 Listen, the trickle of water, snow melts in the Valdai Hills and the river begins its odyssey. Down through the foothills, far down through Smolensk and legendary Kiev, down through the freshening meadowland of the Ukraine, down to the distant sea, 1400 miles of broadening, swelling power, river Dnieper, wild river of Russia. Giant river, your voice is of many voices, blending into one. But above all swells the deep chorus of the people. Listen, you men and women, everywhere, and I will tell you a story of love and toil and sacrifice and faith beyond all understanding. The story of a wild river and the Soviet people. The National Broadcasting Company, in cooperation with the Council on Books and Wartime, presents another program in the series Words at War. Tonight's script, written by Charles Newton, is a radio impression of the novel Wild River by Anna Louise Strong. Now let me review your argument, Nikolai Petrovich. It is your view that wild river is potentially a source of great wealth. It is today making beggars of us all. Exactly your excellency. Once each year, sometimes more often, the Dnieper overflows its bank. Thousands and thousands of peasants and landowners lose their crops and often their homes. It is a great waste to the nation. And you propose that this dam of yours set up a system of flood control? The dam would accomplish that and many other things. Now, for instance, boats from the Black Sea can navigate upstream only so far as Zaporozhye. Then 60 miles of rapids cut the river in two. And with a dam and lax there, the boats and barges can travel almost a thousand miles further north. That might be very profitable. And most important of all excellency would be the dam's hydroelectric station. With electric power, we could remake the whole country. Nikolai Petrovich, you engineers sound like professional visionaries. You sound like a communist. Where do you describe all this plan? Here, excellency. First plans for a hydroelectric station on the Dnieper were drawn up at least seven years ago in 1905. That is the Grand Duke Mikhail speaking, brother of the Tsar and greatest landholder of the Ukraine. Even if he were alive, the Grand Duke would not recognize me. But I, Stepan Bogdanov, remember him well. My grandfather was his surf. My family and myself were once his ragged starving peasants. Hold on. Look. You see here, the lake formed by rising water behind the dam would stretch a mile wide for 80 miles upstream. Yes, your excellency. But that would flood my land. I own that land. That's why we came with this proposal to buy it from you. But it's the richest land I have. Why would I sell? But think what our dam would do for millions of starving peasants. Think of what it would do for the whole Ukraine. But that is hardly my affair, Nikolai Petrovich. We're not asking you to give the land. Name your price. All right. A hundred million. Excellency. Yes. As early as 1912, the Grand Duke Mikhail destroyed the dream of our greatest Russian engineers and the hope of millions of our people very quietly and effectively with a patient smile. He did not refuse to cooperate. He merely named a prohibitive price for his land. Yes, the dam would have to wait. And time went on, measured by the seasons and the destructive fury of the wild river and the growing poverty of the people. But their dream was not ended. It lived on in the minds and hearts of many Russian men and women who, at last, to realize this dream and a thousand others of the people's destiny, rose up and cast off their chains. Revolution. But the fight was long and bitter but at last even the strong, the leaders, were filled with foreboding and doubt. And the next few hours will tell us it. Yes, Vladimir, our fight against the white Russians and the foreign powers hangs on the balance. And the whole revolution is at stake. And all we can do is wait. Everything is ready. Yet of all the years we fought for a free Russia, this day is the darkest. But even in that critical moment of history, while others doubted, one doubted not. Have faith, comrades. I have faith. On this day, the darkest of the revolution, I've seen through the eyes of our engineers a bright day which lies ahead. This morning, we completed final plans for the great new dam on the Nyepa River. It's been the dream of our people for many years. Lift your eyes to that horizon. The vision is dazzling. Have faith, comrades. We cannot lose. Thus spoke Nikolai Lenin. But even when the victory of the revolution was won and the few could no longer stand in the way of the many, even then the dam had to wait. First, food must be found and minds developed. New factories must be raised above the rubble of war. Engineers must be trained and workers. Only then would there be strength enough and skill enough to build the giant that would tame the wild river. A