Lidiyagate
By Robert Hendry
Published by Lidiya Petrova Novels,
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010
Lidiyagate The Lidiya Petrova Series No 3
After playing a key role in defeating the conspiracy to murder Yuri Andropov, the beautiful Captain-Lieutenant Lidiya Petrova, wife of Admiral-of-the-Fleet Mikhail Petrov comes under the watchful eye of Boris Ponomarev who has determined Soviet foreign policy for 25 years. He sends her on a diplomatic mission to Turkey and then to Washington DC in an attempt to mend fences with the United States.
Ponomarev expects it to be a PR exercise where Lidiya’s good looks and friendly nature will win hearts and minds. Soon she is doing just that, but suddenly the young mother of two babies must risk everything to save Mikhail’s life. World peace depends on frantic international diplomacy, but as Washington learns more of Hero of the Soviet Union Captain-Lieutenant Petrova, people start to wonder if Lidiya is actually a Soviet Spy.
About the Author
Robert Hendry is a successful Non-Fiction author with 26 published titles and fifteen DVDs/Videos to his credit. Lidiyagate is his third and most ambitious venture into the fiction field in the Lidiya Petrova Series.
Lidiya played a quite minor role in “To Kill Our Worthy Comrade” but won the heart of Admiral Petrov. In “The Admiral’s Woman”, she showed that she was not just cute, but resourceful and courageous, and by the time Lidiyagate opens has attracted the attention of the Politburo itself.
Author Robert Hendry draws on thirty years study of the Soviet Union, and its political/military complex. He has first hand knowledge of much of the military hardware and many of the locations that appear in this series.
Robert has seen live firings of a variety of Soviet missiles; he has seen and photographed Soviet warships, helicopters, armoured vehicles and support vehicles at close range. He has watched Naval infantry and Spetsnaz Naval frogmen training, and was present when a World War Two Nazi mine had to be removed from Sevastopol harbour.
He is married to a charming Russian girl, Elena, and has three daughters.
An Excerpt
If she did not go in a moment or two, Aashif would be getting suspicious. She whispered to herself.
‘Poekhali’
Yuri Gagarin had said it when he was waiting to go into orbit. It meant, “Lets Go”.
She walked across the landing. Fortunately Zulfaqar and Sayeed were downstairs. As she went into the bedroom, she glanced back over the shoulder.
‘All right, I’ll tell him.’
Aashif would be suspicious if Mujahid was not right behind her, so she had nothing to lose by dissembling.
‘Mujahid has the shits. He told me to get my butt off the loo as he needed it.’
‘OK. Sit down, Kelbieh. When he gets back we fasten you up again, but don’t give me any trouble.’
Lidiya resented being called Kelbieh. She could not shoot yet as Mikhail was in her line of fire. She had her left arm by her side, hiding the Makarov behind her body. Aashif relaxed and lowered the pistol to his lap. Mikhail was now clear. Lidiya thought “now”. She brought the automatic from her back, levelled it and at less than two metres pulled the trigger. With no silencer, the noise from the Makarov was deafening.
*******
Andrei picked Sophia up and carried her into the bedroom. It was clear she could put no weight on her damaged ankle, so he held her while she selected a clean skirt from the wardrobe.
‘I’ll support you while you change your skirt. I’ll keep my eyes shut.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I will.’
Dubiously the girl did as she was told.
‘I’m decent again, and thank you. You didn’t peep.’
‘I said I wouldn’t.’
‘And I didn’t believe you because guys aren’t like that, so I owe you a second apology’
‘What’s the first one for?’
‘Well I wasn’t very nice to you when you knocked on the door, was I?’
He laughed.
‘I thought my uncle and aunt had got a very fierce but very pretty guard dog.’
She giggled and said.
‘Grrrrr, but I promise not to bark anymore.’
Copyright 2010
The Moral Right of the author has been asserted. All Rights Reserved.
All the characters who appear in this book, with the exception of Yuri Andropov, Leonid Brezhnev, Viktoria Brezhneva, Konstantin Chernenko, Admiral Sergey Gorshkov, Andrei Gromyko, General Petr Ivashutin, Charles Lichtenstein, General Petr Lushev, Marshal Nikolay Ogarkov, Boris Ponomarev, Ronald Reagan, Marshal Dmiti Ustinov, and Vadim Zagladin are fictitious. Any resemblance to any other actual persons, living or dead is purely co-incidental.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
The Lidiya Petrova Series No 3
Lidiyagate
By
Robert Hendry
Part 1 Autumn 1982
The Law Library, Ankara University, Tuesday 14 September 1982
The Faculty of Law at Ankara University was the oldest part of the university dating from 1925 when it had been founded by Kemal Ataturk to train administrators for the modern Turkish state he wished to create. Sonay Demir was a law student and had followed in her father’s footsteps, as he had trained at the Faculty in the Fifties. She had just arrived for her second academic year, the autumn semester lasting from mid September to mid January, and the second semester from Mid-February to the third week in June.
Living on the southern shores of the Sea of Marmara, where her father was a district administrator or kaymakam, the senior government official in the area under the provincial governor, Sonay enjoyed the summer break when she could be with her friends, take boating trips and swim in the warm waters of the Marmara.
Sonay was of medium height and of a pale coffee complexion. In common with most Turkish girls, she had shoulder length black hair and dark eyes. She did not have a classical model girl figure, but in reality few women did. Sonay envied her more fortunate ‘sisters’ who seemed to have such a figure, but realised it was a continuous battle with exercise and starving yourself.
She had no desire to go down that road, so accepted her more “voluptuous” figure, as she liked to think of it. She had a hunch that her boyfriend did not mind her curves either. Although not a feminist, Sonay was distinctly feminine, and had some sexy underwear that her more conservative parents might not have approved of had they known about it.
A well-educated and emancipated young woman, she was proud that women were making their way in Turkey, although she would not describe herself as a feminist, let alone a militant. She had one brother, Iskender, who was a couple of years older than she was. He was a lieutenant in the Türk Deniz Kuvvetleri, or Turkish Navy.
A fun-loving and likeable young woman, Sonay believed that most problems in life could be solved if people would talk to one another, rather than resorting to guns, knives or bombs. She disapproved of the violence of the Grey Wolves, the PKK, or of the government. Violence had never touched her directly, and she hoped it never would.
