Evidence

In the heart of the Soviet Union, a car halted at the gates of the military headquarters, stirring a cloud of dust along the desolate road. Two officers emerged from the vehicle, their expressions stern and purposeful as they bypassed the saluting guards and strode into the building.

Navigating the labyrinthine corridors, they reached the door of the commander's office. After a brief pause, one of the officers rapped sharply on the wood. "Please come in!" boomed a voice from within.

The officers entered. "Comrade Marshal Tukhachevsky! We have been instructed to conduct a thorough investigation into allegations concerning a dangerous industrialist within your front army," announced one of the officers, his voice betraying a hint of trepidation.

Marshal Mikhail Tukhachevsky, a towering figure recently elevated to the rank of Marshal of the Soviet Red Army—the first in Soviet history—looked up from his desk, his gaze piercing. "How is this possible?" he queried, setting aside the document he had been perusing.

The presence of Tukhachevsky, known as the Red Napoleon, was intimidating. Even Stalin had to accord him a measure of respect, which only amplified the pressure the two Lieutenant Colonels from the Industrialist Inspection Branch felt as they stood before him.

"Our investigations confirm the presence of dangerous elements within your ranks, including several high-ranking officials," the second officer managed to say, his voice shaking slightly. He reached into his jacket, retrieved a handkerchief, and dabbed at the sweat forming on his brow.

"We have compiled a list of these individuals. With your permission, we intend to detain them for further questioning," he continued, extending a document towards Tukhachevsky.

Tukhachevsky did not move to take the document. Sighing, the officer placed it on the desk and stepped back. "Comrade Stalin hopes for your cooperation in handing over these traitors," he added, invoking Stalin's name to bolster his own courage.

Tukhachevsky's response was to pick up the document and scan it quickly. His expression grew increasingly grim as he read through the names: commanders, political commissars, chiefs of staff—all from his own front army. When he spotted the name of a close colleague listed as a suspect, his patience shattered.

"Foolishness!" he thundered, flinging the document back at the officers. "You dare to accuse these loyal officers of treachery? I will not hand over a single one! Leave my office at once!"

The atmosphere, already tense, turned volatile. The officers, their initial fear dispelled by Tukhachevsky's outburst, scrambled to gather the scattered papers. "Comrade Marshal, failure to comply with Comrade Stalin's orders will implicate you as well," one warned, his tone stiff. "This list was drafted by the Politburo and Comrade Stalin himself."

"Are you mad? These are not evidences of crimes; they are merely names pulled from thin air!" Tukhachevsky retorted, his voice laced with incredulity.

"Comrade Marshal Tukhachevsky! Be mindful of your tone. Comrade Stalin is the architect of our nation's resurgence. To defy him is to hinder our progress," the officer shot back, his voice now edged with threat.

"When I was fighting alongside Comrade Lenin against the White Army, Stalin was merely a secretary. You should watch your tone, Lieutenant Colonel!" Tukhachevsky's response was fierce.

"Expect a summons from Comrade Yezhov for your review, Marshal," the officer replied coldly.

"Yezhov? His rank doesn't even compare to those you aim to arrest!" Tukhachevsky sneered, pointing to his marshal insignia. "I joined the Party long before he did. What right does he have to review me?"

His anger unabated, Tukhachevsky advanced on the officers, jabbing a finger into the chest of one. "Remember this! Tell Yezhov that many of us generals await the outcome of his inquiry into the assassination of Comrade Kirov. His incessant purges target those who were closest to Kirov. We will settle this score eventually."

"Very well, Comrade Marshal," the officers responded, turning to leave.

"Come back!" Tukhachevsky called out, a sneer crossing his features. The officers turned, puzzled. "You've forgotten to salute. Perhaps you need a refresher on proper military etiquette from the officer's school?"

Reluctantly, the officers executed a crisp salute, then exited, leaving Tukhachevsky to his thoughts.

Once outside, the officers, their faces the picture of dejection, hurried back to Moscow. Upon arrival, they reported to their superior, Yezhov, their faces etched with distress.

