the radio room, and it wasn't properly secured. It fell over, and split the paneling. There was wiring behind the panel."
"Who saw it?"
"The radio officer. He got curious, traced it, realized what it was, and showed it to the ship's captain. The captain took me out into the storm and told me. We've been very careful with the damned thing. We haven't said a word aloud where it could overhear."
"Who knows about it now?"
"You, me, the captain, the radio officer, and the three radio ratings. They've been working all day and all last night to trace it."
Arakal looked briefly over the rail, down into a sickening chasm of spray and spume and huge moving surfaces of gray water.
Bullinger now saw with astonishment that Arakal was smiling. "Sir—what do we do?"
"Swear them all to secrecy. Cover up the damage. Hide it, that is, and say nothing. Could the Russ know we've found it?"
"Not unless they can recognize the sound of prybars in this storm. Should we warn the other ships?"
"No. But tell me at once if they report finding anything."
Bullinger nodded, waited for a favorable tilt of the ship, and let go the rail.
Arakal looked around at the sea where the sky should be, and his face paled. Sickeningly, the sea rose. The ship plunged. Arakal's insides churned.
But if he could just live through it, this storm was bound to end, sometime.
2
S-One shook his head, careful to keep his bearing courteous. He reminded himself that in the formal hierarchy of the State, the man across the big table was his superior.
"No," said S-One, "I see no danger from this so-called invasion."
Across the table, his gaze intent, the tall, lean, faintly studious man formally identified in the table of organization as "G-One," for "Head of Government," and also known as "P-One," for "Chairman of the Central Committee of the Party"—this individual looked intently into S-One's eyes, until S-One felt the impact like a bright light glaring directly onto the retinas of his eyes, to explode across the back of his brain. But S-One neither flinched nor looked away.
Across the table, G-One broke the contact, and glanced around at the others seated at the table. No one ventured an opinion. G-One said, "General Brusilov?"
"Sir?"
"What is your opinion?"
Brusilov did not hesitate.
"I think it represents a great danger, and a great opportunity."
"Why?"
"It is a danger, because Arakal is a master of conflict. It represents an opportunity, because, if we can make peace with the Americans—a real peace—we should be able to overcome some serious problems."
G-One frowned, and glanced at S-One.
"Your reply?"
"I repeat what I have already said. Neither Arakal, his army, nor his disastrous plan, represent any danger to us."
G-One glanced at Brusilov.
Brusilov, some strain evident in his voice, said, "I don't want to seem insubordinate—"
G-One nodded. "We are well aware, General, that our defeat in America, and the loss of our fleet and our colonies there, was no fault of yours. We know that the fault lay in one who, contrary to your warning, underestimated this same opponent our colleague here—" G-One glanced briefly across the table "—tells us is no danger to us now. This precedent requires some attention on our part. Let us hear your honest opinion."
Brusilov waited a moment, then spoke in a careful voice.
"I have, speaking of my own experience, found Arakal to be honest and steadfast in friendship, and totally unpredictable in war. He is without conceit, free of serious delusion, and profound in his understanding of conflict. His blows dislocate the mind, as well as overwhelming physical resistance. His army is not to be judged by its numbers alone. His spirit actuates this army."
S-One spoke sharply. "What is the meaning of this statement: 'His spirit actuates this army'?"
G-One's eyes glinted, but he glanced curiously at Brusilov.
Before Brusilov could speak, S-One went on:
"The General speaks as one mentally dominated by another."
Brusilov's voice was suddenly flat. "I am warning you of what I have experienced myself. I will say frankly that from the information you have given me, I, too, would think Arakal has no chance. But I have been asked for my opinion, and I will state it:
"Arakal is dangerous. So is his army. Don't laugh at him because he speaks of the Wesdem O'Cracy, and before his army appeals to God for aid. Don't smile when you measure him against his ancestors. A part of the risk is that it is so hard to take such seeming backwardness seriously."
"I smile at him" said S-One, "when I consider his plan. Of all the places in Western Europe where he might land, and do us damage, he selects the one spot where no popular enthusiasm can help him, where we can destroy him as if he were a nut in a nutcracker."
Across the table, G-One said thoughtfully, "What is your plan?"
S-One controlled his voice.
"In deference to the General's warning, I am holding in reserve a carefully worked out deception plan, in the event Arakal should actually set foot alive on the continent, and survive the first day, which I do not expect."
G-One nodded. "This is prudent."
S-One waited a moment, to be sure that his voice was level.
"If, however, things work out as now seems probable, Arakal and the larger part of his force should be too badly mauled in the landing attempt to cause us any serious trouble."
"What are the specifics?"