She was popular in the Law Faculty because of her placid nature and willingness to respect the other person’s viewpoint, even if she did not agree with it. Some fundamentalist or left wing students disliked her because she did not share their views, but most accepted she was good-natured and she had friends from both sides of the political divide.
The Senior Tutor who monitored her progress felt that Sonay would be a good administrator when she qualified, as she would be thorough, conscientious and fair-minded. Her biggest problem might be that she would be too fair-minded for a period when the government was cracking down on the burgeoning terrorist groups. What the state preferred were tough lawyers who got convictions, rather than someone to whom the “Rule of Law” was sacrosanct.
Hasan Zengin’s farmhouse, Turkish Kurdistan, Tuesday 14 September 1982
Twenty-year-old Haki Meral reached the Mahsum Korkmaz training camp in the Syrian Bekka Valley in the winter of 1979. A university student, Haki resented the imposition of Turkish values on the Kurdish people, of whom he was one. When the PKK, the Parti Karkerani Kurdistan, or Kurdistan Workers Party was set up in 1978, Haki had been elated, as were other leftist activists who shared his vision of an independent Kurdistan.
The Turkish government rejected that vision, as did the Nationalist right wing MHP “Grey Wolves”, which had been formed a few years before the PKK, and whose dream of a pan-Turkic empire ran counter to the PKK ambition. The potential for conflict was there, and angry words soon gave way to angry deeds with dead on both sides. To complicate the situation, not all Kurds desired independence, and many traditional landowners in Kurdistan would have preferred greater recognition of Kurdish rights.
Haki became a dedicated revolutionary, and in August 1982, took part in the Second PKK Party Congress at Daraa in Syria. Also known as Deraa, it had come to world prominence during the campaign by Lawrence of Arabia against the Turkish Empire, which then included modern Israel, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Jordan and Saudi Arabia. It was at Daraa that the fateful decision was taken to start an armed guerrilla war with the goal of creating an independent Kurdish State. Mounting a major guerrilla campaign takes time, and Haki advocated symbolic action.
Hasan Zengin, one of the traditional landowners in Kurdistan, had aligned himself with the new military government in Turkey and after a PKK attempt to assassinate another tribal leader, Mehmet Celal Bucak, he had played a key role in targeting the PKK leadership. Hasan Zengin lived in a heavily fortified farmhouse some distance outside Mus in Turkish Kurdistan, and at Haki’s urging, the Congress agreed that he should die.
Knowing he would be on the PKK hit list, Hasan had pulled in favours from the government and the Grey Wolves to provide good defences. Having pushed the plan through Congress, Haki volunteered to lead a five men team to hit the target. With PKK contacts with the PLO, with whom they shared training facilities, the team carried the usual Soviet hardware, including Kalashnikov AK-47s, Soviet made RG-42 grenades, and plastic explosives.
Haki crouched in a shallow depression 400 metres from the farmhouse. He turned to the rest of the band.
‘Kemal, you stay here to provide supporting fire if we need it. Ali, Abdullah, Mahmut, you come with me, and we will approach the farm.’
Mahmut, the most cautious of the five, whispered.
‘Haki, we need a day to reconnoitre before we attack. There may be sentries, or tripwires. This man is not a fool.’
‘Coward, you have held us back time and again. I should have shot you.’
Ali, always the peacemaker, interjected.
‘Haki, Mahmut, it is through both of you that we have got here, one showing daring, one showing cunning. Let us not fight amongst ourselves.’
Mahmut at 29 was older than the rest of the team, who were all former students. He preferred to move a step at a time, but could see no way to calm the young fire-eater down.
‘Very well, it seems quiet. Let us go.’
The four met sidled forward taking advantage of the vegetation, as they closed in towards the farmhouse. Haki had taken the lead. As he stepped forward he felt a tripwire against his boot and a moment later there was a burst of light and a whoosh as a rocket flare arched up into the sky to illuminate the approach to the farm in its pitiless glare.
Within two seconds, an M60 machine gun opened up. The M60 was usually worked by a gunner, an assistant gunner and an ammunition bearer, and was capable of 600 rounds per minute, with an effective range of 1,200 metres. Mahmut had dived to the ground as the flare went up as did Haki, but Ali and Abdullah were slow to react, and within a second both had been riddled with bullets.
Mahmut called out.
‘I’ll try to draw their fire, you get that MG, Haki.’
‘All right, brother, good luck.’
Mahmut lurched to his feet ran a few yards to his left and fired off a short burst from his AK-47 before diving to the ground. The gun crew on the M60 were just too slow reacting. Whilst he was doing that Haki crawled towards the MG post. In his bag he had three Soviet made RG-42 grenades. He decided to sacrifice one to create a diversion to give Mahmut and himself a chance to advance. The MG was still out of range, but he jumped to his feet, hurled the grenade far to his right and dived for cover.
The deafening blast of the grenade attracted the machine gunners in their foxhole, and a burst of fire. That was stupid, as the one place the enemy was not going to be was where the grenade had gone off, but it was human nature. A smart machine gunner would have realised it was a diversion and would have been swinging his gun in the other direction.
The machine gunner was not that smart. A moment after the grenade exploded, Mahmut ran forward, firing another burst from his AK-47 but as he dived for cover, he received a flesh wound in his arm. It was not incapacitating, but it was annoying. Another explosion told him that Haki had sacrificed a second grenade to draw attention away from him.
Sure enough the gun crew plastered the vicinity of the explosion again, giving Haki and Mahmut the chance to move in. The basic load per man in the gun team was 900 rounds, which would give over four minutes of continuous firing. If the gun was dug in, as was the case here, there would probably be more ammunition, and it was likely that there would be more than one MG around the farm, so the chances of success were now minimal.
Mahmut decided to try a grenade, hoping he was by now in range of the MG emplacement. He hurled the grenade, which landed about 20 metres short of the MG team. Haki, seeing that Mahmut was closer to the MG than he was, decided it was for him to act as diversion and jumped up, hammering out a long burst from his AK-47. More impulsive than Mahmut, he was on his feet for too long, and a burst of M60 fire caught him in the stomach, throwing him to the ground.
Haki’s suicidal tactics had distracted the gunners, and Mahmut advanced by twenty metres, hurling his second RG-42 grenade. It landed two metres from the gun crew, which was within its lethality range, but too far for one of them to throw it back. The MG was badly damaged and two of the gunners died in the resultant blast, the loader being seriously wounded.
