Chapter 137: The Evidence

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“Give me a few days, great Soviet leader, Comrade Stalin,” Yezhov said with his head bowed. “I will go and prepare.”

“This time, we must have concrete evidence! I can barely hold back those old guards from Comrade Lenin’s era anymore! So we cannot be as careless as we were when dealing with Kirov! We must prove Tukhachevsky is guilty with very solid evidence! Do you understand?” Stalin narrowed his eyes and stared at Yezhov, the corners of his mustache twitching upwards, giving him a tyrannical look.

“This is not an easy matter! Tukhachevsky is a Marshal, after all. He has a deep background in the army, not to mention extensive connections, and his own faction is not small,” Khrushchev chimed in, subtly stabbing Yezhov in the back. If Yezhov were to back down from the difficulty and choose to give up, then Stalin would no longer compare Yezhov to him.

“That is indeed the case, Comrade Stalin. Tukhachevsky has rendered distinguished service to the motherland. To arrest him so rashly would be like cutting off one’s own arm,” Yezhov said, feigning persuasion.

“It is a pity! Because Tukhachevsky worked with Kirov in Leningrad for a long time, it is confirmed that Tukhachevsky was a loyal follower of Kirov! He is still making trouble for us over the Kirov affair! Therefore, we must get rid of him!” Stalin replied, frowning.

“Yes, Comrade Stalin! I will make the arrangements!” Yezhov said, steeling himself. “Please give me a few days.”

“Very good, Comrade Yezhov. I will await your good news,” Stalin said, nodding in approval. “There are not many comrades like you who are willing to work for the motherland these days. You must redouble your efforts.”

“Long live the great Soviet leader, Comrade Stalin!” Yezhov saluted, then turned and walked out of Stalin’s office, leaving Khrushchev there to discuss unknown matters with Stalin.

Poland. Warsaw, the location of the Comintern’s branch office, on a train station platform. An old man accepted a tightly wrapped film canister. “Thank you for your hard work. I hear we sacrificed many comrades for this piece of intelligence?”

“Yes. Our underground intelligence system in Germany was almost completely exposed because of this film canister… Even with the emergency measures we took, the Berlin intelligence network has collapsed,” the man delivering the intelligence said very solemnly.

“It’s chaos over there now. No one dares to contact each other anymore because no one knows who has been arrested,” another Comintern official said with a frown.

“For one piece of intelligence, was the loss of dozens of comrades who had been undercover for many years worth it?” the old man asked, his voice clearly filled with pain.

“I hear that anyone who knows the contents of this intelligence thinks it was worth it! Along with this intelligence, we also obtained the technical blueprints for the German 1000-ton submarine. Compared to those blueprints, this intelligence is even more precious,” the courier said solemnly. “For this, even Number Three has died!”

“Number Three? My God…” the old man shook his head in regret. “I will personally deliver this intelligence to Moscow. Since so many people have already been lost, this intelligence must be of unparalleled importance.”

“Promise me, you will guard this intelligence with your life! It concerns the lives of hundreds of thousands of Red Army soldiers!” the man who brought the intelligence said, showing his great concern for it. “There may still be German attempts to intercept it along the way. Don’t think you are safe just because you have reached Poland!”

“Rest assured,” the Comintern official who was seeing him off said reassuringly. “We have arranged for many comrades to provide cover along the way, and his group has five of our station’s best men protecting them. There shouldn’t be any problems.”

“In that case, I will entrust it to you,” the courier nodded. “I hope there are no accidents.”

“Alright. I swear on my life, I will deliver this intelligence back to Moscow,” the old man said with a smile. “I also wish you a safe journey back.”

“Thank you,” the man said without further words, turned, and left.

“Sir, do you think the intelligence they obtained might be fake? After all, its contents are a bit too incredible,” the Comintern official asked the old man beside him in a low voice, watching the departing courier.

The old man chuckled. “The authenticity of this intelligence is no longer important. What’s important is how the authorities in Moscow use it! As long as we stand firmly on the winning side, we can continue to fight for world communism. Do you understand?”

“You mean?” the official asked, seeking clarification.

“No matter who wins, in the end, it is a victory for the cause of communism. So there is no problem! A power struggle is not terrible; competition within the system is necessary,” the old man said. He then took the intelligence and, with several tall men, boarded the train.

