Chapter 219: Vacation

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In a dim room, Khrushchev was in a very bad mood. He hated this business of selling out his own comrades, but he had no choice but to make these despicable deals, one after another.

This feeling of going against his beliefs and ideals was very unpleasant. He swore that this would be the last time he would trade the interests of the state for his own survival space. Just as he was mulling over these problems and unable to collect his thoughts, a knock came at his door.

“Who is it?” Khrushchev asked softly with his eyes closed.

“Excuse me, Comrade Khrushchev. It’s Voroshilov,” the person outside the door replied softly.

Khrushchev stood up, walked over with his hands behind his back, and opened the door. “Comrade Marshal Voroshilov, welcome. Please, come in. A glass of vodka? The liquor I have here is not bad.”

“I have come here to discuss a matter with you,” Voroshilov said, placing a report on Khrushchev’s desk. “To be honest, as a Marshal of the Soviet Union, I have actually fallen behind the times. Modern warfare has exhausted me, Comrade Khrushchev. I am not very proficient in the supply of modern warfare, nor do I understand the tactics of the front line.”

It seems this Soviet marshal has something to say this time, Khrushchev thought to himself, but he didn’t say much. He filled the glass in his hand with vodka and handed it to Voroshilov, who was still talking to himself.

“Thank you,” Voroshilov said, taking the glass and taking a sip. “I can see that you are different from Yezhov, so I had to come and talk to you about this matter. I am old. The era of simply leading troops into battle is gone forever. Now, no matter what we do, we often have to consider many aspects. To be frank, I am not good at these things.”

He took another sip of wine, then sighed and continued, “To be honest, I have done many things that I know are wrong, but I think the people will eventually forgive me, because I just want to survive.”

“You are too modest, Comrade Marshal Voroshilov. Both Comrade Stalin and I understand that you are a highly respected veteran general, a treasure of our Soviet people,” Khrushchev said, also taking a sip of vodka, and then offered a word of comfort.

“This report was given to me by the commander of this operation, Comrade Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov. You can take a look. In it, I see the shadow of an old acquaintance of mine,” Voroshilov said, pushing the file in his hand toward Khrushchev. He then continued, “We all know that the matter of Marshal Tukhachevsky was a loss for our Soviet Union—I have no intention of bringing up old scores. A loss is a loss. But now we have found a candidate who can replace him in the future. I would like to ask for your help in keeping this hope within our army.”

“You mean to say you want me to step in and protect this general?” Khrushchev asked, looking at Voroshilov with great confusion. He then picked up the file and read it carefully. The document was not long, but it recorded the recent battle situation in great detail. In the file, he highly praised the bravery of the Ukrainian troops and explained the advantages gained by the concentrated use of armored forces in the course of the battle.

“We are now very short of real military talent. You should be aware of this. If we are to ensure that no rebellion occurs in the army, then simply maintaining the current situation of commissars leading the troops is enough. But if we want to win future wars, we should at least keep some people who can really fight,” Voroshilov said. “He is one of the few talents I have seen in all my time at the front.”

Khrushchev nodded and closed the file. He then glanced at Voroshilov. “I also feel that we have done too much to sell out our motherland in order to gain power. At least this time, I am very gratified that I can do something for my motherland.”

Gratified? Perhaps not. At this moment, Khrushchev’s mind was filled with thoughts of how to bring this useful talent, Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov, under his own command. If I protect this talented general named Zhukov, then I will definitely have a say in the military in the future, right?

“Is this person willing to make his own contribution to the motherland?” Khrushchev asked after a while, as if chatting.

“In fact, this person’s background is very clean. His father was a shoemaker, and his mother worked on a farm. His class background is very good,” Voroshilov said. After all, he was an old marshal who had survived the Great Purge. He was very clear about what the people in power wanted. “This person never forms cliques, and he is a grateful young man.”

This was said quite artfully. “Never forms cliques” meant he had no interest group. “Humble origins” meant he had no backer. And the phrase “grateful” was precisely the adjective that moved Khrushchev’s heart.

“Since he is a talent, then I believe our great motherland will not bury such a useful person,” Khrushchev said after a moment’s thought. “I will write a report to Comrade Stalin, giving a certain affirmation to this battle. I believe the motherland will also give this commander the most just disposition. Please rest assured.”