"Arakal intends to land by moonlight at the full tide on a beach southeast of Cherbourg, on the east coast of the Cherbourg Peninsula. This is the old World War II beach known as 'Utah'. The Americans successfully landed there in 1944. In World War II, however, they came from Britain. Arakal is coming all the way across the Atlantic in one bound. They have already passed through a severe storm. They will arrive weak and none too fit for combat."
Brusilov spoke politely but definitely.
"Excuse me, Comrade, but those troops are tough. And we know they are well trained. This is not the first storm they have experienced."
S-One waited a moment before speaking. His candid belief was that he was surrounded by a pack of fools. This belief might find its way into his voice and manner if he was not careful. He cleared his throat, and spoke politely.
"Have you ever been seasick, General?"
Brusilov said gruffly, "More than once."
"I think you are as tough as Arakal or his men. How combat-worthy did you feel after you had just been seasick?"
"I was as weak as a kitten."
There was a murmur, and a sense of relaxation around the table. Even G-One, across the table, looked relieved.
S-One said quietly, "Arakal's invasion force, which we estimate at not over thirty-five thousand men, should arrive off the old Utah Beach in time for him to put his men ashore somewhere around dead low tide—not high tide—since we managed to insinuate into Admiral Bullinger's possession faulty tide tables for the region. The Admiral, despite his rank, is inexperienced, and so are his men."
"So," said G-One, "the troops will arrive at low tide? What is the practical significance of this?"
"The beach is very flat. Their landing boats will run aground far out."
"Their walk inland will be longer?"
"Yes, and exposed to our fire all the way. We will allow the attack to proceed until Arakal is well committed. We will then open fire on the ships with our very powerful camouflaged guns. We will destroy the men by fire from machinegun nests at the base of the cliffs. The fortifications of the peninsula were planned to stand a siege, and could be held with ten thousand men, such is the degree of automatic control. Actually, we have forty thousand men on hand, ready for anything."
"So, even if he should break through locally, you should still smash him in the end?"
"Even if there were no up-to-date fortifications, as is the case elsewhere, we should be able to smash him here. We can hit him when part of his men are ashore and part are still on the ships. The important thing is, we know where he is coming, and we are ready. It would be a different matter if we had to guess which place he would strike. We do not have to guess."
There was a murmur of approval, and, across the table, G-One nodded grudgingly, and glanced at Brusilov.
"General? What do you say of this?"
"So far, so good," said Brusilov. "But where is our main reserve?"
S-One barely held back a sarcastic reply. Before he could find an answer suitably polite, there was a rap, the door opened, and an apologetic voice spoke urgently from the doorway. S-One recognized his own deputy, and watched in astonishment as S-Two crossed the room rapidly toward him.
"Sir, excuse me! This won't wait!"
He thrust out a slim sheaf of papers, and S-One recognized the usual form of translated comments received by way of hidden electronic devices on the ships. Searching his deputy's face, he recognized an urgent look of warning.
S-One's calculation suddenly vanished. His voice came out harsh and cold. "This is a report of what? Speak up, S-Two."
His deputy's voice was low. "Of a meeting of Arakal and his generals on board the bombardment ship Panther. On page four, sir—"
S-One spoke sharply. "Don't try to spare me. Speak up! What's wrong?"
"Arakal, sir! The attack is not going in against the Cherbourg Peninsula, after all!"
S-One felt as if the earth moved under him. The blood roared in his ears.
"What? Where, then?"
"Le Havre, sir."
S-One swore, heard the uproar around the table, and then Brusilov's voice, patient but grimly persistent:
"Where is our main reserve in France?"
S-One drew a deep breath. "Metz."
"Then it can't help us. He'll get ashore. What do we have between Le Havre and Paris?"
S-One thought carefully.
"Nothing."
Brusilov nodded moodily.
"We have just been outmaneuvered."
S-One's deputy was still right there, his expression still urgent.
Across the table, G-One spoke dryly.
"Is there more?"
S-One looked back at his deputy. His voice was harsh, strained, and he made no attempt to conceal it.
"Tell us frankly. There is no way to break news like this gently."
"Sir, Arakal gave instructions that, and I quote: 'the signals for the uprising should be sent'. We already have word of coded signals that, so far, have not been possible to interpret."
Across the table, G-One held his hand palm-out for quiet. His eyes were unreadable as he looked at S-One.
S-One turned to his deputy, and held up the sheaf of papers.
"You have read this? Or did someone else summarize it to you?"
"Both. After the summary, while the information was being verified, I read it."
"What explanation did Arakal give, that he had changed the landing site?"