"Comrade Yezhov! Tukhachevsky showed us utter disdain. He didn't even consider your authority!" one reported, his voice a mix of anger and fear.

Yezhov, sitting behind his desk, listened intently, his expression unreadable. He scribbled Tukhachevsky's name on a piece of paper, encircled it, then crossed it out.

"Comrade Marshal did what he thought was right. You two need to learn to respect protocol. As a penalty, forfeit this month's bonus," Yezhov decreed, his tone final.

"Yes, Comrade Yezhov," the officers replied, their spirits dampened further.

Yezhov handed them envelopes. "Here, take these. Buy yourselves some extra cigarettes and alcohol. You seem to need them," he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

As the officers left, Yezhov prepared for his own meeting with Stalin, aware of the growing influence of Khrushchev and determined to secure his position by aiding Stalin in neutralizing Tukhachevsky—a stalwart of the old guard and a potential threat to Stalin's absolute control over the military.

Entering Stalin's office, Yezhov braced himself for a difficult conversation, ready to navigate the treacherous waters of Soviet politics where the stakes were unimaginably high and the penalties for failure, deadly.

"Grant me a few days, great Soviet leader Comrade Stalin," Ye Ruofu requested with a bowed head. "I will make the necessary preparations."

"This time, we must have concrete evidence! Those veterans from the era of Comrade Lenin are growing restless! We cannot be as careless as we were with Kirov! It must be proven beyond doubt that Tukhachevsky is guilty! Do you understand?" Stalin narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze on Yezhov. His beard twitched upwards, giving him a menacing appearance.

"Handling this matter will be quite challenging! Tukhachevsky is a marshal, deeply entrenched in the military with extensive connections, and his own influence is not insignificant," Yezhov cautiously pointed out, aware of the delicate situation.

"This is indeed true, Comrade Stalin. Tukhachevsky has made significant contributions to the motherland, so to arrest him hastily would be detrimental," Yezhov tried to reason.

"It's a disgrace! Since Tukhachevsky collaborated with Kirov in Leningrad, it is clear that he remains a devoted follower of Kirov! He continues to cause trouble for us! Therefore, we must eliminate him!" Stalin replied, his brow furrowed in frustration.

"Yes, Comrade Stalin! I will make the arrangements," Ye Ruofu declared boldly. "Please allow me a few days."

"Very well, Comrade Ye Ruofu. I await your good news," Stalin nodded approvingly. "There are few comrades as dedicated to the motherland as you are. Continue your diligent work."

"Long live Comrade Stalin, the great Soviet leader!" Yezhov saluted, then turned and exited Stalin's office, leaving Khrushchev behind, unaware of the discussions that had taken place.

...

In Warsaw, Poland, at a railway station platform, an elderly man received a tightly wrapped film canister. "It has been a difficult task. I understand we've lost many comrades to secure this information?"

"Yes, our underground intelligence network in Germany is nearly compromised due to this... Even with emergency measures, the Berlin network has collapsed," the courier reported gravely.

"The situation there is chaotic, and contacts have ceased, as we don't know who has been captured," another Communist International official added, his expression troubled.

"Was the sacrifice of so many comrades, who had been undercover for years, worth this piece of intelligence?" the elderly man asked, clearly pained by the losses.

"Everyone who knows what this information contains believes it's worth it! The technical schematics for a 1,000-ton submarine, included in this intelligence, are invaluable," the courier insisted solemnly. "Even Number 3 has perished for this cause."

"Number three? My God..." the elderly man shook his head in sorrow. "I will personally ensure this information reaches Moscow. Given the sacrifices made, its importance cannot be overstated."

"Promise me, you'll guard this with your life! It concerns the safety of hundreds of thousands of Soviet Red Army soldiers!" the courier stressed, deeply concerned about the information's security.

"Rest assured," the official who was seeing him off reassured him, "we've arranged for extensive cover along your route, and our team includes five of our most capable operatives. There should be no issues."

"Then I must leave it in your hands," the courier nodded, accepting the responsibility. "I hope for no surprises."

"I swear on my life, I will deliver this information safely to Moscow," the elderly man promised with a smile, wishing the departing courier a safe journey.