long night of years lay ahead. A night of want and privation and suffering and death. The hungry year of 1921. There were no horses in the land and we hitched ourselves to the wooden plowshares and stumbled across the fields till at last we fell. 1922 and 3 and 4. Flood and famine. Holding out a promise of plenty, the river destroyed what little we had. 1925 and 6. This Ukraine could be the richest land in the world. We clutched our rags about us and laughed. And the taste in our mouths grew dry and bitter. Yet still the dream persisted and strengthened and grew. It was in the spring of 1927 that the first explosions thundered through the canyon of the river. I had just come from the Red Dawn farm to the city of Zaborosia. I sat in the office of my friend Ivan Kapovic and jumped suddenly from my chair as I heard the distant roar. Good. You bolted like a shy cold saffron. Just the effect I'd hoped for. What is it? You peasants never hear anything. You might as well live in another world. What is it, Ivan? They are dynamiting in the river canyon. That's what it is. You mean the dam? Then all the rumors we've heard are true. We've started it. We? Yes. I've been studying at engineering school for the last six months. They're going to make me a drill foreman. Ivan, is there a chance could I get a job? Of course you can. Need everybody we can get. You can work under me if you like. Hey, what's this? A man of your age crying? Don't be a fool, Ivan Kapovic. Me crying? And the long night of waiting vanished into light. And I, Stepan Bogdanov, was in the start of things. The explosions we set off roared in triumph. Our people had set to work to remake its heritage. And I suppose perhaps we were beginning to remake the world. 30,000 workers were needed. And in the year that followed, they flocked to us from every corner of the Soviet Union. Few were trained. Few could even write or read. But they joined up with a smile and they worked with a will. By 1928, as boss of a drill section, I was signing them up by the score. Some were from the Ukraine. Anya Kuzereva. Yes, and many of them were women. My mother thought it was wicked for a girl to become a worker like this. But that's only because she still thinks the old way from the habit of the years. Why shouldn't we women have built our new world? Are we going to be part of it too? I'm young, I'm strong, I'm free, Stepan Bogdanov. Sign me as a driller. They came from every corner of the land. Men and women, young and old. Still the truth, son, I'm here on forced labor. I'm a convict. Just stealing. Got sort of in the habit. About 30 years ago, stealing from the czar and the landowners. How did that cause I hated them? I only stole this last time because I thought I needed something close. Didn't stop to think we're all in the same boat these days. Then I might have been taking something somebody else needed, just as bad as I. Ah, maybe here's my chance to make up for what I've done. Girls and boys, peasants and convicts, old and young from every corner of the land they came in. Yes, sir. My name is Vasili, and I'm from the Georgian Republic. I was a shepherd, but there's too much going on today for the young to stay at home tending sheep. You'll take me. Say, I... Do you know anybody who can write? I promised I'd let my brothers know if there were plenty of jobs here. They want to come up, too. And besides all the regular workers, we've found other help, too. There are six of us, and we're all students from the Conservatory of Music in Moscow. You see, we've just started the vacation trip to some of the biggest projects of the five-year plan. But now that we've been here a couple of days, we think maybe we'll call off the rest of the trip. If you need help, we'd like to spend the rest of our vacation working on the dam. Yes, they joined up with a smile to work on the Dnieper Dam. And for so little, some food and shelter, some sunlight, a word of encouragement at the right moment, and a chance in the evenings when the long day's work was done to sing and dance. Tired though we were, that's when our spirits lifted and our hearts were gay again. And the music and the voices blended to a rhythm set by flying feet. And perhaps Vasily would do his dance while Anya, who Vasily had married, clapped her hands to the measures. Her smile happy and proud. And the tears down the backs we live in aren't even finished. Yes, 20 men in a room big enough for five. And crawling with rats and roaches and lies. Things getting worse all the time. Oh, I'm quitting. Me too. I'm going back home. Some were paid enemy agents. Some were relics of the old system, not yet cleansed or winnowed out. And some were merely men of little faith, ready to sacrifice their heritage in the heritage of all mankind in a slab of butter and a comfortable place by the master's fire. Oh, don't