Burning Moscow

Chapter 159: Recommending the Worthy (Part 1) Stalin walked back to his desk and picked up the receiver. He held it to his ear but said nothing. He remained in that position for a moment, then set the receiver down and began pacing back and forth across the large room with his hands behind his back. As he paced the room, I dared not speak out of turn, but simply stood there, my gaze following his movements. I found myself wondering what he intended to do. He had clearly picked up the phone just moments ago, so why was he delaying in issuing orders to his subordinates? If my dream was true and no reinforcements were coming, then Rokossovsky was facing a fate where the odds were heavily stacked against him. Soon, however, I felt relieved. His hesitation was understandable; even as the Supreme Commander, he couldn’t simply bypass the chain of command to mobilize troops based on a vague, elusive dream. I regretted having told him about my dream, for it had left him paralyzed by indecision. However, my worries seemed unfounded. Just as I was considering whether to apologize to Stalin for my rashness, he decisively walked to the desk, picked up the receiver of a telephone, dialed a number, and said, “This is Stalin.” After a brief pause, he continued: “ Comrade Shaposhnikov, please immediately transfer a regiment from the reserves, equip them with ten tanks, and have them rush to the village of Peshki to establish a defensive position there. Remember, they must be in their defensive positions by four o’clock this afternoon.” The other party seemed to say something, but I was too far away to hear it. Stalin said somewhat irritably, “You will personally arrange this matter; there is no need to notify Zhukov. That unit is under your direct command, and I alone will decide when it withdraws from the position.” With that, he hung up the phone without another word. He relit his pipe, took a puff, then walked toward me, stopping two or three steps away. “Don’t worry about Rokossovsky,” he said. “I’d like to discuss something else with you now.” Hearing him order the troops to be redeployed to Peshki Village a moment ago had given me a sense of relief. But upon hearing his final remark, my heart leapt into my throat. What else could there be? Oh no! Surely he wasn’t going to hold me accountable for withdrawing the troops from Volokolamsk without authorization. If he did pursue the matter, I might very well be sent straight to a military tribunal. In my mind, a Soviet court-martial was synonymous with a death sentence. General Pavlov, the former commander of the Western Front, had been executed on Stalin’s orders for a series of command errors following the outbreak of war that cost the lives of hundreds of thousands of soldiers. Someone of such high rank was executed on a whim—let alone a lowly lieutenant colonel like me. At this thought, though I did my best to maintain a calm exterior, my legs had already begun to tremble slightly. “ “I heard from Colonel Bezikov that you arrived in Moscow at noon the day before yesterday, didn’t you?” Although I found it strange that Stalin was asking this question, I answered honestly: “Yes.” “I hear that while you were taking shelter from an air raid at Krasnoye-Brezno Station, something very strange happened. Is that correct?” “Yes.” “ Tell me what happened. I want to know exactly what took place.” As Stalin spoke, he walked past me, sat back down at the long table, and motioned for me to take a seat. After I sat down, I answered him honestly: “While I was taking shelter from the air raid at Krasnoye Brestnoye Station, a German bomb penetrated deep into the earth and landed on the tracks inside the subway station. While I was examining the bomb with several commanders from the fighter battalion, a subway train suddenly approached from the direction of the Belarus Station. Since the bomb was right in the middle of the tracks, I feared it might be dangerous, so I sent someone to stop the train in time. After the train came to a stop, many passengers got off. Some soldiers noticed that they looked different from us— almost everyone was wearing summer clothes…” “Was it just one person wearing summer clothes, or were all of them dressed for summer?” Stalin interrupted me, pressing for a specific detail. “It was everyone, Comrade Stalin,” I replied almost without thinking, adding, “After everyone had gotten off the train, I went into the carriages to check, and I discovered something incredible…” “What was it?” he interrupted me again, his curiosity piqued. “It was a newspaper. To be precise, a newspaper dated July 23, 1975.” “Do you remember what was in it?” “I glanced at it briefly; there was a news article that seemed to mention our country’s garrison in Berlin…” “What? Berlin? ” He looked at me with disbelief and pressed, “Are you sure you didn’t misread it? Did the newspaper say the Soviet garrison in Berlin?” “Yes, I