Eagle, I don't want to form an alliance anymore.

Setting up a stall, selling grilled sausages, saving up to open a restaurant... that's what I want.

He stared intently at Slava, waiting for the General Secretary's reply.

Slava remained silent for a moment.

He could tell that Prigozin's dream of becoming a chef and opening a restaurant was partly real—that kind of yearning couldn't be faked. But Slava could also see that beneath that dream lay something else—fear.

Slava calmly said, "I believe your dream of becoming a chef; you really want to open a restaurant."

Prigozin breathed a sigh of relief.

But Slava changed the subject: "But I don't believe your excuse of 'retiring due to health reasons'."

Prigozin's heart sank.

"How old are you? You're so strong you could fight for another ten years! That's not the real reason you want to retire."

I know you're afraid that if the ceasefire in Afghanistan ends, your legion will have no battles to fight. You feel you've lost your usefulness, and you know too much—you know the details of those experimental equipment, you know the military's shady dealings, you know far too much for a mercenary to know. And you're leading a team handpicked from prisons, a team that's done countless dirty jobs.”

Slava paused.

"So you're afraid you'll be dealt with. You're afraid of being placed under house arrest, being purged, or being secretly executed! The reason you're resigning today is that you want to find a way to survive before you're dealt with, a way to retire from the criminal world and live a peaceful life, so you can save your own life."

He looked at Prigozin.

Am I right?

Prigozin was drenched in sweat. If it weren't for the two battle-hardened special agents watching him from behind, he would have wanted to catch a plane and escape from the Soviet Union as soon as possible.

The office was quiet for a long time.

Seeing Prigozin's trembling silence, Slava suddenly laughed: "Ha! Prigozin, what kind of person do you take me for? Do you think Ivanov is the kind of person who uses a meritorious person and then throws them away?"

Prigozin raised his head.

“If that were the case, I should have thrown you in jail or made you disappear long ago. You’re a man of guts, and I won’t waste someone useful to the Alliance. I’ve come to see you in person today to give you a bigger stage.”

Where do you want me to go?

Slava stood up and walked to the window: "The ceasefire in Afghanistan is just the beginning, Prigozin."

He paced around the office, staring intently at the huge world map on the wall.

"The world is undergoing profound changes unseen in a century. The United States is mired in the Great Depression and has been unable to take care of itself. It has withdrawn most of its overseas power and can now only hold onto the Middle East and South America."

What does this mean? It means a large power vacuum has emerged in the world—especially in Africa! Many of the pawns that the US, South Africa, and other Western countries previously placed in Africa are now unable to hold on.

“This is an opportunity for the Soviet Union, but—” Slava turned around, “the Soviet Union cannot extend this hand in an official capacity. The alliance has already learned its lesson in Afghanistan. If the regular army gets involved, it will be seen as an official Soviet action, and they will have to take the blame and ship zinc-coffins back home. I don’t want to pay that cost again.”

Prigozin understood what Slava was up to.

"Therefore, the Soviet Union would no longer send regular troops to exert influence abroad. Instead, it would send mercenaries to carry out missions as 'military contractors.' This force was ostensibly unrelated to Moscow and was a self-financing security company, but in reality, it was the hand of the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact."

It's going to do the dirty work that the regular army can't do, and that would bring them responsibility.

He looked at Prigozin: "I also intend to hand over this military contractor team to you to lead."

Prigozin's breathing became rapid.

"You're still a long way from retirement, so put your chef dream on hold for now. What I'm giving you is half of Africa."

Slava walked back to his desk and laid out the detailed plan to Prigozin.

“The Soviet Union can’t give you money from an official perspective, so you have to find a way to get the money yourself in Africa. At most, we can help you with your funds in an emergency.”

Slava handed over intelligence on those conflict zones in Africa to Prigozin.

"The African governments that ask for your help will pay you, but most of them are poor governments and can't afford to pay in cash. But that's okay—they have other things: minerals, diamonds, gold mines, oil..."

You work for an African government, and in return, that government has to give you mining rights and the profits from diamonds, gold, and oil. In this way, your legion, on paper, is a security company that profits and losses from mining revenue, and has no connection whatsoever with the Soviet government.

Prigozin understood, and he asked, "What will the Alliance give me?"

“The Warsaw Pact is giving you three things,” Slava said, holding up three fingers.

"First is intelligence. When you fight in Africa, you need to know the enemy's deployment and the battlefield situation—the Warsaw Pact intelligence system provides you with these, and East Germany will provide you with personnel training services."

Secondly, there's the equipment. We have plenty of old weapons in stock, things that were obsolete in the Soviet army but were perfectly adequate for the African battlefield: AK rifles, rocket launchers, T-55 tanks... The Soviet Union could sell them to you at low prices.

Thirdly, there's the personnel. I can also send you those 'retired' military officer advisors and key personnel who know how to command and operate heavy equipment.

"In exchange?" Prigozin knew there was no such thing as a free lunch.