Mahmut clipped a fresh magazine into his AK-47. He had a small quantity of explosives left and one RG-42. Now they had been discovered, it was hopeless to continue, but he moved forward. As he did so, a squad of ten men came round the side of the farmhouse. He opened fire chopping three of them down with his first burst, but the others dived to the ground, as did Mahmut. One of the men scrambled to his feet, preparing to throw a grenade but Mahmut cut him down, the primed grenade dropping from his grasp and rolling across the ground. It exploded a moment later killing another of the squad.
Five men were now down, but in the few moments it had taken, two of the survivors had hurled grenades towards him, deafening Mahmut and showering him with dirt. As two of the squad gave suppressive fire, the other three men ran forward, Mahmut picking one of them off. His brief burst of fire enabled the shooters to locate him more accurately.
Another grenade lobbed through the air, landing much closer this time. Two men ran forward, firing their assault rifles to keep him occupied whilst the remaining two men lobbed more grenades. One landed less than five metres from Mahmut, the explosion seriously injuring him. It was a classic fire and movement assault.
Mahmut did not know whether he was fighting the Turkish Army or the Grey Wolves, but had no wish to fall into their hands alive. He fetched the last grenade out of his pack and lay still. Two members of the squad advanced cautiously, the other two keeping at a distance.
He heard one of the men call out.
‘This one is dead, Lieutenant.’
‘Fools, the attack came just when we were told it would.’
They were within five metres when Mahmut pulled the ring, priming the grenade which exploded four seconds later. As he counted the seconds, Mahmut thought of his young wife, whom he would never see again.
Kemal, seeing the failure of the mission stole away quietly. His job was to get clear and report to the PKK that the mission had failed. Being so far away he had not heard the conversation, so did not know that a spy in the training camp had betrayed the raiders before they had left Syria.
Boris Ponomarev’s Office, the International Department, Moscow 11.00am Wednesday 15 September 1982
“Mikhail Aleksandrovich, Lidiya Mikhailovna, it is a pleasure to meet you, and to add my personal congratulations to you for your heroic deeds a few weeks ago. The Soviet Union is fortunate to have such valiant defenders.’
Boris Nikolayevich Ponomarev, head of the International Department of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union welcomed Admiral Mikhail Petrov, C-in-C of the Black Sea Fleet and his wife, Lidiya Mikhailovna Petrova to his office. He glanced at the third of his visitors.
‘Sergey Georgiyevich, it is always a pleasure to see you. Please be seated.’
It was the day after the award ceremony in the Georgievsky Hall of the Grand Kremlin Palace in Moscow at which Admiral Petrov had been decorated with the Order of the Red Banner. Lidiya had received the coveted ‘Zolotaya Zvezda’, Gold Star, Hero of the Soviet Union medal, together with the Order of Lenin, which was automatically conferred on all holders of the Gold Star. Her husband had won the Order of Lenin for bravery before she had been born, so it thrilled her that they both wore the same decoration.
They had been ordered to report to Navy Headquarters the following morning. To their surprise, they were shown into the office of Admiral of the Fleet of the Soviet Union Sergey Gorshkov, C-in-C of the Navy. After a brief discussion about the Agile Falcon Exercises which NATO were running in the Atlantic and the North Sea, the US Carrier John F Kennedy, CV67, operating off the Norwegian coast, Gorshkov took them to the International Department and introduced them to Ponomarev.
Even a full Admiral such as her husband needed to show the greatest deference to Gorshkov, the senior officer in the navy. It was only when they arrived at the ID, and Lidiya saw how deferential Admiral Gorshkov was to Ponomarev that she realised just how important a figure he was.
Nikolayevich was often cropped in speech to Nikol’ich so Mikhail replied.
‘Boris Nikol’ich. It is an honour to serve the Rodina - the Motherland. I know I can speak on behalf of my wife as well as myself when expressing that sentiment.’
‘Indeed, Mikhail Aleksandrovich, that is something I have no doubts of. I have spoken with our mutual friend and colleague, General Ivanov, and he was most flattering about your lovely wife, and said that with a few officers of her calibre in the KGB, our enemies would have cause for thought.’
Lidiya glanced at Ponomarev and responded.
‘Comrade Ponomarev, I am just a simple wife, and my world revolves around my husband. Much as I respect General Ivanov, I hope you are not trying to recruit me to the KGB.’
Ponomarev laughed lightly.
‘Niet, Niet, Niet, Lidiya Mikhailovna. If Georgi wants you on his team, and I could understand that, it is up to him to do the recruitment. I wish to ‘recruit’ you for a very different role in serving our motherland. It is a role where your exceptional qualities will be invaluable.’
Lidiya blushed and shook her head.
‘You are much too kind, Boris Nikol’ich.’
‘I think not. Yesterday, at the investiture in the Kremlin, the Soviet Union honoured some of its most courageous servants. I felt proud that our Soviet system has produced such worthy children of Great Lenin, for we are all children of Lenin, even those of us, such as myself, who were born before Vladimir Ilyich came to high office. In such company, it would take someone truly exceptional to stand out, but there was one person who did so.’
Ponomarev paused to sip a glass of water. He gave a fleeting smile.
‘Age, my dear Lidiya, age. I need a sip of water from time to time. All of us in the Georgievsky Hall admired the courage of your husband, of Major Fed’ko, or Irina Ustinova or Lieutenant Lebed. All of us, but there was only one person who everyone loved as well as admired.’
Lidiya blushed deeply.
‘Comrade Ponomarev, you must not say things like that.’
Boris Ponomarev smiled and turned to Mikhail Petrov.
‘Age has its blessings as well as its drawbacks. If I were younger, I could hardly say that to the wife of one of our most distinguished fleet commanders. At my age, I can do so. Comrade Admiral, you saw the way the audience took your wife to their hearts when she wanted to receive her Gold Star without her walking stick.’
Due to her injuries, Lidiya’s arm was still bound up and she needed a stick to walk with. Ponomarev glanced at the man sitting to Petrov’s left, who had not so far uttered a word.
‘Sergey Georgiyevich; you were there, you realised that Lidiya wanted to be free of her stick.’
Admiral Gorshkov laughed.