didn’t misread it at all.” I replied firmly, “I was about to take a closer look, but just then the commander of the fighter battalion came to find me, so I put the newspaper down and left.” “Where is that newspaper now?” Stalin asked impatiently. I shook my head and replied, “I don’t know. Things got very chaotic afterward. When the Interior Ministry soldiers opened fire, a blinding white light flashed, and the train vanished. That newspaper might have been left on the train and disappeared along with it; or perhaps it was on one of the passengers being transported to a labor camp, but they were all killed in an air raid along the way, and the newspaper may have turned to ash.” “Ah!” he sighed, his face full of regret. “However, Comrade Stalin! There is one survivor among the passengers on that train—a man not of our time. Perhaps he knows many things we wish to know.” “Who is he?” “A senior engineer at a military factory. He should be of assistance to us in our current Great Patriotic War.” “Where is he?” Hearing Stalin ask this, I couldn’t help but furrow my brow slightly, wondering if Colonel Bezhikov had actually failed to report such an important matter to him. Just as my mind was wandering, I heard Stalin ask again, “Lida! You haven’t answered my question yet. Do you know where he is?” Chapter 160: Recommending Talent (Part 2)Seeing that Stalin was on the verge of losing his temper, I was so frightened that I jumped to my feet and replied frantically, “Reporting to Comrade Stalin, that senior engineer named Fronin was wounded during the air raid and is currently recovering at the hospital where I live.” Stalin glanced up at me, tilted his pipe, tapped it lightly against the rim of the ashtray a few times, and let the ash fall into it. He asked thoughtfully, “Did you ask Bezhikov to come in person that day just for the sake of this engineer of unknown origin?” Since he had taken the conversation this far, I had no choice but to tell the truth. I lowered my head and stared at the map in front of me, saying, “ ‘Like the passengers, Senior Engineer Fronin isn’t from our time; for some unknown reason, he suddenly appeared here. When I first discovered the truth, I was utterly shocked—it was simply too incredible, too mind-boggling.’ At this point, I stole a glance at Stalin; he, too, had his head bowed, staring silently at the map before him. I continued, ‘ As a military engineering expert from the future, he possesses cutting-edge military technology that we are currently unaware of, which would be very helpful in improving our troops’ existing equipment.” “You realized he was a rare talent, so you went to Bezhikov for help, didn’t you!” Stalin raised his head as he said this, his eyes fixed on me as he asked, “Is that correct?” “Yes, Comrade Stalin, your analysis is spot on. It is precisely because Flonin is such a rare technical talent that a junior officer from the Ministry of Internal Affairs accused him of being a German spy and demanded his execution. You know, the Ministry of Internal Affairs’ troops enjoy special privileges. Although my rank is much higher than that officer’s, I had no authority to overturn his decision, so I had no choice but to turn to Colonel Bezikov to help me resolve this dilemma.” ” “Did you speak with him privately?” Stalin paused here before asking cautiously, “Did he say we could hold Moscow?” “We can!” Although I wasn’t familiar with many of the specific details of the Battle of Moscow, I knew clearly that the battle ended with the victory of the Red Army and the retreat of the German forces, which is why I was able to give Stalin an affirmative answer. “I heard it from Fronin.” I knew the old man had lost his memory; even when he met with Stalin, he couldn’t recall many things. So, without hesitation, I recounted the history I knew, speaking in Fronin’s name: “Although the fascist bandits’ offensive was fierce, in the face of our army’s tenacious resistance, they only approached Moscow but failed to set foot in the city. Moreover, under your wise leadership, the Red Army launched a great counteroffensive in early December, driving the invading enemy far away from our city…” Hearing me say this, the corners of his thick mustache turned up slightly once more, and a rare smile appeared on his face. I secretly breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed my flattery was quite to his liking. He stood up, walked back and forth in front of me with his hands behind his back, and asked in an inquiring tone, “How do you think I should accommodate this remarkable engineer?” “To the Armaments Bureau, of course—we should arrange a position for him there. With the technical data he provides, our military equipment will soon be upgraded, narrowing the technological gap between us and the enemy. Given time, we might even surpass them…” “Lida, you’re oversimplifying the issue.” Stalin waved his hand to cut me off, catching