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

"The comrades in Leningrad's industrial sector have heard about Comrade Ivanov's work in agricultural informatization and are very interested. They would like to invite you to share your work experience."

It seems that the previous conversation between Slava and Ryzhkov led many in the party to view Slava as a pragmatist.

Slava, of course, did not accept the invitation, because Gorbachev was no fool. He had his secretary reply that "his work schedule is quite full recently, but he will definitely go to study when time permits."

After hearing the invitation, Director Nian said:

"Actually, you've already fallen for Romanov's trick. He's trying to sow discord between Gorbachev and others."

"what?"

"He doesn't need you to actually go to Leningrad—he just needs to let Gorbachev know that you've had contact with him, that's enough."

Whether you go or not, it's a win-win situation for him. If you go, it means you're considering jumping ship. If you don't go but don't explicitly refuse, it means you're playing both sides.

Either outcome will lower Gorbachev's trust in you, which could be decisive at a crucial moment.

Slava shrugged: "Actually, if we weren't political enemies, Romanov and I would probably be very good friends."

“This is not something that Gobi Map should be concerned with,” Director Nian said.

“We should tell Gorbachev about this. We need to take the initiative and make Gorbachev pay the price, instead of him coming to you to demand an explanation.”

In the power games of the Kremlin, those who confess voluntarily are a million times better off than those who are denounced!

If you don't speak up, sooner or later someone will tell Gorbachev about this, and then he'll think you're flirting with Romanov behind his back.

If you take the initiative to speak up, he'll actually perceive you as honest—and he'll realize that Romanov is sowing discord among the reformists, which will make him more vigilant, and your value will increase.

Director Nian patted Slava on the shoulder: "Don't underestimate yourself, you've already made a name for yourself, my dear 'Great Glory' comrade."

I named you that because I knew you were destined for great things.

P.S.: Do you guys remember the meaning of Velikoslav in the protagonist's name?

That afternoon, Slava contacted Gorbachev and relayed Romanov's invitation.

Gorbachev's expression remained unchanged after hearing this:

"Thank you for telling me. Romanov has also been looking for Ryzhkov recently—industrial informatization is his forte, and I expected him to use that as a stepping stone."

As for your work with Ryzhkov, continue as usual. Don't try to avoid suspicion just because of Romanov's actions; that would only make you seem guilty.

He spoke in a softer tone, perhaps because Slava's 'frankness' relieved him, or perhaps because Romanov's poaching reminded him that at this stage, maintaining a cooperative relationship with Slava was far more important than arguing about the reform path.

In short, whatever the reason, the thin layer of ice between the two, formed by the argument on December 24, has melted considerably.

--------

In the last week of January, news from Washington put everyone following the situation in the Kremlin on edge—

The U.S. State Department has announced the list of U.S. delegations to the upcoming "Nuclear and Space Weapons Talks," which will begin on March 12.

Senator John Toll is in charge of strategic nuclear weapons, Ambassador Gritman is in charge of intermediate-range nuclear weapons, and Ambassador Kempelman is in charge of space weapons.

The simultaneous development of three issues was unprecedented in the scale and complexity of US-Soviet arms control negotiations.

"We are ready to negotiate with the Soviet side seriously, creatively, and continuously," Schulz said at the press conference announcing the list.

Clearly, the US side seems to genuinely intend to talk, but Chernenko is about to meet his mentor openly and honestly, so who will talk to him?

The Geneva Conventions are a legacy of the Andropov era and were completed under the leadership of Slava.

But the scale and complexity of this new round of negotiations far exceed that of the Geneva Conventions—it involves three areas simultaneously: strategic weapons, intermediate-range weapons, and space armaments, requiring a chief negotiator capable of overseeing the entire process.

There were few people with the qualifications and abilities in the current Soviet diplomatic system, and behind each possible candidate stood different factions.

Go Map definitely won't let Slava go to increase reputation, so who should he let go?

Reformers want someone willing to make substantial concessions, conservatives want someone who is uncompromising on every issue, and the military wants someone who understands the technical details.

This is yet another game of strategy.

January has passed, and nothing has been decided, but all the pieces are in their respective positions preparing for the upcoming final game.

The first month of 1985 came to an end.

Over the next two months, what is about to happen will change the course of the alliance and the entire world—no matter how hard Slava tries, there are some things that will happen that he cannot stop.