‘Da, Da. It was unrehearsed, but fortunately my ADC is quite bright, so after Lidiya gave me the stick, he was there to take it.’
‘I’m sorry, Comrade Admiral, I didn’t think.’
Gorshkov smiled.
‘Don’t be sorry. That moment will live in our minds. The lovely young officer, injured in the defence of the Rodina but keen to receive her country’s highest honour without needing a walking stick. The only problem, my dear, is that you have set a standard for others to follow.’
Lidiya blushed, and looked back and forth helplessly.
‘But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t rehearse anything. It just happened.’
Ponomarev resumed.
‘Lidiya Mikhailovna, you have just answered your own question. Sergey here says, “That moment will live in our minds”, and I told you much the same. Sergey was C-in-C of the navy before you were born. I have headed the International Department for a similar period, though I pull his leg that I am senior to him, though not by much. The reason it matters was that it just happened, as you have said, but you made it happen.’
‘Here, in the Soviet Union, we are one of the two Superpowers. We have more tanks, more planes, more rockets than anyone else. We have made great strides to creating the New Soviet Man, and from meeting you, I might add, the New Soviet Woman. Our scientific contribution to mankind is immense. We have taken on our broad back the crushing weigh of the liberation struggles of oppressed peoples throughout the world.’
Ponomarev took another sip of water.
‘For all this, we should be loved, but from my office here in Moscow, I can tell you that this is not so. The new American administration loathes us, and incites the world against us. Much though I hate to admit it, their President was a fine actor when he was in Hollywood, and in his new role, is a brilliant and formidable leader. The British Prime Minister Thatcher is against us. The Soviet Union needs someone as young, as lovely, as natural and as devoted to the Rodina as you are to convince the world that the May Day or October Revolution Day parades with thousands of unsmiling automata are not the Soviet Union.’
Lidiya was shaking her head.
‘You shake your head, but wait until I tell you what we have in mind.’
Ponomarev’s secretary came in with a tray containing four glasses of chai – tea – in the usual silver holders. Over tea, Ponomarev told Lidiya and her husband a good deal about himself. He had been born on 17 January 1905, the same month as the abortive 1905 revolution, which Soviets accepted as the legitimate precursor to their own triumph twelve years later. The heroes of 1905 were granted honorary stardom in the Leninist galaxy.
There were many stories of young soldiers in the Civil War that raged from 1918, and Lidiya found that Ponomarev had served in the Red Army from 1918 although just thirteen. As she sat in his office, she realised that his active involvement in the proletarian struggle had covered the entire history of the Soviet Union. Although he now needed glasses, it was clear that the years had in no way diminished his mental ability.
With his impeccable revolutionary credentials, Ponomarev graduated from Moscow State University in 1926. By 1933, he was deputy director of the Institute of Red Professors. Within a few years, eighty percent of the leading comrades went to the Gulag or to the grave, but Ponomarev was a survivor. He moved to Comintern, the international wing of the party and after that was notionally abolished during the war to please the Western allies, to its successor.
From 1955, Ponomarev headed the International Department of the Central Committee, and soon exercised far more influence over Soviet foreign policy than the Foreign Ministers of the USSR. A hardliner by instinct, he was pragmatic. After Khrushchev’s celebrated ‘Secret speech’ denouncing Joseph Stalin in 1956, Ponomarev led the team of historians who wrote the new official History of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union that appeared in 1959. This replaced Stalin's notorious Short Course history, in which everyone except Lenin and Stalin were agents of imperialism or wreckers.
Lidiya smiled at this incredible man.
‘Boris Nikol’ich, it must be an amazing feeling to know that you took part in the events leading to the birth of our Soviet State, and that you have played a role in guiding our affairs for half a century. To me, they are figures out of the history book. To you, they are people you will have known.’
Ponomarev nodded.
‘Da, Da, Stalin, Malenkov, Khrushchev, dear Leonid Ilyich, whom you have met, and some of the old Bolsheviks, Bukharin, Zinoviev, Kamenev, Tukhachevsky, poor Kirov who was murdered. I knew them all. Even Beria, a mild, but terrifying little man.’
Lidiya was surprised to hear the references to Bukharin, Kamenev and other victims of the purges. Whilst much of the odium had been dispelled following the 1956 speech in which Khrushchev exposed some of Stalin’s crimes, they were still not fully respectable, but clearly Ponomarev felt able to speak of them.
‘It will soon be time for lunch, Comrades, will you join me. We can resume our talk later’
Object No 1, Zarechye, West of Moscow, Wednesday 15 September 1982
After Sergey Gorshkov had left, Boris Ponomarev escorted Lidiya and her husband to the front of the ID offices where his ZIL-4104 limousine was waiting. The 4104 had only appeared in 1978, and with production limited to fifty cars a year was the current favourite of the Politburo. With armoured glass windows that would stop a rifle bullet and a heavily armoured floor to defeat landmines, the ZIL-4104 was immensely heavy. It was powered by a 7691cc pushrod V-8 engine with a power output of 232 kW. By comparison, the Red Army ZIL-131 truck came with a 6000cc engine.
With exclusive use of the outside lane on the main highways, and with Militsia officers signalling them through all traffic lights, the journey from the centre of Moscow to Zarechye took just a few minutes. Ponomarev had not told them where they were going and Lidiya had assumed it would be some exclusive restaurant reserved for the Nomenclatura. As they approached their destination at Zarechye, Ponomarev pointed to a dacha.
‘That dacha belongs to Andrei Andreyevich, that is Comrade Gromyko, our Minister of Foreign Affairs.’
Lidiya gasped. Presumably, Ponomarev was taking them to his own dacha for lunch. The limousine pulled up outside a three story dacha.
‘Well, here we are.’
Ponomarev lead them to the front door, which was opened as he approached. A smartly dressed attendant spoke to Ponomarev.
‘Zdrastvuite, Boris Nikol’ich. Leonid Ilyich is expecting you.’
Lidiya did not believe what she had just heard. Ponomarev turned to Lidiya and her husband.
‘Come with me, comrades.’
He ushered them into a reception room.
Leonid Brezhnev greeted them. He was wearing his grey marshal’s uniform with golden shoulder boards with their large star and wreathed globe, his four ‘Gold Star, Hero of the Soviet Union’ medals and a solid block of medal ribbons, which Lidiya later found out exceeded one hundred.