me off guard. “Even if this engineer provides us with complete technical documentation, military equipment like aircraft, tanks, and artillery isn’t something you can simply assemble from blueprints and put into service. There are many factors to consider: for instance, whether we have the necessary production lines, whether the raw materials currently produced domestically—such as steel—meet standards, and a series of weapon tests and other tasks that need to be carried out. Even if we were to complete the deployment to our troops, it would be a matter of a year or two…” His words left me speechless; it seemed I really had oversimplified the issue. However, it was such a pity that such a rare technical talent was being kept on the sidelines like this. I lowered my head to think for a moment and realized that although we couldn’t improve large-scale technical equipment in the short term, we could try to improve infantry weapons. So I looked up at him and said, “Comrade Stalin, I also heard from the engineer that our army will eventually be equipped with an assault rifle called the AK-47. You might consider having him provide us with the technical specifications for this weapon first, so we can field it in our troops ahead of schedule. That way, our infantry won’t be at a disadvantage on the battlefield due to differences in small arms.” “The AK-47 assault rifle? ” Stalin repeated the name and asked with interest, “What’s so special about this rifle?” “There is.” I tried hard to recall what I knew about this weapon. “According to Engineer Fronin, this rifle is a world-renowned weapon in the future. It was designed and personally manufactured by a soldier named Mikhail Timofeyevich Kalashnikov.” Compared to the rifles in service in other countries at the time, it has a compact frame and a shorter effective range, with a maximum firing range of 300 meters, making it suitable for close-quarters assault operations. Due to the astonishing reliability of the AK-47 and its later improved variants—combined with their simple structure, rugged durability, affordability, immense firepower, and flexible, user-friendly design—the AK-47 series of rifles is widely used by the armed forces of many friendly nations, and even Western countries... ” “Wait a moment.” Stalin returned to the table, set down his pipe, picked up a notebook and pencil, and asked me again: “What did you say was that soldier’s full name?” “Mikhail Timofeyevich Kalashnikov,” I answered precisely, adding, “I once shared a truck with him on the way to the front and know that he was a tank sergeant serving as the commander of a T-34 tank.” Stalin asked as he took notes, “What else do you know about him?” “I heard from Engineer Flonin that Kalashnikov was seriously wounded in a battle and sent to an army hospital in the rear for treatment. Although his life was saved, he was left disabled, particularly in his right hand, which he was never able to move freely again.” I knew a little about the life of this legendary weapons master, but when telling Stalin, I had to preface it with “I heard from Engineer Fronin” so as not to give myself away. Stalin pressed a bell on the desk, and immediately the door through which I had just entered opened. The bald-headed Poskrebyshev appeared silently in the doorway, standing at attention. Stalin tore the written note from his notebook, walked over, handed it to Poskrebyshev, and said, “ “Immediately send someone to the Army Hospital to find this man and provide him with the best possible treatment. Remember, this man is of the utmost importance; you must ensure he survives.” Poskrebyshev nodded and replied, “Understood, Comrade Stalin.” He then turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. Stalin walked back to my side and said, “Lida, do you know anything else about this Kalashnikov? Tell me everything. I’m curious about him. I’m very interested in how, as a tank crewman with almost no opportunity to use a rifle, he came to design a rifle for infantrymen.” “It’s said that while in the hospital, he and his comrades would talk about the war and weapons. During one such conversation, a fellow patient casually asked him, ‘Why is it that only the Germans have automatic rifles, while we don’t even have enough of the old-style rifles?’ Those words sparked his wild idea to design an entirely new automatic rifle. During his hospitalization, he also asked the nurses to bring him every book on small arms from the hospital library to read. One of them, titled *The Evolution of Small Arms*, provided him with significant inspiration.” “I want to know how he managed to manufacture the weapon. After all, even if he could complete the design on his own, he couldn’t possibly handle the manufacturing process by himself.” “While hospitalized, he was awarded the Order of the Red Star. In the spring of 1942, he requested to be discharged and return to his unit to fight, but the hospital refused, ordering him to go home and recuperate for six months. So he returned to the railway locomotive repair shop where he had previously worked, continuing his work while experimenting with firearm design on the side. He sought out his close friend from his days in the railway technical department, Kratchenko—a train driver well-versed in machining techniques. With his friend’s help, he hand-crafted an automatic rifle in a makeshift shed.” “Oh, I see,” Stalin said. “And how did the rifle he designed and built come to be approved by the relevant authorities?” “After the automatic rifle was completed, Kalashnikov personally delivered it to the Tseretinsky Artillery Academy for testing and evaluation. Following the tests, the review committee concluded that the rifle’s mechanism was overly complex and that its overall performance did not surpass that of the PPS-43 rifle then in service with our army, so the design was not adopted.” "Seeing that Stalin was listening intently, I decided to go ahead and recount everything I knew in one go: 'But it was precisely this unsuccessful automatic rifle that caught the attention of Comrade Bragonlavov of the Soviet Armament Planning Committee. As an authority on Soviet infantry weapons and the dean of the Tseretinsky Artillery Academy, the general spoke highly of the rifle’s unique design. In 1943, he personally recommended Kalashnikov to the Higher School of Infantry Weapons for advanced training. After graduation, he was assigned to the Onsk Military Weapons Testing Range to work as a technician. In 1944, after countless failed trials, the 25-year-old Kalashnikov designed a 7. 62mm semi-automatic carbine. In 1946, building on this semi-automatic carbine, he designed a fully automatic rifle, the AK-46, and submitted it for selection trials at the state firing range. At the time, his design was competing against the works of several other renowned rifle designers. After the preliminary selection, three rifle models, including the AK-46, were designated to participate in the final evaluation. To better test the rifle’s actual combat capabilities, a series of grueling tests were conducted. During the extreme-condition firing evaluation, the AK46’s outstanding performance left the numerous judges present deeply impressed: the AK46 fired 15,000 rounds continuously; although the barrel glowed red-hot, its accuracy showed no significant decline. In contrast, the competitors’ prototype rifles malfunctioned after firing just a few rounds or failed to fire at all. After meticulously calculating and statistical analysis of the test results, compared each set of firing data, and compiled all the data into a comprehensive report submitted to the Soviet Ministry of Defense. The judges unanimously agreed: “We recommend that the 7. 62mm assault rifle designed by Sergeant Kalashnikov be adopted into standard service.” Soon after, the review committee decided to produce the first batch of AK-46 rifles and, simultaneously, conduct a trial even more important than the initial evaluation: handing the weapons over to the troops for field testing. The result was that the troops were full of praise for the AK-46 automatic rifle, which was simple to use and possessed formidable firepower. Consequently, the Soviet Ministry of Defense decided to designate the AK-46 as the standard-issue rifle for the Army and officially named it the AK-47.” After listening to my account, he walked silently to the table, picked up his pipe, placed it between his lips, took a cigarette from the pack on the table, crushed it with his fingers, and packed the tobacco into the bowl. I watched him do all this in silence, saying nothing, waiting for him to ask a new question. He struck a match to light the pipe, took a puff, and then asked slowly: “Lida, did Engineer Fronin tell you what my reaction was when I heard this weapon had been developed?” “Engineer Fronin said that you sent a colonel named Demin to inform Kalashnikov that the AK-47 rifle had been adopted as standard issue for the Red Army. Then you summoned him to the Kremlin and personally awarded him a bonus of 150,000 rubles.” After hearing my words, he stared at the ceiling, silently smoking without saying a word. I stood there watching him, suddenly feeling a dryness in my mouth, secretly regretting whether I had said too much that I shouldn’t have. After all, what I had told him was so unbelievable that it would be very difficult for him to fully believe it. He set his pipe on the table and began pacing back and forth across the office, not even glancing at me as I stood there. Eventually, he stopped by the desk and, as if having made up his mind, said, “Although this is hard to believe, I’ve decided to trust you. If we can find this Kalashnikov you mentioned, I’ll arrange for him to work at the Armaments Bureau as an assistant to Senior Engineer Fronin—the one from another timeline.” ”