All he could do was make sure he was in the right place when those things happened, and then give them a good push.

Gorbachev will only harm the Union; only he can lead the Soviets to fulfill the mentor's ideals!

Chapter 47: The Alliance has only one chance to revive; if you don't seize it, then let me do it. (7.5K)

February 24, 1985, Moscow, polling station in the Kuybyshev constituency.

The television cameras had been set up in the polling station lobby for more than two hours, with cameramen carrying long lenses and adjusting the angles and lighting.

As the propaganda machine of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, they had to ensure that every scene presented in the evening news conveyed the message that "the General Secretary was present at the voting site, socialist democracy was thriving, and the Soviet Union was flourishing."

But in a corner out of the camera's view, three medical staff in white coats were crouching behind a trolley blocked by a wheelchair, on which were an oxygen cylinder and a set of emergency cardiopulmonary resuscitation equipment.

Moscow Mayor Grishin personally accompanied Chernenko to the polling station.

As soon as the two entered the hall, the pre-arranged "voters" applauded, and everyone glanced at the General Secretary in the wheelchair out of the corner of their eye, pondering the future of the alliance.

Chernenko wore a dark gray overcoat, but the coat could not conceal the true condition of his body at all—

At seventy-three, he was so thin it looked as if most of his flesh and bone had been removed, leaving only a flabby skin hanging on his skeleton. His face was ashen, clearly indicating long-term oxygen deprivation—emphysema was still ravaging his body.

Chernenko had to stop and catch his breath after every step, his lips turning purple in the cold air, clearly indicating that it wasn't just a heart problem, but rather a problem with his whole body.

You know you won't outlive me.

Moscow Mayor Grishin kept his hand on Chernenko's right arm the entire time, while another unnamed aide supported him on his left.

But in the photos published in major Soviet newspapers the next day, the assistant was cropped out, leaving only Grishin standing next to the General Secretary, as if Chernenko had gotten the position through his own efforts.

Soviet photo editing technology remained faithful to political needs until the very last moment.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The walk to the ballot box was only about twenty meters, but it took Chernenko almost three minutes.

He might be thinking about something, or he might not be thinking about anything at all; he was just focused on keeping his legs from getting out of control in front of the camera.

But if he were to think about it, he would probably think that he has spent his entire life voting.

Konstantin Ustinovich Chernenko was born in 1911 in a remote village called Velikiyts in the Krasnoyarsk Krai of Siberia.

All the previous general secretaries of the alliance came from humble backgrounds.

His father was a miner who migrated from Ukraine, and his mother died of typhoid fever when he was very young.

In the same year that he lost his mother, the Russian October Revolution broke out, and under Lenin's leadership, the Communist Party established the world's first Soviet regime.

He joined the Communist Youth League at the age of seventeen and the Communist Party at nineteen—that was in 1929, just as Stalin’s first Five-Year Plan had begun and the collectivization movement was rolling over the Russian countryside like a giant harvester. The young Constantine found his place as a small cog in this machine and never left.

He served as a border guard, a grassroots propagandist, and the propaganda and mobilization minister of the district committee, responsible for mobilizing the masses.

Chernenko held this position for nearly twenty years, moving from Siberia to Moldova and then from Moldova to Moscow. Each promotion was due to him following the right person.

That person was Brezhnev.

In 1950, when Brezhnev went to Moldova to serve as First Secretary, he discovered Chernenko among the local cadres—a taciturn but extremely reliable propaganda worker.

This young man is first-rate at organizing documents, first-rate at keeping secrets, and first-rate at being loyal to his superiors!

Brezhnev needed exactly that kind of person.

So, starting in Moldova, he followed Brezhnev all the way up:

1956年到莫斯科，1964年勃列日涅夫当了总书记他当了总书记办公室的大管家，1965年当上了中央总务部部长，1976年成了中央书记、1977年成了政治局候补委员、1978年成了政治局正式委员。

Brezhnev had brought each step to place under his feet. Without Brezhnev, Chernenko would probably have spent his life as the propaganda minister in some district committee in Siberia, and then died quietly in the winter after his retirement, without even his obituary appearing in the state newspaper.

But Brezhnev took a liking to him.