"That, in war, misdirection is the key to victory; that it would be suicide to attack the main Soviet base in Western Europe when that base was warned in advance of the attack; and that, since the plans and preparations had been made in the vicinity of our former colonies, we were certain to have been warned of the practice landings, and the target; and so we would be waiting in the peninsula. This fact, that we had been misled, would clear the road to Paris, and the seizure of Paris would in turn strike a heavy blow to our prestige. The uprisings would maintain the split in our forces, which, united, would doubtless be more numerous than theirs. Beyond that, he said, it was impossible to predict, since everything depended on particulars. But with the fleet, with a mobile army, operating in a country where the transportation system could be cut, on signal, by the guerrillas . . ."
"The guerrillas?"
"I believe he said, 'the local patriots', but the real meaning was guerrillas. In such a situation, with part of our troops locked up in Normandy, and another force trapped in Britain, there would be bound to be opportunities."
There was a silence. Across the table, G-One turned to Marshal of the Armed Forces Vasilevsky, who had said nothing so far, and even now sat dourly staring at the far wall, his clasped hands resting on the table top.
"Well, Marshal?" said G-One.
Vasilevsky turned his head to look at G-One. It was as if he aimed a gun. His voice was a rumble, as of artillery in the distance.
"You want me now to make war on a map?"
G-One grappled with the comment, and, without a word, turned to Brusilov.
Vasilevsky went on. "The next thing, we soil our pants with fear of this American. He is still on his ship, isn't he? Let everyone stand to his guns where he is, and start the reserves from Metz toward Paris in the morning. If he lands at Le Havre, so be it. Let's see how much artillery he brought with him."
Brusilov said at once, "I agree."
G-One exhaled, and glanced quizzically across the table.
S-One, hearing the Marshal's rough voice, felt the pressure fall away. Brusilov, too, he noted, had not panicked. Good. But an uprising in Europe would make far more than military problems. He shook his head.
"We can undoubtedly beat Arakal, just as a large cup of water can extinguish a match. The trouble is, the cup of water cannot necessarily extinguish the blaze that the match may cause when it is dropped into a pile of dry wood."
Vasilevsky grunted. "The French are not happy with us, eh? Well, I'm not sure the Germans are, either. Or the Dutch, or the Italians."
"That's the point."
Vasilevsky was silent a moment, then he shrugged. His voice was stolid, fatalistic.
"I have given my advice."
Across the table, G-One said, "If the Marshal's advice does not appeal to you, S-One, what do you suggest?"
S-One saw the wedge driven between himself and the Marshal, but ignored it. He turned to his deputy.
"What is Arakal's immediate plan?"
"Some of his ships will drop anchor off the Normandy peninsula. The rest will continue toward Le Havre. A few boats will set out toward the Normandy beaches, and make sounds to deceive us. Tomorrow, his fleet will enter Le Havre, and the troops will entrain for Paris."
"When, tomorrow?"
"He was evidently illustrating what he said with a detailed map, or a blackboard. We assume there was a diagram showing the relationship of the different parts of the attack, and the times. There was a good deal of confusion at first, and the analysis of the conversation is not yet complete. We have the expression 'at dawn' repeated several times, but we do not know with certainty what it refers to."
S-One looked across the table, and saw from the bland expression of his superior that this reverse was not without its incidental benefits from the viewpoint of G-One, the Head of Government.
S-One spoke with a humility much more real than the restraint he had imitated before.
"I believe," said S-One, "that it is still possible to forestall Arakal militarily, thanks to the reports of this conference of his. If not, we will at once activate the deception plan. The aim of the deception plan is to deflect the force of any popular uprising. If the deception plan should fail—which does not seem possible to me—but if it should, then we must seek a military solution. In preparation for that, our military forces have already been drawn back to mutually supporting positions. This is the reason why our Reserve France is back at Metz."
Marshal Vasilevsky spoke up.
"Where is our Benelux Reserve?"
"Liege."
"And the Forward Reserve Germany?"
"Trier."
"Where is our Main Reserve Germany?"
"Muhlhausen."
The Marshal nodded.
S-One continued, "I will have to give the orders at once if we are to lose no time. My intention is to move the troops in the Cherbourg Peninsula by rail to Rouen. Depending on the speed of Arakal's movements, we may be able to forestall him at Le Havre. At the very least, we can block his way to Paris."
G-One looked questioningly at Marshal Vasilevsky.
The Marshal grunted. "Who can say? We may get beat. On the other hand, while he tries to fool us, maybe we can catch him with half his men still on their boats. At least, we will find out what there is to this guerrilla business."
G-One looked surprised.
"You approve?"
"I am not in charge. I neither approve nor disapprove. It is not what I would do. I have already told you what I would do. But it may work. These things are not decided on a map, but on the ground.
G-One said, "General Brusilov?"
"I would use Marshal Vasilevsky's plan. But I am not familiar with all the factors, and this present plan may work."
G-One nodded, and turned to S-One.
"Very well. Proceed. The matter is entirely in your hands."
S-One came to his feet, bowed, and left the room.
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