‘Boris Nikol’ich, I welcome you and our honoured guests. Mikhail Aleksandrovich, it was a pleasure to see you and our heroic Lidiya Mikhailovna at the investiture. We were all impressed with how you discarded your walking stick at the ceremony, and at the pain it must have caused you. How is your leg and also your arm? If you require any medical treatment, tell me, and it will be arranged.’
‘Esteemed Leonid Ilyich, thank you for your concern. My leg and my arm are much better than a month ago.’
Brezhnev turned to Admiral Petrov.
‘Mikhail Aleksandrovich, you are a lucky man to have such a wonderful woman for a wife. I know she is too modest and too self effacing, but if there is anything that will help her, I charge you personally with letting me know.’
‘Certainly, and thank you very much, Comrade General Secretary.’
Brezhnev glanced to his right.
‘Mikhail, Lidiya, it is my pleasure to introduce you to my wife, Viktoria. It is over fifty years since we married. I could not have asked for a more understanding or more considerate wife. We will go in to dinner if that suits you?’
Presented with such an invitation, Ponomarev, Petrov and Lidiya naturally concurred. Leonid Ilyich escorted Mikhail Petrov into the dining room, whilst Viktoria Brezhneva chatted to Lidiya. The meal was pleasant, although Comrade Brezhnev’s health was failing. As she dined with the General Secretary of the CPSU at his dacha, Lidiya could scarcely believe it.
As a little girl, she had devoured every fairy story she could find, and Rusalka the water nymph or Sister Alyonushka and Brother Ivanushka were an integral part of her life. Romantic and impressionable as she was, her parents had been worried that she was far less practical than her two older sisters. To her parents it seemed that Lidiya wandered in a world of handsome princes and dragons; witches who lived in houses on the chicken legs of Russian folk lore, and beautiful maidens who needed to be constantly rescued.
As she grew up, life delivered some harsh knocks to Lidiya’s fairytale world, not least being the last day of school. One of the wolves from the school had paid attention to her all day, being charming and attending to her every whim, fetching her drinks and food. Unknown to Lidiya he got her thoroughly drunk. She woke up on waste ground the following morning with a hangover and fragmentary memories of what had happened to her. She realised to her shame that she had been seduced and handed round all the guys in the group.
After she joined the Navy, which she had intended to do in any case, but had wanted to get away from the sniggers of her former school ‘friends’, she had twice been propositioned by officers but had got out of it. Then she had been selected to entertain Leonid Ilyich, but thankfully he had been so drunk that nothing had transpired. Meeting the long-suffering Viktoria Brezhneva, Lidiya was relieved that had been the case, as she did not know how she could have faced the kindly woman if it had been otherwise.
To get her through having to entertain Leonid Ilyich, Lidiya had drunk copiously at the dinner at Fleet Headquarters. Later on, she had been told to remain in the admiral’s quarters, as he would wish to question her. When he returned, Petrov was astonished to find the girl sitting in his quarters, but as she had been waiting for over six hours, he decided it was only reasonable to ask her a few questions.
A few moments of conversation and she had started babbling anti-Soviet jokes due to the vodka she had downed. Mikhail Petrov had saved her from a possible Article 58 conviction and she and the admiral became lovers. Her marriage to the man who had saved her had been a return to the Fairy Tale world of her childhood. Now, she was dining as the guest of the General Secretary of the Soviet Union in his own dacha, a privilege extended to only the most favoured of the Nomenclatura.
To minimise the demands on the ageing General Secretary, Boris Ponomarev managed most of the conversation. Even so, he was able to study Lidiya to see how she coped with such esteemed company. Ponomarev remembered the Kennedy era in the United States, and the way that the administration had used the 31-year-old Jackie Kennedy as a princess to promote America and her husband. As head of the ID at that time, Ponomarev had ruefully concluded that none of the Politburo wives had the star potential to counter the First Lady.
Twenty years after John F Kennedy had died, another charismatic American President had been elected. The title “The Great Communicator” that was given to Ronald Reagan was correct. Ponomarev had read his key speeches and compared to the turgid prose in the USSR, they were inspiring. Thankfully the majority of Soviet citizens only got to read bits of them taken out of context.
In the 1960’s, there was no one that Ponomarev could put up against Jackie Kennedy. This time he had a 21-year-old girl who was a Hero of the Soviet Union, had been wounded in defence of the Rodina, had cleared her husband of treason, had a natural gift for charming people, and was already a celebrity in the West.
The White House had been careful never to portray Jackie as a Princess, to avoid offending republican sentiment in America. Boris now had a Russian equivalent to the White House Princess to pit against ‘The Great Communicator’. He thought to himself ‘The White House had a Princess. I have a Soviet Grand Duchess’, but like the White House he would ensure that such a soubriquet never fell from Soviet lips. He glanced at the General Secretary.
‘Leonid Ilyich, You will recall the poster campaign we launched last year featuring Lidiya?’
‘Da, Da, excellent.’
‘We plan a new poster campaign, exhorting Soviet youth to live up to the qualities that Lidiya has displayed.’
‘Excellent, you have my wholehearted support.’
Lidiya shrugged her shoulders.
‘But I didn’t so anything.’
Ponomarev smiled. The girl’s modesty was one of her assets.
‘That is for us to decide.’
Ponomarev continued.
‘Leonid Ilyich, the Lidiya story is so dramatic that the International Department feels it warrants a full-length film. In Lidiya we have a real Stirlitz to celebrate.’
The reference was to the fictitious Soviet super-spy, Standartenführer von Stirlitz, who penetrated the German High Command and was a counterpart to the Western James Bond. Ponomarev had told the Soviet film agency, Soyuzkino to prepare the script for the as-yet untitled film, using the celebrated Mosfilm studios. He turned to Lidiya.
‘Lidiya, I have studied your reports from school and the pioneers and find that you have shown considerable talent in amateur dramatics. I have therefore directed Mosfilm to give you a film test, and if satisfactory, you will play the lead role in the film.’
Lidiya stared at Ponomarev in disbelief. One of the most powerful men in the Soviet Union had studied HER school reports? It did not make any sense to her! She shook her head.
‘I’m not an actress. I’m a naval officer and a wife.’
‘You will be given the necessary training.’
Lidiya looked at him defiantly.
