Now suddenly the clouds break, and the sky shines blue.
Next morning at eight-thirty a thunderbolt comes out of the blue! It strikes Sukhanov, sitting in his Soviet office. It is an ultimatum in the name of the Czechs. It calls for the unconditional surrender of the Soviet. All offices are to be evacuated. All soldiers are to proceed to the High School field, and lay down their arms. The time limit is thirty minutes.
Sukhanov, rushing to Czech headquarters, begs for permission to call the Soviet together.
"Certainly, if you can do it in half an hour," coolly replies the Czech commander.
As Sukhanov turns to leave, he is placed under arrest.
All this goes on behind the scenes. The city remains in the dark. One or two commissars only have a hint of the tragedy now so imminent. On Svetlanskaya, near the Red Fleet Building, I meet Preminsky having his shoes blacked.
"Getting all shined up early in the morning," I say.
"Yes," he replies casually, lighting a cigarette. "In a few minutes I may be dangling from a lamppost, and I want to be as nice looking a corpse as possible." I stare at him wondering, quizzical.
"Our days are done for," he explained, still nonchalant and smiling, "The Czechs are taking over the city."