"In exchange, a portion of the profits you earn in Africa must be given to the Soviet Union. You can go to Africa and be your own tyrant, but you must remember who gave you your skills and your assets, and you must hand over every penny that is due."

Secondly, if the Soviet Union has any old weapons they want to sell, you have to help them dispose of them. With such a vast territory and so many customers in Africa, it's a perfect sales channel for us to clear out our arms inventory and earn foreign exchange.

Prigozin felt like he was about to take off.

Fighting a war in Africa is a completely different matter from fighting in Afghanistan. Those jihadists in Afghanistan are tough nuts to crack, armed to the teeth by the US and China and holding a geographical advantage!

But what about Africa? The armies and anti-government armed groups in those African countries are far inferior in combat effectiveness to the jihadists in Afghanistan. With the fighting strength of his force—over a thousand battle-hardened Russian veterans plus over a thousand soldiers recruited locally in Africa—it's practically a one-sided victory in Africa!

He could be even more arrogant: if he had three thousand men in Africa, he could not only win a war for a government, but he could even overthrow the regime of a small country and become a local tyrant in Africa!

Prigozin raised his head, the fear in his eyes completely gone, replaced by excitement: "Comrade General Secretary, I agree."

That's exactly what Slava was waiting for.

He opened the safe, took out a document that had been prepared beforehand, and pushed it in front of Prigozin.

"Since you've agreed, let's officially settle this. From today onwards, your mercenary group will be officially renamed—Griffin Security Contractors."

“Griffin?” Prigozin repeated the name.

"Yes, griffin. The body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, a mythical beast that guards treasure. The military decided on this name. From now on, your team will be known as Griffin Security Contractors, a security company, and you will be its boss."

As Prigozin looked at the words "Griffin Security Contractor" on the document, a strange feeling welled up inside him.

His team, handpicked from prisons and forged in the blood of Afghanistan, now has a respectable business name. It's no longer a shady mercenary force; it's a company!

"I've already chosen your first business deal."

"where?"

"Angola."

When Slava mentioned Angola, the ease on his face vanished instantly, leaving only a flushed red.

"Damn it, the Angolan government forces are a bunch of useless bastards! What did we give them? We gave them the best weapons and the most advanced equipment from the Soviet Union! Tanks, artillery, air defense systems—whatever they wanted! And what was the result?"

"As a result, the Angolan army, which was equipped with our elite weapons, was defeated and routed by a few thousand South Africans some time ago!"

Go and see the report from our military advisors at the front—Sukabril! It's filled with despair for this army!

The soldiers were cowardly, the officers incompetent, and despite having world-class equipment, they couldn't defeat an enemy force of a few thousand! I now understand the helplessness the United States felt when it supported Chiang Kai-shek in the Chinese Civil War.

Slava was truly furious. He had been meticulously saving every ruble domestically for the sake of reforms, while Angola was a bottomless pit.

Heavy weapons were shipped there every day, yet the army still suffered crushing defeats. Every ruble thrown into Angola meant one less ruble, one less television set, and one less piece of clothing in the country.

And all those rubles produced was such a bunch of good-for-nothings, how could he not be furious?

"So Prigozin, I want you to go to Angola and give me a surprise."

Slava took a deep breath: "I want you to show those cowards what a truly capable team is! What tens of thousands of Angolan soldiers with my best equipment can't do, I want you to lead a few thousand men to do for them. I want the South Africans to know that a force they can't afford to mess with has come to Angolan territory."

Prigozin smiled and saluted Slava: "Comrade General Secretary, I can absolutely afford to give you this surprise!"

He was already making plans in his mind.

In a battlefield like Angola, his troops' combat capabilities would be more than sufficient. The Americans had already withdrawn a large amount of military aid to South Africa, and the international community, including Europe, was imposing comprehensive sanctions on South Africa. He didn't need to confront the Americans; he only needed to deploy his elite forces at key junctures—protecting diamond mines, securing oil-producing supply lines, and conducting precision strikes against anti-government armed groups in the south.

With the few people he has, he has more than enough ability to do these things.

"If you do a great job in Angola, I'll allow you to expand your business. Mozambique, the Horn of Africa... those places can all be Griffin's battlefields!"

But Prigozin was, after all, a man who had lived on the edge of a knife for so many years, and after his ecstasy, he still had a concern.

He hesitated for a moment: "Comrade General Secretary, the military and the conservatives within the Party may be dissatisfied with this matter."

Slava looked at him, gesturing for him to continue.

“I’ve also heard some comments in Afghanistan, where conservatives say that what you’re doing goes against the alliance’s ideology.”

They'll say that most of the regimes we've supported in Africa are warlords, not socialist parties. Warlords lack a mass base; you put them in power today, and they could be overthrown tomorrow, making our investments a waste.

They would argue that the Soviet Union should have supported Marxist-Leninist parties with a strong grassroots base in Africa, not a group of warlords driven by money and power.