mistake me. I mean, the things they grumbled about were true. The housing conditions for many of our 30,000 workers were frightful. So was the food for that mother, even when there was enough to go round. And as the months and then the years rolled by, the turnover of workers grew higher and higher. When one man whined. I'm quitting. Going back home I am. Another would step forward to take his place. Sign me up, comrade. This is my fight, too. What worried us most, though, was not the labor turnover, but the cost of the dam, the cost in time, and the cost in life. Our country was so new. And in many ways we were so far behind. It was during the second year of construction that I took the visiting American engineer, Mr. Wood, on a tour of the dam site. He was astounded at what we had done and at the way we were doing it. Why, Mr. McDonough, you need tools here. Tools, but we have lots of tools. Your workmen don't even have picks to work with. They've got to beat at the earth with these heavy iron bars. Your shovels are no good. They've got short handles and give little perches and a small flat blade which is only a little dirt. You should have what we use in America. Long handle, large curved blade, and good heavens, I haven't seen a single wheelbarrow. A wheelbarrow? You use that... No silker. Yes, to carry the data way. It takes two husky men to handle a fifth as much as one man could take in a decent wheelbarrow. I know we're far behind you in technique, but still we've managed to accomplish a lot. But what a cost in time and labor. Yes, that's true. Even I sometimes wonder if this fantastic pace we've set for ourselves is worth that cost. Have courage, comrade. But the cost was great. And we watched the time tick by with growing anxiety. Could we ever complete the dam within the scheduled time of the five-year plan? Could we ever do it with a constant labor turnover and with inadequate tools? And as time ticked by, one obstacle after another fell hugely across our path. But the most dangerous foe of all, the foe that fought us with secret cunning and with wild fury, was the river. In summer, it reflected the sun's rays burning and blistering the skin of our bodies. In winter, it froze us. Its treacherous waters swept us from cofferdam and pier to smash and tear us against the rocks. It laughed and mocked us in the sunlight while we shivered or sweat with the fevers it gave us as we worked waist-deep by the rising pillars of concrete. Its rippling surface was like a shout of joy, but beneath the surface so many of our comrades slept in darkness and eternal silence. And in the springtime, the river cursed us with flood. The locks! The locks! We've never saved the public and brought the locks! It happened in the spring of 31. For ten days, we fought to save the locks and on the tenth night, the flood burst through. The men of the cofferdam! They've been swept to the river! That was Vassili shouting. The boy who came from the Georgian Republic and first worked on my drill day. The boy who had brought his brothers here too and married Anya, the girl from Kichkas. In the wild howling night, Vassili organized a rescue gang and struck boldly into the river when he knew that chances were even that it meant death. Is that comfortable, Cradd? Why didn't you do it? Don't cry and bring me the boy. I want to see my son. Yes, yes, yes. Help me, comrades. Help me. I must sit up. Thank you. Now, cover my wet clothes with the blanket. Surely. My son is a year old. He might think me foolish to go swimming on so cold a night. Here we are, darling. Will you hold him? No, no. Just let me look. Oh, silent young man. I knew he disapproved my coming in wet. But no, Anya. I want to leave you smiling. I mustn't say that. Yes, dear. And I am hurrying fast. Look at me, boy. You are going to take my place now. The dam has used up a lot of us old fellows. But what does that matter when there are boys like you to follow? Think of it, son. One day, you will see it finished. Yes, even the river couldn't beat us. And with a final spurt, we conquered it. One sunny day in spring in the year 1932. In every town and village of the Soviet Union, the people heard our proud report that... Today, the 28th of March, at 5.20 in the afternoon, the last cubic meter of concrete will be poured and set on Yemperdam. And the wild river swung to the oak, a scourge no longer but the hope, the promise of a nation. All that we had hoped, all that we had dreamed, began to come true. And by the early summer of 1941, 300 miles of roaring towns and giant farms testified that the heart of the Ukraine, its electric pulse in Yemperdam had become one of the richest regions in the world. True. It's the breadbasket of Europe. Wait. We could use that. The river transportation is excellent. We could float our freight in barges down to the