‘Comrade Ponomarev there is one detail you have apparently overlooked. I am going to have a baby.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I am pregnant. I am having a baby in the spring, so you will have to find someone else.’
Viktoria Brezhneva cut in.
‘My dear, you are going to have a baby?’
‘Da, Viktoria Petrovna. I had a test before I went to the Crimea and all the horrible things that happened there.’
Viktoria turned to her husband.
‘Lenya, is that not wonderful news?’
A sentimental man, easily moved to tears where children were concerned, Leonid Ilyich nodded.
‘Da, Da. Lidiya must have whatever treatment is needed. That must come first.’
Boris Ponomarev thought rapidly. The baby would wreck havoc with his schedules, but to say so was out of the question. He turned to Lidiya.
‘Lidiya Mikhailovna, May I add my congratulations to those of our dear Leonid Ilyich and Viktoria Petrovna. As far as the film is concerned, preparing the script, casting and the other technicalities will take months. Mosfilm will not be ready to start shooting before the spring. That means as soon as your baby is born, you will be able to start work.’
‘I have to look after my baby, Comrade.’
‘We will arrange a nanny for your baby when you are filming. You will also be meeting international delegations and giving talks in different parts of the country, so the nanny will be necessary in any case.’
Lidiya did not want her life filmed. She did not want to be a film star and she did not want to have to hand her baby to a nanny. It seemed that she had no choice over anything. Ponomarev saw her glaring at him. The girl had strength of character, but he realised that if she did not, she would never have had the courage to allow herself to be captured in order to rescue her husband, or to tackle an armed man when she was without a weapon. He smiled back, and decided informality was the answer.
‘Lidiya, you are a remarkable young woman, as everyone who meets you discovers. The Soviet Union faces a crisis. The International Department and the Rodina need you. You can say “Niet”, but you are a patriotic young woman, as well as a remarkable one. I am content to leave the decision to you, for I know what your answer will be. A lesser person might say “Niet”, but I know you will do your duty for our Soviet motherland.’
Lidiya stared at him with frustration. She had been given an opportunity to refuse, but in giving her that right, Comrade Ponomarev had played on her deep love of Mother Russia. Put that way, she knew she could not refuse and she was sure that he understood that.
Ponomarev had taken a chance, for it could backfire, but he was certain it would not. Lidiya and the 77 year old Kremlin grandee who had fought as a teenager in the Civil War, and was old enough to be her grandfather, looked at one another for two or three seconds. Ponomarev held his breath, but noticed the beginning of a smile. He knew she was going to say yes. They were both now smiling.
‘Very well, Comrade, you leave me with no choice, but my baby comes first.’
‘That goes without saying. You will have my direct phone number, which is otherwise only known to Politburo members, and if you encounter the slightest problems, you will call me. They will be dealt with.’
When he first heard of her pregnancy, Boris Ponomarev resented the interruption to his plans, and had spoken tactfully rather than with sincerity. To his surprise, he realised that he meant what he had just said. He had planned to use Lidiya to improve the image of the USSR, but had just discovered that he had just fallen under her spell himself.
Wryly he grinned. He had been the first ‘victim’ of his own plot. He wanted her to charm the West, and she had done it to him. To the surprise of Leonid Ilyich, Viktoria Petrovna and Mikhail Aleksandrovich, Ponomarev and Lidiya both burst out laughing.
Viktoria Brezhneva looked at her husband.
‘Lenya?’
‘Da, Da. Lidiya, You will have our number too, and whatever you need, you can contact us at any time.’
Viktoria was quite sure that her husband meant it.
It occurred to Boris Ponomarev that Lidiya would not be on the uchetnaia [registered] list, and with her precipitate rise, that should be dealt with. If not, there could be problems if she was appointed to fill osnovnaia list posts. These two lists were maintained at All-Union levels in Moscow for all important positions. The osnovnaia list detailed senior posts in the political, administrative, economic, military, cultural, artistic and educational fields, whilst the uchetnaia list defined who were eligible to fill them, party membership being essential.
‘Lidiya, that reminds me that before you leave, I will need details of your party membership as you will not be on the uchetnaia list.’
Lidiya protested.
‘But I’m not a party member, Comrade Ponomarev.’
‘Stor, Stor, What, what, how is that?’
‘My papa is a railway track worker. When I was at school, I was an Octoberist, a Young Pioneer, and at 14, I joined the Komsomol. Of course I was in DOSAAF, but membership of the party is for important people, like you, not for someone like me.’
Ponomarev shook his head.
‘Leonid Ilyich, we must do something about that. Under the 1961 Party Rules, Lidiya requires three sponsors to become a Candidate Member of the party.’
The General Secretary nodded.
‘I will gladly sponsor her; you will sponsor her, and if Mikhail Aleksandrovich does so, then it is done.’
To Brezhnev’s surprise, Ponomarev shook his head.
‘Note Two, Leonid Ilyich, Note Two, Members of the Central Committee of the CPSU shall refrain from giving recommendations. Mikhail Aleksandrovich can sponsor her, your wife can, as she is not a member of the CC, but you and I cannot.’
‘Boris, are you telling me that Viktoria can sponsor Lidiya, but that I, the General Secretary of the CPSU cannot do so?’
‘Those are our rules.’
‘Bullshit. You will sponsor her, I will sponsor her, Mikhail Aleksandrovich will sponsor her, and I will write a directive that by my order as General Secretary these sponsorships are in order and that the application will be accepted. As she is a naval officer, I presume the Primary Party organisation will be the Black Sea Fleet Political Directorate.’
‘Da, Da, that will be so.’
‘The Fleet Political Directorates will come under the Chief Political Administration of the Navy. That’s Admiral Kotov, isn’t it?’
‘Da, Leonid Ilyich.’
‘A higher tier can supervise a lower tier, so take Lidiya to Kotov, tell him I have directed that she is to be admitted as a full member of the Party and he is to issue the necessary membership card and inform the Fleet Political Directorate in Sevastopol.’
‘There is a problem. Rule 14, says that the period of probationary membership shall be one year, but I think I have an answer.’
Leonid Ilyich knew that Ponomarev’s understanding of the complex rules of the CPSU was unrivalled.
‘Go on.’