Voroshilov let out a long breath. It seemed that this Zhukov was saved. With a confidant of Stalin like Khrushchev as his guarantor, this young general would naturally not have to serve a sentence in a Siberian concentration camp. But after all, he had caused the Soviet army to suffer a loss in the Battle of the Riverbank, so it was certain that he would be sidelined for a few years.

“I will recommend him to the Far East. The Japanese have been restless recently, but compared to the powerful German army, the Japanese army is still relatively easy to deal with,” Khrushchev said with a smile. “He just needs a chance to prove himself, and I will arrange it for him! The commander of the 1st Army Group of the Mongolian Front has just been judged by the people. I think they will need a wise commander.”

This was a demotion in name but a promotion in reality. At this moment, Voroshilov looked at Khrushchev with new eyes. This person was even smarter than he had imagined. Once he decided to do something, he did it right.

Voroshilov nodded in agreement. “I think he will be very grateful for your cultivation. Tomorrow morning, I will have him come to see you. He must have a lot on his mind that he wants to discuss with Comrade Khrushchev.”

“People like us who do political work can only rely on our words to help people solve their problems,” Khrushchev said with a smile, then agreed to the meeting. “His willingness to come to me to express his thoughts shows that my work is still being done well. This is a kind of affirmation, and I am very happy.”

Facts proved that even in the most inefficient of times, gold will still shine. After expressing his gratitude and loyalty to Khrushchev, Zhukov was transformed into an army group commander. And all the troops he had originally commanded were sent directly as prisoners to German-occupied Poland to supplement the insufficient number of Polish prisoners.

But history seemed to have played another not-so-small joke on our Führer, Akado. It was only a month later that Akado learned of this matter. He greatly regretted that the opportunity to get rid of Zhukov in advance had slipped away due to his carelessness.

At the same time, at the garrison of the German 3rd SS Panzer Division, in an old former Polish army barracks. Rein was lying on his bunk, reading his thick Russian textbook. The battles of the past few days had been exchanged for the tranquility of the present. The officers were even allowed to go in batches to the nearby towns for the weekend. For the German army on the Eastern Front, which had been on Level One alert, this could simply be described with the word “happiness.”

“Hey, Rein!” Marcus called out to his friend on the bunk, leaning against the doorway. “You’re really something. Yesterday, you destroyed one more tank than I did. And you even captured a KV-1 tank. That’s a Soviet secret weapon.”

“That tank just broke down on its own. It had nothing to do with me,” Rein said, closing his book and sitting up. “Didn’t you go to apply for leave? What was the result from the battalion?”

“The bad news is that the leave was not approved,” Marcus said, suppressing a smile.

“I can tell from your face. At least there’s a medal,” Rein sighed helplessly.

“That’s right! There is indeed a medal!” Marcus said, laughing out loud. “The higher-ups said that your combat record has been set as an example and reported to the Wehrmacht High Command. Our direct superior, General Reinhard Heydrich, also seems to be very pleased that we have given him face. So both sides have worked together and reported our combat records to the Führer.”

“The higher-ups have decided to give us a long vacation. We can take a special train with our baby tanks back to Germany to participate in the victory parade in November,” Marcus said proudly.

“Berlin?” Rein was taken aback.

“That’s right! Berlin!” Marcus laughed heartily.

“Can we all go back together?” the loader, Bruce, asked excitedly from the side.

“Of course! The entire crew is being commended! Everyone will go back! And there will be many photographers. I hear we might even make the front page of the newspapers!” Marcus said very proudly.

“Haha! The newspapers! The front page!” This news clearly made every soldier overjoyed.

“You still don’t know what this means! We’ll get a bonus! a huge bonus! A long vacation! Lots of uninhibited Berlin girls! Champagne! Flowers!” Marcus described with exaggeration.

The gunner, Andre, knew that everything he said would happen, because they were heroes, heroes that were being wildly praised from all sides. But he was also very happy. No one would refuse money and women, at least he wouldn’t.

“And real chocolate!” Rein stood up. “I can buy more, enough to last for a while at least.”

“Long live the vacation!” Marcus shouted with a smile.

“Long live the vacation! Berlin, here we come,” Rein also laughed out loud.