“Only very roughly. This accuracy of prediction would never have suited the Letra whose name I now bear.”
“All right. Then let's play by your rules. Take the following setup: all attempts on Roosevelt's life are prevented. What is the likelihood of the United States going to war against the USSR?”
“60 percent. The president is not omnipotent in this country, and anti-communist forces are very influential. The media is quite capable of setting public opinion in the right way, and Roosevelt may simply have no choice.”
“So we need something to make it impossible for the United States to go to war against the Soviet Union. What could this be?”
“Don't forget, I'm not a human being. I can only make creative decisions when I have a clear algorithm for doing so. In this case, there is no such algorithm. I can only list the precedents from the history I know. A non-aggression pact may prevent entry into war, although such pacts are often violated. U.S. military or economic unpreparedness for war may be an obstacle, but by my calculations, they will have no problem with either in a year or a year and a half. There is also such a variant as the well-established opinion of the population of a country about another state as a reliable ally, thanks to whose help the the victory in a difficult war has recently been won. The U.S. is a democracy, and the government cannot ignore the opinion of its citizens at all. It can manipulate that opinion, but it just can't give a damn about it. And the citizens would probably not like an attack on a staunch ally. In our case, however, this does not apply – the U.S. is not at war with Germany and is not an ally of the USSR. Also, the attack could be stopped by the obvious military-technical superiority of the Soviet Union, but the level of its industrial development would not allow… ”
“Stop. Let me think about it.”
The artificial intelligence was obediently silent, and I was deep in thought, trying to catch the elusive thought. Something flashed through Letra's words that my brain tried to latch on to, but the idea slipped away before it could form.
“Again, slowly repeat the answer to my last question.”
“Don't… forget… that… I… am… not… a… human… being… I… can… only…”
I listened to the above in silence one more time and tried to remember what had made me stop Letra, and at some point the missing element took its place in the shaky construction of the forming idea with an almost tangible click.
“That's enough. Now I need a detailed and persuasive report from you to convince the leaders of the USSR that war with the West is inevitable. Use only those arguments that rely on data available to me officially. I will go to Stalin with this, and I don't want to be asked how I know, how many M3 tanks the Chrysler plant in Warren, near Detroit, will be able to produce next month to within a few pieces.”
Marshal Shaposhnikov rarely visited Lubyanka, but this time he could not avoid a visit to the Commissar of Internal Affairs. The document, received late at night, literally burned his hands. Boris Mikhailovich was deservedly considered a qualified military analyst and an experienced general staff officer, but the folder clutched in his hand contained materials that went far beyond the purely military sphere, and the decisions that should have been made on their basis were capable of changing the fate of the Soviet Union in the most unpredictable way.
Shaposhnikov did not dare to give these documents to Stalin at once – too much in them required verification, and the Marshal could not conduct such a verification by the General Staff alone. The night spent reading the analyses contained in the folder deprived the Marshal of peace. The course of the war, which seemed very successful to the Chief of Staff, and not only to him alone, suddenly appeared in a completely different light, drawing grave and gloomy prospects. For many hours Shaposhnikov tried to find an error in the inhumanly flawless logic of the report, and found none.
“Hello, Boris Mikhailovich,” Beria stood up to meet the Marshal, who entered his office, with a slight smile, “It's been a while since you visited me. We see each other more at meetings of the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command or in the Kremlin with Comrade Stalin. What was so unusual and urgent that made you come to Lubyanka?”
“Good afternoon, Lavrenty Pavlovich,” unlike the Commissar of Internal Affairs, Shaposhnikov kept a serious expression on his face. “You're right, something happened. Something urgent, and unusual, and, I think, top secret.”
“Let me guess,” Beria stopped smiling too. “Has your restless subordinate given us all a new surprise? What is it this time? Helsinki? Sevastopol? Ploiești? Berlin?”
“You'd better familiarize yourself with it,” Shaposhnikov carefully put the folder on the Commissar's desk. “I can hardly tell you any better or more convincingly than what is written here.”
Beria nodded silently, adjusted his pince-nez and leisurely opened the folder. Marshall waited patiently, rehearsing in his head all the things he had already thought about repeatedly during the night. Could it be that his own knowledge was not enough, because he was only a military man, and he simply could not find the logical inconsistencies in economic, political, and international relations? Now Beria will sarcastically chuckle, shake his head, and easily shatter all these arguments that seemed so impeccable to him.
But he did not grin.
Having read the report through, the Commissar of Internal Affairs looked up and stared at the Chief of the General Staff for a minute, and then he picked up the first page again and began to read the document from the beginning, making some notes in the margins.
The secretary peeked into the office, silently approached the table, and placed glasses of tea and a vase of cookies in front of the master of the office and his guest. Beria didn't even seem to notice his appearance, and Shaposhnikov nodded and moved his glass to his side.
“Everything here is too serious to give a go at this document without a comprehensive review,” Beria finally said, leaning back in his chair. “I know that Comrade Nagulin is very rarely wrong in his conclusions, but this is not an analysis of the situation on the fronts nor is it a forecast of enemy actions. A broader range of issues is addressed here. The Major-General's logic is undeniable, but I am afraid that even our experience is insufficient to judge the constructiveness of his suggestions.”
“The United States, President Roosevelt – that's probably the last of what I would consider important for us in the current situation,” Shaposhnikov shook his head doubtfully.
“It's not about the present moment here,” Beria tapped his index finger on the stack of sheets on his desk, “We have almost a year to make a decision and prepare, but then it could really be too late.”
“But what about the Neutrality Pact? We do not want the whole world to regard the Soviet Union as a treacherous power like Hitler's Germany, which attacked the USSR without declaring war, despite the non-aggression pact in force between our countries, do we?”
“And here I think I agree with Comrade Nagulin,” a faint grin appeared on Beria's face. “Do you remember well the second clause of our agreement with Japan?”
“I can't reproduce it verbatim.”
“It goes like this: "in the event of one of the contracting parties being the object of military action by one or more third powers, the other contracting party shall maintain neutrality throughout the conflict." If we read this clause literally, it means that we undertake not to attack each other in the event of military aggression by third countries, directed at one of our states. But neither the U.S. nor Britain attacked Japan. Japan ITSELF carried out military aggression, and this completely unleashes our hands. It is possible, and even certain, that the Japanese will disagree with such an interpretation, but who will care about their opinion in the current balance of power?”
“To be honest, all my experience resists the idea of a war on two fronts. I read Nagulin's arguments and realize that there is probably no other way out, but as soon as I look away from these lines, and my doubts return. How will the USSR be able to withstand