‘Rule 7 says that the procedure of registering candidate members of the Party, and their transfer to full membership is determined by the appropriate instructions of the Central Committee of the CPSU. The CC in turn takes its instructions from the Politburo. Tomorrow at our Politburo meeting, we can instruct the CC that the probationary period shall be deemed to be met on account of Lidiya’s exceptional services to the State.’
Lidiya was bemused. Candidate membership of the party had to last a year. It had to be approved at local level. A member of the Central Committee could not be a sponsor. In the folk tales she had read as a child, the Fairy Godmother or the Wicked Witch waved a magic wand and the heroine was transformed into a princess or a donkey as the case might be. It seemed that the Politburo wielded just such a magic wand. A year would pass in an instant and what was prohibited would be allowed.
Admiral Petrov’s Office, Black Sea Fleet HQ Sevastopol, Monday 25 October 1982
Senior Lieutenant Arkady Vanayev knocked and entered Admiral Petrov’s office, which opened directly on to the Command Centre at Black Sea Fleet HQ. Arkady owed his posting as ADC to Admiral Petrov to some discrete string pulling. His elder brother, Hero of the Soviet Union Captain (Third Rank) Grigori Vanayev had been killed in action during the desperate battle to protect Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev, General Secretary of the USSR off Oreanda in June 1981.
When the admiral’s ADC, Lieutenant Leonid Lebed had sacrificed his own life to protect Lidiya Petrova, Irina Ustinova, and Grigori’s widow, Julia Vanayeva, Admiral Petrov had needed an ADC to replace him. Julia had suggested her brother-in-law to the admiral. As Julia had risked being shot to help Lidiya, Mikhail Petrov was glad to assist. Arkady was summoned to fleet headquarters and was promoted from Lieutenant to Senior Lieutenant and changed the oily work overalls of a submarine officer for the smart uniform of an admiral’s ADC.
‘They’ve arrived, Comrade Admiral.’
Petrov was well aware of what Arkady meant, but decided it was politic not to understand.
‘Who or what has arrived, Arkady?’
‘The posters, Sir, of Lidiya Mikhailovna.’
It was impossible to remain indifferent now, so Petrov watched with interest as Arkady unrolled a vertical format poster, showing his wife in a dazzling white Summer Parade, her arm in a sling and looking out proudly towards the viewer. The title was in two lines.
Hero of the Soviet Union
Lidiya Mikhailovna Petrova
The artist had updated the painting of Lieutenant Kornilova to reflect her new rank and additional decorations, most notably her Gold Star. Petrov looked at the poster and decided that the artist had done a very good job in portraying Lidiya. He was quite sure that it would become a ‘pin-up’ in the fleet, and wished he could frame one for their quarters, but was certain that Lidiya would object to such ostentation.
‘With your permission, I will put one up in the Command Centre, Comrade Admiral.’
‘When the Captain-Lieutenant complains, I shall blame you, Arkady.’
‘Understood, Comrade Admiral.’
Captain-Lieutenant Petrova’s office, Black Sea Fleet HQ, Sevastopol, Monday 1 November 1982
Lidiya Petrova had been released from hospital in late August, although she needed a stick to walk with and her arm was in a sling. By November she had more use of her arm although it was still very weak and she had dispensed with her stick. In accordance with usual policy, Lidiya had been transferred to the reserve when she had married Mikhail Petrov.
The events in July and August 1982, which led to her Gold Star Hero of the Soviet Union medal, had prompted the VMF to rule that she was an active duty officer again. Despite her injuries and pregnancy, that remained the case. Having reached that decision, the VMF had to decide what duties she should fulfil.
As a rating or junior lieutenant, a communications operator was fine, but with her double promotion to Captain-Lieutenant, she was too senior for such duties. In the end Mikhail Petrov came up with a solution. As he discovered the extent to which Captain (Second Rank) Viktorov had exploited his position in charge of the female staff in Fleet Headquarters, forcing them to sleep with him, Petrov was outraged.
A discovery that Viktorov had often pressured the girls into sleeping with other officers if there was something in it for him disgusted the admiral even more. Petrov decided that better protection was needed for the young women in the fleet. As Lidiya had said, they had volunteered to serve in the navy, not to sleep with anyone on demand.
He suggested to Moscow that Lidiya should be Female Staff Welfare Officer. Moscow was also considering what to do and immediately agreed, as her absences for film or publicity work would not affect combat readiness. As Lidiya’s full membership of the CPSU had been approved in less than 48 hours from the discussions at Zarechye, there were no problems about meeting the Nomenclatura list regulations.
Lidiya was excited that she could do something for the girls, but would need an office where female ratings could speak in private. An office was provided for Captain-Lieutenant L M Petrova, and there was a notice on the door giving her name. An hour after Lidiya started work on her first day in her new job, one of the girls who had trained with her in Leningrad knocked on her door.
With a flood of tears, she told Lidiya that a Senior Lieutenant was pressuring her into sex twice a week. Lidiya had two ways to deal with the problem. She could refer the complaint to the C-in-C and request a formal investigation. If successful, it would be a black mark against the lieutenant, but it was the girl’s unsupported word against his, as there were no independent witnesses or documentary evidence.
The other option was to take action herself. As a Captain-Lieutenant she outranked a Senior Lieutenant, so could warn him informally. She picked up the Dictaphone.
‘Lieutenant Zemskov. This is Captain-Lieutenant Petrova. I wish to see you.’
‘I am busy at the moment.’
‘When would be convenient?’
‘I don’t know.’
From Zemskov’s tone of voice, Lidiya realised that he was stringing her along.
‘Lieutenant, I said I wish to see you, but if you prefer, I will rephrase it, that you will report to me at once.’
‘I said I was busy.’
Lidiya had been worried that because she was a woman, her status as an officer might be compromised. She did not worry for herself, but it could not be allowed as it harmed the dignity of the officer corps of the VMF. She said icily.
‘Comrade Lieutenant, when I joined the VMF, I swore an oath which went as follows, “I solemnly swear to be an honest, brave, disciplined and vigilant fighter, strictly to keep military and State secrets, to obey unquestioningly the military statutes and the orders of my superior officers”. I imagine you swore the same oath. You will therefore obey my orders, or you will be placed under arrest for disobedience of a direct order from your superior officer.’
‘I will be there right away Comrade Captain Lieutenant.’
Rodion Zemskov arrived four minutes later.
‘Senior Lieutenant Zemskov reporting as ordered to the Comrade Captain Lieutenant.’