Prigozin looked at Slava: "They might use these words to attack you."

Slava wasn't angry; he nodded.

“You’re right, but Prigozin, let me tell you a fact—most of our so-called ‘socialist allies’ in Africa don’t believe in Marx at all.”

Prigozin blinked.

Do you really think that the regimes in Angola, Mozambique, and Ethiopia actually read "Das Kapital" and truly believed in communism before embarking on the socialist path?

Their adoption of so-called 'Marxism-Leninism' was never out of faith.

First, their national liberation movement required weapons, money, and diplomatic support to fight against the colonizers. Only two countries could provide these things—the West and us.

But those Western countries—Britain, France, Portugal—were colonizers themselves. Who could they turn to? They could only turn to us! And one of the conditions we gave them weapons was that they had to declare themselves a Marxist-Leninist party. So they wrote 'Marxism-Leninism' into their party constitution, but this was more of a ticket to our arsenal than a genuine belief.”

"Secondly, the social structures of those African countries don't align with our approach. We're talking about the bourgeoisie and proletariat in an industrial society. But those African countries don't have any decent industry or industrial workers. Their societies are tribal, and some haven't even evolved from slave societies!"

The Angolan civil war was ostensibly a struggle over ideologies, but in reality, it was a blood feud between ethnic groups—which tribe supported which faction was determined by bloodline, not by class.

Therefore, strictly speaking, Maoism in China is the ideology more suitable for them, which is one of the reasons why China and we are on par in the competition for influence in the Third World.

"Third, what really attracted those African strongmen to the Soviet model was not public ownership or planned economy at all."

Slava sarcastically remarked, "What they want is a one-party system, the kind where one party has the final say."

In a new country rife with tribes and constantly on the verge of division and civil war, a multi-party system would be their death sentence. Lenin's vanguard party theory provided them with a ready-made, seemingly legitimate justification—I'm not running a dictatorship, I'm running a proletarian dictatorship!

I don't allow opposition parties, not to suppress democracy, but to prevent counter-revolution!

This system is incredibly effective for newly elected African strongmen who want to consolidate power, so you see a particularly ironic phenomenon: a bunch of so-called 'Marxist-Leninist' regimes in Africa have developed personality cults and family rule—precisely the very things Marx himself would have vehemently condemned.

This problem is not unique to Africa, but both of them tacitly avoided mentioning it.

"Finally, we know the true nature of these allies perfectly well. Our foreign ministry, KGB, and internal reports have long since thoroughly criticized these regimes—corrupt, incompetent, lacking popular support... yet we still support them."

Why? Because in the game of the Cold War, the principle that "he may be a bastard, but he's our bastard" trumped everything else.

We don't care whether Mengistu believes in Marx or not; we only care whether he allows our navy to use Red Sea ports and whether he votes for us in the United Nations.

This is the national interest, Prigozin. We must admit that we can never go back to the era of the International Brigades. The era when people would risk their lives, traversing thousands of kilometers to Spain to help their proletarian brothers, asking for nothing in return, is over.

Slava pursed her lips, glanced at the portrait of her mentor on the wall, and lowered her head.

"So... what do you plan to do about ideology?" Prigozin asked. "We can't just completely ignore it, can we?"

Slava pondered for a moment: "I will seriously consider the ideological aspect. I will support genuine Marxist-Leninist parties as much as possible, while ensuring the national interests of the Soviet Union."

Slava explained, “In any case, the interests of the Soviet Union come first. Naval ports, minerals, strategic locations, UN votes... these are what I need to secure first.”

Having ensured these things, if a political party with genuine popular support and a true belief in Marxism-Leninism happens to align with our interests, then I will naturally prioritize supporting it—because such an ally is not easily overthrown.

He looked at Prigozin: "These are extraordinary times. If the United States collapses, NATO dissolves, and communism triumphs, then I will definitely choose to bring true Marxism-Leninism to this land full of suffering."

But reality...we always have to make some compromises.

Slava's words reassured Prigozin considerably.

After another half hour of detailed discussion, the matter was settled.

Prigozin stood up, his back ramrod straight like someone about to head to their own battlefield.

"Comrade General Secretary, I will not let you down."

Slava walked around the desk to Prigozin and said, "Prigozin, I remember your dream of becoming a chef."

"If you handle things well in Africa, the Kremlin will welcome you when you're ready to retire. I'd love to see your cooking."

He patted Prigozin on the shoulder.

"But that's for later. Africa needs you now."

Prigozin knew that the General Secretary's words were both a promise and a maneuver—they gave him a way out, allowing him to dedicate himself to his cause without any worries; at the same time, they put this way out in Slava's own hands.

If he does a good job, he'll have a way out; if he has ulterior motives, then that way out will be gone.

To maintain his status as a local tyrant in Africa, he inevitably had to rely on his inner circle of several thousand Russians and officers. How many of these people were KGB agents? He knew without even thinking.

The KGB can crash his plane whenever Moscow wants!