"Thank you," the courier said, then turned and left.

"Do you think the information they obtained might be false? The contents seem almost too incredible," the official whispered to the elderly man as they watched the courier disappear into the distance.

"The veracity of this information is secondary. What matters is how Moscow utilizes it! As long as we align with the victors, our struggle can continue," the elderly man explained, boarding the train.

Despite precautions, the Germans launched an attack as the train was about to leave Poland, killing two agents of the Polish Communist International and three Gestapo operatives on foreign assignment. However, their efforts to intercept the information failed, and it continued safely on its way to the Soviet Union, where it was beyond the reach of German spies.

Upon reaching Moscow, the intelligence was quickly processed and delivered to the head of the Soviet Supreme Intelligence Agency. Copies were made and distributed to the Supreme Command and Stalin's desk. Ye Rufu, who had been anxiously awaiting this opportunity, was relieved. He had spent days in his office, interrogating officers to extract "evidence" against Tukhachevsky. When the documents arrived, he was still awake, allowing him to review the crucial information hours before Stalin.

"Amazing! Simply amazing!" Ye Rufu exclaimed upon seeing the documents. If Lenin had been alive to hear such a statement, it's likely he would have been appalled—celebrating the condemnation of a Red Army marshal was surely an irony in itself.

Ye Ruofu hurriedly brought the documents and the coerced confessions to Stalin's office. It was only three hours since the documents had been processed, and though it was early, at 5 AM, Stalin was not yet awake. Nonetheless, Ye Ruofu insisted on seeing him.

"Comrade Stalin! This time, we have solid evidence that Tukhachevsky is guilty!" Yezhov announced proudly.

Stalin reviewed the documents silently, his expression grave. The documents contained allegations of secret collusion with the Germans to overthrow Stalin, cooperation with the Germans in military training, and plans to funnel German and Italian funds post-coup. Each document bore the signatures of German generals and Tukhachevsky, sealed with the official stamps of various German departments and Tukhachevsky's private seal. Among them were two particularly damning documents signed by the German Head of State, Akado.

The implications were chilling, not only implicating Tukhachevsky but also involving numerous Soviet luminaries: renowned tank and aircraft designers, political commissars of military units, and several prominent Soviet politicians.

"Comrade Stalin? Are you reconsidering?" Ye Ruofu asked tentatively, sensing hesitation. "These individuals are traitors to the motherland! It is better to err on the side of caution than to let traitors go free!"

Stalin looked up, his gaze piercing. "Do you think I'm a fool? Or perhaps you think yourself one?" His voice was tinged with sarcasm, leaving Ye Ruofu at a loss for words.

"If I were to act on this information, I would be sending our entire industrial base to its grave, confronting both old and new enemies. The number of people we'd need to eliminate could fill dozens of concentration camps!" Stalin slammed the documents on the table. "My goal is to stabilize control over the Soviet Union, not to destroy it!"

"Yes, yes," Ye Ruofu stammered, wiping sweat from his brow, visibly shaken. "So, is the information false, Comrade Stalin?"

"The intelligence is undoubtedly authentic," Stalin narrowed his eyes, his tone severe. "At least some of it is true. However, the authenticity of other parts needs careful consideration. It's possible the enemy has mixed in false information to mislead us, but some of it must be accurate."

Yezhov, quick to understand Stalin's implication, responded, "I see. We must verify Tukhachevsky's secret dealings with Germany and investigate everyone connected to him. The veracity of the remaining information will require thorough scrutiny."

"Proceed along those lines," Stalin instructed, yawning slightly, his interest seemingly waning.

A few hours later, in Tukhachevsky's office, several Soviet officers presented documents and orders directly from Stalin: "By order of Comrade Stalin, you are under arrest, Marshal Tukhachevsky!"

Caught off guard, Tukhachevsky reached for the phone, only to find himself at gunpoint. The lieutenant colonel, proud to carry out his duty, commanded, "Take the marshal away!"

Thus, Tukhachevsky, a once-revered marshal of the Red Army, was escorted to a secret location in the suburbs, his status abruptly reduced to that of a prisoner.