Chapter 233: The Good Times

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The attendant ran as if a demon were chasing him. He kept running, forgetting that there were communication tools like the telephone, forgetting that there were things like cars for transportation.

He burst into Yezhov’s house and, in front of a dozen guards who were pointing their guns at him, stared in horror at Yezhov and shouted, “Khrushchev has betrayed you. Stalin wants to get rid of you.”

Originally, Yezhov had been in a very good mood. Early this morning, his subordinates had already found the person who had spoken ill of him in front of Stalin, and they had found all sorts of leverage on that person—some of it fabricated, some of it real.

Originally, he could have ruthlessly exposed these people at the afternoon meeting and had Stalin execute these little lackeys who opposed him. So he had just had a sumptuous breakfast with a few of his confidants, thinking about how they would collectively deal with the enemies around Stalin. No one knew what would happen next.

It wasn’t until this attendant, whom Yezhov had placed by Stalin’s side, rushed in and shouted the words that nearly scared Yezhov to death. Everyone was stunned. They didn’t know what had happened. They just felt as if the sky was about to fall.

“What… what did you say? Are you insane?” Cold sweat had already begun to break out on the tip of Yezhov’s nose, but he still forced himself to ask with a calm demeanor.

“Stalin has listened to Khrushchev and Voroshilov. He wants to kill you!” the attendant said loudly.

Yezhov had risen to his current position by relying on Stalin. Stalin’s trust and support were all the capital he had. Because the things he did could not see the light of day, the only person he could rely on was Stalin. He was like a eunuch in ancient China: if he was a good slave who could get things done, then he could have wealth and glory; but if he had the slightest improper thought, he would be killed by his master.

Wasn’t Liu Jin considered to have power over the entire court? Wasn’t he considered to be second to only one man and above ten thousand? But when the emperor could no longer protect him, or rather, no longer wanted to protect him, he could only offer his neck to be executed, without even the strength to struggle. This situation was a true reflection of Yezhov’s current state. He really had no ability of his own to resist Stalin’s thunderous blow.

He had killed many people for Stalin, but in doing so, he had also offended many. The army could be said to hate him to the bone, and the party avoided him as if he were a ghost. Only now did he understand his own situation. What he lacked was his own power, his own unshakeable foundation.

He understood now, but was there still time?

“No! I cannot let our leader, Comrade Stalin, be misled by traitors like Khrushchev! I am the most loyal communist warrior!” Yezhov suddenly shrieked. “I want to see Comrade Stalin! I want to see Comrade Stalin!”

He was still relatively calm. He knew that at this time, there was no other way to go. The most important thing was to persuade Stalin to spare him. If he was lucky enough to survive this time, only then could he build his own power, stabilize his foundation, and then fight again with Khrushchev and the others. After all, the most important thing in a person’s life is to be alive.

But how to get to the Kremlin? His subordinates had different opinions. Some were in favor of just going over with a small retinue and demanding an audience with Comrade Stalin. But others did not see it that way. They believed this was a sheep entering a tiger’s den, a path to self-destruction.

“Do you remember how we caught Kodesky? He went to see Stalin to report our crimes but didn’t bring any guards. We caught him at the main gate of the Kremlin. He shouted until his throat was raw, but in the end, we still stuffed him into a car and buried him…” a subordinate who held a different opinion said, not in favor of going to the Kremlin with a small retinue to see Stalin. “This time, there’s no guarantee that Khrushchev won’t do the same thing to us.”

“But… but if I take men to the Kremlin, will it make Comrade Stalin think we intend to launch a coup…” Yezhov asked indecisively. As soon as he asked this, his subordinates also began to hesitate. If they were to be branded as rebels, then it would be like mud falling into your trousers—even if it’s not shit, it’s still shit. Of course, you could also understand it as: even if you’re not dead, you’re still dead.

On the other hand, just as Yezhov was agonizing over how to get to the Kremlin, an enraged Stalin finally erupted in boundless fury over one matter. One of his attendants was missing. That is to say, the attendant who had brought him bread and milk this very morning was actually an undercover agent.

No matter what the purpose of this person’s infiltration was, an undercover agent was still an undercover agent. This feeling of insecurity made Stalin think of Kirov, of Tukhachevsky, of many, many people. And so Stalin, who had still maintained his composure with Khrushchev, finally exploded.

He exploded without reservation, completely and utterly exploded. Originally, Stalin had had many considerations for getting rid of Yezhov. For example, Yezhov knew too many dark secrets and should be eliminated to prevent future trouble. For example, Yezhov had greatly disappointed Stalin on the Polish issue, and a scapegoat was needed for the Polish problem. And for another example, the army had always been resistant to the Great Purge, and killing one person could stabilize the army’s morale.

