I Became Stalin?! - Chapter 186:

Chapter 186

“It’s over…”

The nuclear bomb that fell on the Japanese archipelago had crushed Japan’s war capability and potential.

What have I done?

The statistics that came up calmly were so calm that they were more shocking.

Hundreds of thousands in Tokyo.

In Osaka, Yokohama, and Kobe, another hundreds of thousands.

“One death is a tragedy, but millions of deaths are a statistic.”

Stalin inside me sneered. Look at that. Isn’t it easy when you do it?

Or maybe I didn’t even believe that I had Stalin inside me. This could have been just my own judgment. Roosevelt requested a “single nuclear bombing” to allow the United States to collect intelligence data, and I made the decision with the excuse of securing lend-lease and future aid.

Is there anyone who can forgive me? What would my mother say?

I suddenly remembered my mother’s wrinkled and knotted hands. When I was a child, I used to hang out with rascals and come home with injuries. My mother would say, “Soso, you shouldn’t do that if you want to be a bride,” and hit my back…

“?!?!”

I felt a chill down my spine and kicked the chair and jumped up.

My heart started to pound. Why did I think of my mother’s face… Was it Stalin’s mother’s face?

Why did I remember so vividly the childhood memories that I had never experienced? ‘I’ had never suffered from smallpox, never attended a seminary, and never met Stalin’s mother who died in 1937.

“…”

Was I Stalin, or was Stalin me?

Life is nothing but a play, but I decided to do my best to act out my role and came this far…

What have I become?

I felt like I needed to review my situation from the beginning.

***

“What will happen when this is over?”

I wrote down the current situation one by one on a small piece of paper.

‘The war is over.’

‘The Soviet Union is doing much better than history.’

‘Cold War? Possible? Impossible? I don’t know yet.’

And I erased those contents. No, that wasn’t the important thing.

What will happen when the possession ends? Stalin was an old man in his sixties, as he always felt, and he didn’t have much time left if he followed the actual history.

Stalin dies on March 5, 1953.

There were various theories about his death, but a cerebral hemorrhage was somewhat the established fact, and it was difficult to treat with the medical technology of this era.

Could I go back? If I go back, what era will I wake up in?

“Is it an altered history… or the era I used to live in…”

Would I wake up as if it was just a midday dream and live another day of my life? Or did all my actions make some changes?

Somehow, the scenery of my office that I had become familiar with felt strange. This could also be nothing but a mirage.

“Comrade Secretary? May I come in?”

“…Come in.”

While I was lost in thought, someone knocked on the door of my office and spoke in a familiar voice.

“Yes, Vasilevsky. Do you have anything to report?”

“Yes, Comrade Secretary. Regarding the orders you gave me…”

Vasilevsky came in with a heavy pile of documents in his hands, walking with a trot that didn’t suit his physique.

I had given him a lot of things to do, so he probably had a lot of work to do. I chuckled, a bitter smile.

I didn’t have time to worry about whether it was a dream or reality.

There were many problems in front of me. From sending millions of Soviet people back to their homes and workplaces by reducing the army again, to adjusting the post-war diplomatic relations and training the third world colonists to give imperialism a hard time.

Vasilevsky, who was responsible for leading them as the chief of staff, also looked quite tired.

“Do you like plays?”

“Excuse me??”

Vasilevsky seemed confused by the sudden question. Even though he had improved a lot lately, he was a dictator who had executed people for various reasons until recently. He must have wondered what I meant by that question.

“Uh… I didn’t have much opportunity to see them, but I don’t hate them.”

“What do you think the actor will be responsible for after the play is over?”

“…”

The astute man seemed to grasp what I was saying and started to think about the answer.

“Comrade Secretary, you have performed your duties excellently.”

After a brief silence, Vasilevsky answered. I felt like all the strength in my body was drained.

Dropping the nuclear bomb on Japan was a rational decision for my duty, I could be sure of that.

Roosevelt, who requested it, would also have to bear the same responsibility.

I could have made excuses. Of course, he thought it was just a super powerful new bomb, and I knew what it was, but that was the difference.

But I wanted to hear it from someone else’s mouth.

“I see… Is that so…”

“Yes, Comrade Secretary. No one who came would have led the war better than you did.”

Vasilevsky had been watching my judgment from the closest distance since the beginning of the war. He was the one who realized the orders I gave as the chief of staff.

He didn’t say anything good or bad about this bombing order either.

The Japanese fascists could be manipulated by the capitalists and imperialists as their puppets.