Shun rose from the fields, Fu Yue was raised from among the builders, Jiao Ge was raised from among the fish and salt merchants, Guan Zhong was raised from among the scholars, Sun Shu'ao was raised from the sea, and Baili Xi was raised from the marketplace.

Chernenko remained loyal to his former leader who had discovered him from humble beginnings, and many people gave him a nickname:

Brezhnev's shadow.

He doesn't mind the title. Or rather, he has internalized it as part of his identity.

He knew he was neither a visionary leader, nor a reformer with the courage to act, nor a charismatic political star.

He is a cog in an administrative system, a lubricant in a power machine, and the right person in the right place at the right time.

In 1982, when Brezhnev went to see his mentor with trembling steps, Chernenko thought he had finally received his reward.

Thirty-two years of loyalty should be enough to earn you a General Secretary's chair, right?

But Andropov beat him to it. The gloomy Hungarian expert who had spent fifteen years in the KGB—yes, that's what some people call Andropov in private because his time as ambassador to Hungary wasn't considered honorable in certain circles—used his connections and leverage built up within the intelligence system to defeat Chernenko in the Politburo vote.

"...There can be a lot of facts about this, as you have mentioned."

That's all picking bones out of an egg, nitpicking and saying things like "shadow," "chief steward," and "I'm only fit to organize files and keep secrets"—I only found out about these things because you said them today.

You are trying to vilify me, vilify Comrade Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev, and vilify the advanced socialism that our generation has built with our life's work!

I was Comrade Brezhnev's most trusted comrade-in-arms for thirty-two years! We knew each other for more than just that; we shared hardships together!

From Moldova to Moscow, from the district committee to the Kremlin, I was the only one who followed Comrade Brezhnev every step of the way. Where have you been, Andropov? Are you rummaging through people's files in Lubyanka's basement?

That night, Chernenko pondered for a long time...

Then Andropov left too, and this time it was his turn.

Seventy-two years old, suffering from emphysema, heart failure, and nearly dying from a smoked fish. That's the state in which he sat in that chair, and everyone knew he wouldn't stay there for long, including himself.

But he still sat down and began to reorganize the legacy Brezhnev had left him. He had waited thirty-two years, during which Andropov had snatched it away once, and now it was finally his turn.

He didn't have a clear plan for what he wanted to do; he probably just wanted to maintain the status quo, keep everyone's lives as usual, and reassure the veteran cadres who had been terrified by Andropov.

That's it.

He was not a visionary, but he was a person who valued stability. In a system where stability was the norm, stability itself was a policy.

Now, the period of stability is almost over.

...

Chernenko stood in front of the ballot box.

Grishin's hand was still on his right arm, and the camera was recording from three meters away. The "voters" who were arranged to act as background figures in the polling station kept just the right amount of quiet.

He held the ballot in his hand, with his own name on it:

Konstantin Ustinovich Chernenko, General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and candidate for the Supreme Soviet of the Russian Federation.

He was going to put the ticket with his name on it into that box.

This was the last vote he would ever cast in his life.

He looked up at the statue of his mentor hanging on the wall of the polling station.

Like all public buildings in the Soviet Union, Lenin's portrait hangs in the most prominent position, his gaze fixed firmly on the distance, on the future that was briefly reached.

He had seen that gaze his entire life. From the district committee meeting room in Siberia to the party school classroom in Moldova, and then to the Sverdlov Hall in the Kremlin, every place he had worked had a portrait of his mentor, and in every portrait, his mentor was looking into the distance.

What was Lenin looking at? Was he looking at the future of communism? Where is that future?

He thought of Andropov—the man he had fought with his whole life.

He disliked Andropov, never had. Andropov was too clever, too hasty, and too disregarded rules. Yet, in his eulogy at Andropov's funeral, he said the same thing:

"Comrade Andropov did what he believed was right in the limited time he had."

He believes in what is right.

And what about me? What have I done in these thirteen months that I believe was the right thing to do?

His hand hovered above the opening of the ballot box for about two seconds.

The camera captured this moment, but the editors later cut those two seconds out because it looked like hesitation.

The General Secretary of the Alliance should not hesitate.

Will the league get better in the future? He didn't have an answer to that question.

He put the ballot in.

The sound of the paper sliding into the ballot box was exceptionally clear in the quiet hall, like an autumn leaf falling on a layer of snow.

Grisham gave a theatrical smile to the camera beside him.