Black Sea, into the Danube, all the way across Europe by water. Think of the mines and industry there. The iron of Krivoi Rog, the manganese of Nikopol, the steel and coal of the Donetsk Beeson. And all of it is furnished with power from a single force. Think of that. Seize the dam and you seize the key to the whole Ukraine. And seize the Ukraine and be acquired the means for world domination. By head and cloak, we will do it. For years they planned it, and on June the 22nd, 1941, they struck, flushed with victories from a conquered Europe, the world-devastating Nazis smashed ahead in bitter battles. The Red Army hit hard, but it could not stop them. There were three giant prongs and the southernmost was aimed at Nieperdam, of the Kremlin, late in the month of July. Who knows, comrade Commissar? I would like to tell you that no more cities will be lost. But who knows where or when we can make our stand. I'm thinking especially now of the case of Nieperdam. Yes, in the south. That is the enemy's chief objective. There are nine huge generators there. It'll take time to dismantle and move them. If the army plans to retreat east of the river, we should start work on the generators now. Comrade, the Red Army never plans to retreat. We'll cross the river only if we're threatened with encirclement. You're avoiding my question, general. What I want to know is should we start dismantling the generators now? I'm afraid I must say yes. What a terrible loss it will be. But comrade Commissar, not such a loss as when we blow up the dam. But comrade Stalin, we can't destroy the dam. Why should we leave it? The Nazis will bring their own generators. They already built them for just this purpose. But think what Nieperdam means to us. Think what it would mean to the Nazis. Why, it's our greatest monument to the people. It's a symbol of everything they've worked for, every sacrifice they've made. True, but they did not work and sacrifice to build it for the Nazis. For five years we worked to build the dam. We thought it would last a thousand. Comrade, you forget what this trouble means. And now because the army can't do a job, you're asking us to destroy the dam. Comrades, in the first place, let us not speak of destroying the dam. What the people built there can never be destroyed. What they did there will live forever. Alexei Alexich, find us a man who helped build the dam and who has worked on its operation since then. The honor of blowing up Nieperdam should go to the man who loves it most. That was Comrade Stalin. And I, Stepan Bogdanov, was the man they chose. For days we worked as the Red Army streamed eastward in silent retreat. Beneath the beautiful concrete piers we planted the dynamite we love in care. And we connected the charges with wires and strung them skillfully and secretly to a central detonator upstream. And the ache in our hearts grew and grew as we plotted tenderly the utter demolition of the thing we loved best. Day after day we worked till the last refugee had left and the last troops crossed to the further shore. It was the night of August 26, 1941 and the eastern sky was bright with flame. I don't think we can wait any longer. Too much of a chance. Maybe more troops will need to cross by the bridge. No, Comrade Bogdanov. Only the partisans are left and they will stay on the western shore. The refugees, more peasants will be using the bridge. They've all crossed over, too. Are you sure the wiring's all right? We can't put it off any longer, Comrade. I know how you feel. Would you like me to do it? No, I... I... I have courage, Comrade. I'll do it myself. Giant River, we loved you too much to deliver you in bondage to a hateful enemy. Roll free and wild again and we pray that you will flood our captive land as once you did the free. But remember, we'll be back again. We'll build again and you will serve us again and forever in peace. Oh, Wild River, your voice is of many voices blending into one. But above all swells the deep chorus of the people. We'll return to you, return in triumph. With such faith as ours, we cannot lose. You have just heard the 44th program in the series Words at War. Tonight, a radio impression of Anna Louise Strong's distinguished novel, Wild River. The script was written by Charles Newton. Stott's Cotsworth was heard as Stepan Bogdanov. A Russian chorus under the direction of Leo Rosotto provided the music, and the entire production was under the direction of Anton M. Lieder. Next week, Words at War will present an adaptation of a strange story entitled Silence of the Sea. Words at War is brought to you in cooperation with the Council of Books and Wartime by the National Broadcasting Company and its independent affiliated stations. American radio listeners are the best informed people on earth. 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