Red Inferno: 1945 by Robert Conroy Read Free Book Online

states of drunkenness.
    Natalie squeezed his arm tightly as they navigated through the crowded hall and toward the buffet table. They each took a glass of champagne—decadent French, of course—and a plate of hors d’oeuvres.
    Steve pushed a shrimp into his mouth. “Do the peasants eat this well in Minsk and Pinsk, I wonder?”
    “Of course they do, Steven. Have you forgotten it’s a workers’ paradise? These are merely their leftovers shipped over to make us capitalist swine envious. I just can’t believe someone ate all the caviar already.”
    “Ah,” he said and turned as a scuffle broke out across the room. He was beginning to have second thoughts about whether he should have asked her to accompany him as he heard the sound of glass breaking. His presence at the party was more or less a command from General Marshall’s office, because Marshall wanted several Russian experts to mingle and try to read what the Reds were doing and thinking. In particular, the higher-ups wanted to know of any stray thoughts or comments regarding the two divisions called Miller Force now en route to Berlin. This had been reported by various overzealous American newspapers as an attempt for the Americans to get there first and take the city. General Marshall was upset by this interpretation and had urged the State Department to further reassure the Russians that this was not the intent.
    Burke’s immediate impression was that the effort to gather information was an utter waste of time. There were no major players from either government present this evening. No Gromyko, and nobody from the upper levels of the American or other Allied governments to set the tone and go through the elaborate dance of conveying messages via statecraft. Both the hosts and the guests were mid-level officials from a number of countries who were taking advantage of a free feed and the challenges of an inexhaustible supply of liquor.
    “This is amazing,” Natalie said. “They’re behaving like there’s no tomorrow. Of course, if they’re sent back to the Soviet Union, they could be right.”
    In the distance a small musical group began playing something that could scarcely be heard above the din and was barely identifiable as music.
    A Russian officer whose name Burke scarcely remembered lurched drunkenly in his direction.
    “Burke!” he said. The Russian’s breath was an alcoholic stench, and Steve recoiled while Natalie turned her head and laughed. “War almost over. We kill fucking Hitler, no?”
    “Colonel Korzov, your English is improving remarkably.” Korzov rewarded Burke with a huge hug and lurched away, but not before trying to peer down the front of Natalie’s dress. He looked much like a three-legged bear.
    “You’ve charmed him,” Natalie said, continuing to laugh. Burke decided he was glad he had brought her, although he would now have to have his uniform cleaned. Korzov had spilled a drink on his pants and there were food stains on the front of his Eisenhower jacket as well.
    “Everybody loves me,” he said and then froze. There was something wrong with his jacket. Carefully, he patted his chest and confirmed what his mind had told him. There was something inside his jacket. Korzov had slipped him what felt like a sheet of paper.
    “Steven, is something the matter?” Natalie looked worried at the sudden change in his behavior.
    He leaned down and whispered in her ear. She nodded understanding. “Excuse me, please,” he said loudly. “I have to go to the restroom. I don’t think I should have had that shrimp.”
    He had said that last part for anyone who might have been listening, although common sense told him that it wasn’t necessary and no one could possibly be eavesdropping on them in the din.
    The men’s john was almost empty and he had no problem finding a stall. Deciding to play the role to the hilt, he closed the door, dropped his pants, and seated himself on the fairly clean commode before retrieving the