‘Thank you Comrade Lieutenant. If you will sit down.’
Resentfully Zemskov sat down. Lidiya notices that he crossed his leg in a way that no junior officer would do before his superior officer. It was particularly insulting towards a woman, but she opted to ignore it.
‘Comrade Lieutenant. I wished to have a word with you “off-the-record”. One of the female communications ratings has told me that you have made improper suggestions to her and pressured her into being intimate with you. This is not in accordance with the norms of Soviet policy and I must insist that anything of this sort should cease. If I should receive a formal complaint, I would have to press charges against you.’
Zemskov shot back.
‘Fucking bitch. Who was it?’
Lidiya stared at him glacially.
‘Comrade Lieutenant. All of the girl ratings in Fleet HQ are volunteers. They volunteered to serve the Rodina, not to provide sexual services to you. They did not volunteer to be called bitches. From what you say, it would appear that you are pressuring more than one girl. If I receive a second report as to your behaviour, instead of offering a friendly word of advice, I will throw so many charges at you that if you end up at a weather station at the North Pole you will be damn lucky. One more complaint, Lieutenant, just one more. You are dismissed.’
Zemskov stormed out of the office. Lidiya shook her head. She hoped it would not be like this, but there were officers who regarded anything in a skirt as legitimate prey. Lidiya reached for a sheet of paper.
‘It has come to my attention that a small minority of officers in Fleet HQ have used their rank to place pressure on junior moryachki to provide sexual services for them. This is contrary to VMF regulations and will not be tolerated. Any moryachka who is subject to such pressures is hereby ordered to report any such conduct to the undersigned. L M Petrova, Captain-Lieutenant, VMF.’
Lidiya buzzed the Dictaphone to summon the secretary she shared with another officer.
‘Please type this out, and run off enough copies for every department in Fleet HQ.’
The girl glanced at it and smiled.
‘It will be a pleasure, Comrade Captain Lieutenant.’
Lidiya looked at her for a moment.
‘You too?’
The girl nodded. Lidiya cursed under her breath. It was better for military discipline that the girl did not hear her swear out loud. Defending ‘her girls’ was not going to be easy.
‘Oksana, A copy to my husband, err the admiral as well please. If you have anything you wish to report…?’
The girl shook her head.
‘A copy to ….. the Admiral.’
The two women smiled at one another.
Admiral Petrov’s office, Black Sea Fleet HQ, Sevastopol, Monday 1 November 1982
Senior Lieutenant Arkady Vanayev, ADC stood before his boss.
A directive to all departments, Comrade Admiral. From your wife, err that is Captain-Lieutenant Petrova, Sir.’
‘What does she have to say, Arkady?’
Arkady Vanayev read out the message. Petrov nodded in understanding. Lidiya had never expected to become an officer, but now that she was one, and a surprisingly senior one for her age, he realised that she was likely to be a good one. He had appointed her to look after the well being of his female staff. Unlike Viktorov who had exploited them, Lidiya was likely to mother them, although she was no older than most of them. He ventured a comment.
‘From the signal, I suspect the Captain-Lieutenant has found one of our comrades with his khren up one of her girls.’
Khren meant ‘horseradish’ but was less crude than the majority of other Russian words for cock. Arkady nodded.
‘Da, Da, comrade admiral, I haven’t been here for long, but I know one or two officers who do pull rank.’
Petrov looked at him closely.
‘Young Man, one of the problems of senior rank is that the most junior lieutenant in this place knows more about what’s going on than I do. If an officer is screwing a girl, I don’t mind so long as the girl doesn’t mind. If it’s OK with her that’s fine, but how widespread is it?’
Petrov knew he should not really put a leading question like that to one of his junior officers.
‘Some officers, Comrade Admiral. You wife may have chanced on it already.’
‘If so, I hope she nails the bastard up by the balls.’
The International Department, 10.00am Tuesday 2 November 1982
Boris Ponomarev glanced round the table.
‘Comrades I think we all understand how things have gone in the last couple of years. At the XXVI Party Congress in February 1981, dear Leonid Ilyich said, “The sphere of imperialist domination has narrowed”, but week by week the Americans grow stronger and more aggressive. Their navy planes ‘play chicken’ with us, to use a Yankee phrase, off our Pacific shores. Their ships parade off our coasts. They even enter the Barents Sea and the Baltic.’
‘The Americans back their President with his forceful rhetoric about us. With Afghanistan, the Muslim world is united against us. I have had charge of the International Department since 1955. That is a long time, and there is at present only one country in the world where relations are not worse than at any time in quarter of a century, and that is Turkey.’
Yuri Belikov, one of Ponomarev’s closest allies in the ID glanced at the boss.
‘The Lidiya factor, Comrade Chairman. Every male in Turkey fell in love with the lovely Lidiya.’
‘I know, Yuri. One of the issues we have to discuss today is a request from Turkish Foreign Ministry concerning Lidiya.’
Belikov looked at his chief.
‘Our friends want to appoint Lidiya as Head of State perhaps, Comrade Chairman?’
Ponomarev shook his head.
‘Not quite! The Turkish Foreign Ministry has requested a visit by Captain-Lieutenant Lidiya Mikhailovna Petrova, as they wish to bestow the Turkish Armed Forces Medal of Distinguished Service on her.’
Igor Litvinov, who was the most xenophobic member of the ID cut in angrily.
‘Why in hell do the Turks want to give her a medal? She’s not a fucking Turk.’
Ponomarev looked at him angrily.
‘Comrade Litvinov, in time of peace the Medal of Distinguished Service can be awarded, and I quote “to civilians or soldiers, regardless of nationality” where it is felt that the individual has served the interests of Turkey. The Turkish Foreign Ministry states that in their opinion Lidiya Petrova has contributed to good relations between our two countries, and to obviating the risk of hostilities. We have awarded her the Order of International Friendship and our own Order for Distinguished Service for exactly those reason, so we can hardly say they are wrong.’
‘She is Nasha – Ours – not Turkish.’
‘Comrade, if the Turks wish to bestow a decoration on Lidiya Mikhailovna, we should be glad. At present, many countries would bestow an ‘Order of Hatred’ on us. The publicity value of one of our citizens being decorated for improving international relations and obviating the risk of war is something we would be mad to turn down.’