But even though he was going to get rid of Yezhov, Stalin had not been angry. He had simply chosen a pawn to discard and then erase. But now he was truly furious. There was actually a nail planted by Yezhov by his side, a person who could hand him food at any time, but was an undercover agent who took orders from another person. This was something Stalin could not tolerate.

“Khrushchev! I order you! And Marshal Voroshilov! You two, immediately assemble troops and go arrest Yezhov for me! Don’t bring him to see me, just shoot him on the spot! The reason is attempting to assassinate the national leader and conspiring to disrupt the Great Purge! Go now! Now!” Stalin’s roar could be heard throughout the great hall, echoing on the high dome and refusing to dissipate.

Khrushchev and Voroshilov were, of course, very happy to carry out such an order. They immediately began to contact all the subordinates they could find. Stalin personally mobilized the garrison troops inside the Kremlin and gave Khrushchev a full 120 elite soldiers, who marched out of the Kremlin armed to the teeth.

Most of these troops had been trained using the Wolf Rider training method and could be said to be the most terrifying force in the Soviet army. Now they were assembled to arrest the infamous figure of the Great Purge, who was hated to the bone by half of Moscow: Yezhov.

And on the other side, Yezhov had finally made up his mind. Adhering to the first principle of saving his own skin, he set out for the Kremlin with his guards and subordinates to request an audience with Stalin. Because there were quite a few of them—his guards, plus some of his subordinates and their guards, had scraped together fifty or sixty men—they set off for their destination in their cars.

The two groups of men thus ran into each other on the street.

“Get out of the way! This is Comrade Yezhov’s motorcade! Do you want to rebel?” the lead car of Yezhov’s confidants was stopped by Khrushchev’s troops. A man inside, not knowing he was about to die, shouted, “We are going to see our leader, Comrade Stalin! Get out of the way.”

“Crack!” The reply was a single gunshot. The bullet passed through the glass and went straight through the car’s driver. Subsequently, the gunfire became dense. Many people opened fire frantically, and the streets of Moscow thus became a battlefield for urban warfare.

“Khrushchev, you bastard! You betrayed me!” Yezhov roared in a rage, hiding in an alley on the side of the street. The attendant who had run from the Kremlin to warn him lay not far away, his body riddled with holes.

The sound of gunfire gradually subsided. It was clear the other side had probably ordered a ceasefire. A moment later, Khrushchev’s voice was heard. “Yezhov, your crimes of framing Tukhachevsky and expanding the Great Purge have been discovered by the great leader, Comrade Stalin! He also knows you intended to assassinate him! You’d better surrender quickly, or all your men will die here!”

“You’re lying! I didn’t…” Yezhov sensed that things were not looking good and quickly tried to deny it, but his following words were drowned out by the sound of gunfire again.

“My God! Don’t shoot! We surrender! We were deceived by Yezhov! We’re innocent…” a crying voice shouted, but was cut off by a gunshot. In fact, anyone with a little bit of intelligence had long since figured it out. Today, none of Yezhov’s confidants would be able to leave this place. This was their final stage.

Yezhov took out his own pistol, a very exquisite-looking pistol. He suddenly found that his vision was a little blurry. He wiped his face with his hand and realized that he was crying. Now he finally understood what it was like for a new recruit to go to the battlefield. Now he finally knew that those soldiers who lay on the ground, afraid to advance, were truly understandable.

But it was too late to say anything. He would now never have the chance to get close to that luxurious Kremlin by Red Square again, nor would he be able to climb to the pinnacle of Soviet power again. He felt as if he were a clown who had had a beautiful dream of being an emperor and had then woken up.

He looked up and saw a comrade not far in front of him fall to the ground, shot through the head. Death was so close to him for the first time. Suddenly, he felt his body begin to tremble. Then his entire body, no longer under his control, fell to one side.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the person who had fired the shot. It was once his most trusted confidant.

Darkness fell. Yezhov thought of many things. For example, he remembered a very famous slogan he had once shouted: “It is better to wrongly kill ten than to let one escape.” Was he one of the wrongly killed? Or one of the ones who should not have been let go? So tired, so very tired…

When Khrushchev saw Yezhov again, he was curled up in a corner, cold. Voroshilov was silent, and Khrushchev did not speak either. Perhaps someone remembered their time together in Poland, remembered those good old days when their word was law.