![The End of War - A Novel of the Race for Berlin - [World War II 02]](/res/dh/book4.jpg)
Read Online The End of War - A Novel of the Race for Berlin - [World War II 02] by David L. Robbins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David L. Robbins
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was the only airplane trip the Marshal had ever taken, and he assured Roosevelt it was his last. Roosevelt ignored Churchill’s plea to stay with the Prime Minister at the British Embassy. Instead, the President accepted Uncle Joe’s invitation to take quarters at the Russian compound in Teheran.
At the Teheran meeting, Roosevelt did everything he could to establish warm relations with Stalin on this, their first face-to-face encounter. Initially, the little Marshal in his unadorned mustard-colored uniform with great shoulder boards like shelves was detached and stiff, exposing little humanity where Roosevelt could attach his charm. Three times the President met with Stalin, all the while refusing Churchill’s requests for just one private lunch. The full plenary sessions were argumentative but little more than rubber stamps for what the President and Stalin had discussed in Churchill’s absence. The nightly state dinners were tense affairs, with Stalin and Churchill exchanging barbed blandishments. Stalin was not going to forget how twenty-four years earlier Churchill railed in Parliament against the Red Revolution, supporting the intervention of British troops and money on the side of the czar against Lenin’s forces. Roosevelt enjoyed the bald enmity between the two, hoping it would reinforce Stalin’s preference for America. But he could not chip the grimace from Stalin’s face until he turned on Churchill himself.
Roosevelt planned the ploy in advance. Assembling for one of the official meetings, he leaned over to Stalin to indicate the Prime Minister, who’d developed a head cold. In a stage whisper audible to all, Roosevelt said, “Winston’s cranky this morning, he got up on the wrong side of the bed.”When the translation was complete, the President noted a vague smile crease Stalin’s mouth. He pressed on, teasing Churchill for his Britishness and his John Bull resemblance. Churchill was offended and scowled, turning ever redder, until Stalin broke into a belly laugh. For the first time in three days of meetings, Roosevelt felt an intimacy open between him and Stalin. At that moment, for the first time, he called the Marshal “Uncle Joe.” It was a miscalculation. Stalin’s mirth dissolved. He made to leave the table. Only when Roosevelt made the reference into a compliment, comparing him to the cherished American “Uncle Sam,” was the Marshal mollified.
At another session regarding the postwar fate of Germany, on Churchill’s sixty-ninth birthday, Stalin joked that at the end of the war fifty thousand German officers should be selected for execution. Churchill found this in bad taste. For comedy Roosevelt played the role of peacemaker, chiming in that Stalin’s figure was too high, a compromise should be reached. They should only shoot forty-nine thousand. Churchill left the room in disgust, and was brought back by a cajoling Stalin. Then Roosevelt’s eldest son, Elliott, a captain in the Army Air Corps, turned antic, exclaiming, “Hell, why not shoot a hundred thousand!” Stalin went over and wrapped his arm around the young man’s shoulders.
Major decisions were made at Teheran. Uncle Joe was satisfied. Churchill was corralled. Roosevelt viewed the conference as a great success.
Now that the war’s end is in sight, he sees no reason to change that formula. Let no one alter. Or falter.
Harry Hopkins returns with the proposed cable to Churchill. The President scans it. He changes the date of his arrival in Malta from February first to the second, the same day the presidential party is expected in Yalta. This way there’ll be no time for an official meeting with Winston. Maybe dinner.
He tells Harry, “Send this to Uncle Joe too. That’ll lock down the schedule and we shouldn’t hear any more about it.”
“Done.”
Harry turns to go. The man’s shoulder blades protrude beneath his suit coat.
Roosevelt takes up a cigarette. He thinks of
At the Teheran meeting, Roosevelt did everything he could to establish warm relations with Stalin on this, their first face-to-face encounter. Initially, the little Marshal in his unadorned mustard-colored uniform with great shoulder boards like shelves was detached and stiff, exposing little humanity where Roosevelt could attach his charm. Three times the President met with Stalin, all the while refusing Churchill’s requests for just one private lunch. The full plenary sessions were argumentative but little more than rubber stamps for what the President and Stalin had discussed in Churchill’s absence. The nightly state dinners were tense affairs, with Stalin and Churchill exchanging barbed blandishments. Stalin was not going to forget how twenty-four years earlier Churchill railed in Parliament against the Red Revolution, supporting the intervention of British troops and money on the side of the czar against Lenin’s forces. Roosevelt enjoyed the bald enmity between the two, hoping it would reinforce Stalin’s preference for America. But he could not chip the grimace from Stalin’s face until he turned on Churchill himself.
Roosevelt planned the ploy in advance. Assembling for one of the official meetings, he leaned over to Stalin to indicate the Prime Minister, who’d developed a head cold. In a stage whisper audible to all, Roosevelt said, “Winston’s cranky this morning, he got up on the wrong side of the bed.”When the translation was complete, the President noted a vague smile crease Stalin’s mouth. He pressed on, teasing Churchill for his Britishness and his John Bull resemblance. Churchill was offended and scowled, turning ever redder, until Stalin broke into a belly laugh. For the first time in three days of meetings, Roosevelt felt an intimacy open between him and Stalin. At that moment, for the first time, he called the Marshal “Uncle Joe.” It was a miscalculation. Stalin’s mirth dissolved. He made to leave the table. Only when Roosevelt made the reference into a compliment, comparing him to the cherished American “Uncle Sam,” was the Marshal mollified.
At another session regarding the postwar fate of Germany, on Churchill’s sixty-ninth birthday, Stalin joked that at the end of the war fifty thousand German officers should be selected for execution. Churchill found this in bad taste. For comedy Roosevelt played the role of peacemaker, chiming in that Stalin’s figure was too high, a compromise should be reached. They should only shoot forty-nine thousand. Churchill left the room in disgust, and was brought back by a cajoling Stalin. Then Roosevelt’s eldest son, Elliott, a captain in the Army Air Corps, turned antic, exclaiming, “Hell, why not shoot a hundred thousand!” Stalin went over and wrapped his arm around the young man’s shoulders.
Major decisions were made at Teheran. Uncle Joe was satisfied. Churchill was corralled. Roosevelt viewed the conference as a great success.
Now that the war’s end is in sight, he sees no reason to change that formula. Let no one alter. Or falter.
Harry Hopkins returns with the proposed cable to Churchill. The President scans it. He changes the date of his arrival in Malta from February first to the second, the same day the presidential party is expected in Yalta. This way there’ll be no time for an official meeting with Winston. Maybe dinner.
He tells Harry, “Send this to Uncle Joe too. That’ll lock down the schedule and we shouldn’t hear any more about it.”
“Done.”
Harry turns to go. The man’s shoulder blades protrude beneath his suit coat.
Roosevelt takes up a cigarette. He thinks of
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