Roosevelt, who didn’t want to give MacArthur the credit, asked to destroy Japan.

This opportunity to show off the power of the Soviet Union would be a threat to the other imperialist countries without nuclear weapons, and the liberation movement of the third world would be more heated.

There were plenty of reasons.

Of course, as a father who had children and a family, it was enough to make me feel guilty for killing tens of thousands of civilians like that…

Being a soldier is such a profession. I entered this path to make a living, but sometimes I wonder about it.

Basil Lepsky’s father was a priest, and his mother was a priest’s daughter.

Growing up in such a devout family, he and some of his brothers who joined the Communist Party cut off contact with their family and lived on their own.

The one who suggested that he should reconnect with his family was Stalin himself. ‘Family is family, isn’t it?’, he said, even though he had abandoned his own family.

Anyway, Basil Lepsky seemed to understand my feelings. Was I doing the right thing? What consequences would my actions bring? I didn’t have enough time to worry about these things, and I had a lot to do.

“…Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Comrade Secretary. I’m always grateful to you.”

He smiled warmly again, and I threw away some of my worries. I would continue to steer this huge country. Along the way, some would die, some would get hurt, and some would resent me.

But what could I do? I was not omnipotent, and I had no power to make everything good for everyone.

And if there was someone omnipotent watching me… he would judge me. Just like I thought when I first entered Stalin’s body, I had to be faithful to this moment.

“Then let’s keep cleaning up Japan.”

Thousands of Soviet troops had entered Japan. They would stop at the relatively free northern Japan, unaffected by the nuclear blast.

***

“My God…”

From the safe north, tens of thousands of refugees were slowly coming up.

The nuclear bombing had turned the city and its surroundings into ruins. As hell descended on earth, the survivors moved north, north, to avoid further destruction.

The Soviet troops were shocked to see the line that stretched from one end of the horizon to the other.

“Hey! Hey! Don’t come here!”

South Japan was supposed to be handed over to the US, and so were the people living there.

It was hard to understand the US’s request to scatter ashes on their land, but they did.

The soldiers would be the ones to suffer if they took in tens of thousands of refugees and caused a diplomatic dispute. But the Japanese didn’t stop.

“Please save us! Please save us!”

“There is only… death there…”

“What?”

When they physically stopped them, the Japanese knelt down and said something in their language.

The confused Soviet troops called for a Japanese interpreter.

“They say the city was destroyed and many people died. They say it was worse than the US air raids…”

“Hmm…”

“They say they will give up their property and do whatever they are told, just please let them leave there.”

“No, just let them pass.”

The Soviet officer shook his head with a troubled expression.

The Japanese refugees who thought they would be sent back cried and banged their heads on the ground, but when the interpreter told them kindly, they shed tears of gratitude.

“Damn it, what are we doing…”

“Huh? There…”

A young soldier pointed at a distance. There was a commotion going on.

“Damn it. Let’s go!”

“Yes!”

There, some of the refugees were bleeding and dying. Two men in ragged Japanese army uniforms drew their swords and shouted at the frightened refugees.

“As the Emperor’s subjects, you should not flee cowardly, let alone resist to the end! You are not worthy of being called citizens! Die!”

“Aaaahhh!”

Without guns, they slashed and stabbed the refugees with their swords and spears.

The refugees, like scared sheep, did not even think of resisting and just died helplessly.

That was the sight of those who had learned fear.

They had always respected the soldiers as ‘the warrior class’, but in a world where even they could not do anything and were destroyed, the refugees were experiencing the collapse of their worldview.

“Kill them! Don’t hurt the civilians!”

“Yes! Shoot!”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots rang out and blood spurted from the chest of a Japanese soldier who was about to strike a young girl with his sword.

He gurgled with bloodshot eyes and looked at where the bullet came from, then vomited blood and fell.

“Are you okay? Are you okay?”

“Aaaahhh!”

The girl, who had been dazed with blood on her, screamed as if she had come to her senses.

Or maybe she was more afraid of the Soviet soldier who looked cruel than the Japanese soldier who tried to kill her with a sword, or the higher-ups who told her to stay in her place even when the bombing was happening.

“No, no! Call the medic quickly! Bring the stuff to treat the people!”

“Got it!”

“Everyone, calm down! We are…”

We are, what? Not enemies? Weren’t we the ones who caused this tragedy in the first place?

He was speechless for a moment.

The interpreter, who had turned pale at the sight of blood, regained his senses and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“We are… here to help you… don’t be afraid!”