The Germans, as expected, did not give up. They launched an attack as the train was about to leave Poland. They killed two Polish Comintern agents who were protecting the intelligence and lost three of their own Gestapo agents who were on foreign assignment. Unfortunately for the Germans, they failed again this time; they were unable to stop the intelligence from heading east. Because Germany did not yet have the capability to launch an espionage attack within the Soviet Union, once the intelligence entered Soviet territory, it could be said to be absolutely safe.

The intelligence traveled north, all the way to Moscow. It was then delivered to the desk of the head of the highest Soviet intelligence agency. Soon, at a little after one o’clock that same night, the film canister was developed. It was then copied several times and sent to the Supreme High Command and to Stalin’s desk.

Of course, because of the ongoing purges within the Soviet Union, this intelligence was also sent to Yezhov as evidence and material. This was a great relief to Yezhov, who had been anxiously waiting for an opportunity. He hadn’t gone home for days, instead holing up in his office building interrogating several officers, trying to obtain “criminal evidence” against Tukhachevsky. When the file arrived, he was still awake, which allowed him to see this important intelligence several hours before Stalin did.

“Excellent! Absolutely excellent!” This was Yezhov’s exact phrase upon seeing the photocopied documents. If Lenin were still alive and had heard this cry, he would probably have slapped Yezhov twice across the face—for an army group commander and a Red Army marshal to be incriminated, and for someone to be shouting “excellent”… wasn’t that an irony in itself?

Yezhov rushed to Stalin’s office in a state of euphoria, bringing this file and the evidence he had managed to extract from some officers over the past few days. By this time, only three hours had passed since the file had been developed. Stalin was not yet awake, but Yezhov couldn’t be bothered. After much pleading, he finally managed to see Stalin at a little after five in the morning.

“Comrade Stalin! This time we have concrete evidence to prove Tukhachevsky is guilty as charged!” Yezhov said triumphantly.

Stalin finished reading the documents, his expression grave, and he said nothing. The files contained a great deal: secret collusion with the Germans to overthrow Stalin; cooperation with the Germans to train the army; and plans on how to bring in German and Italian capital for development after overthrowing Stalin.

Every document bore the personal signatures of German generals and Tukhachevsky, the official steel seals of various German departments, and Tukhachevsky’s private seal. On two crucial documents, even the German Führer, Akado, had signed his name.

What was even more chilling was that the documents didn’t just concern Tukhachevsky alone. They implicated many other famous Soviet figures: renowned tank and aircraft designers, political commissars and commanders of several Fronts or army groups, Soviet politicians, and some socialites.

“Comrade Stalin? You’re not going to change your mind now that it’s come to this, are you?” Yezhov asked in a low voice. “These people are all traitors to the motherland! It is better to kill them by mistake than to let them go free!”

Stalin looked up, glanced at Yezhov, and then gave a cold laugh. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Or are you an idiot yourself?” This question stunned Yezhov, and for a long time, he didn’t know how to respond.

“If I were to believe what’s written in this intelligence, I would have to send the entire Soviet industry to its grave, turn against both old and new factions, and kill enough people to fill a dozen concentration camps!” Stalin slammed the intelligence file on the table. “What I want is a firm grip on the Soviet Union! Not to destroy it!”

“Yes, yes!” Yezhov said, bowing his head and wiping away sweat, looking very frightened. “So you’re saying the intelligence is fake, Comrade Stalin?”

“Of course the intelligence is real!” Stalin said fiercely, his eyes narrowed. “At least a few of the people in this intelligence report are real traitors, and the authenticity of the other documents needs our consideration. It’s possible the enemy deliberately mixed in some false intelligence, but some of it must be real.”

Yezhov was no fool. He immediately understood what Stalin meant and said, “I understand! The intelligence about Tukhachevsky secretly colluding with Germany is accurate and correct, and everyone connected to him should be put on trial! The authenticity of the other intelligence is subject to consideration and needs to be carefully reviewed…”

“Go and handle it according to that line of thinking,” Stalin said with a yawn, looking somewhat weary.

A few hours later, in Tukhachevsky’s office, several Soviet officers produced their credentials and an order personally signed by Stalin. “By order of Comrade Stalin! We declare you under arrest, Comrade Marshal Tukhachevsky!”

Tukhachevsky was stunned. He tried to grab the phone but was stopped by two pistols pointed at him. The same lieutenant colonel who had been ordered to salute him here before now waved his hand with a triumphant smirk. “Send our Marshal to where he belongs!”

Soon, Tukhachevsky, this Marshal of the Red Army, was hauled into a car and sent to a secret prison on the outskirts of the city. A god of the Soviet military had thus, in a state of utter confusion, become a prisoner.