Chapter 177 The Battle of Poland (40)

Enduring the fear within, Yezhov drafted a victory report prepared to be sent to Moscow. Of course, he dared not exaggerate too much, merely stating that after intense fighting, they had breached a portion of the Polish defenses. Once the troops were rested, they could proceed with a direct advance.

After elegantly penning this report with compelling content, he gritted his teeth, signed it below, and handed it to Voroshilov.

"Comrade Yezhov, is it really appropriate for us to do this?" Voroshilov received the report with some trembling, feeling as if he held his own death warrant, eager to toss it far away.

No leader would tolerate deception from their subordinates, especially someone like Stalin, an iron-fisted leader. Once their lies were exposed, there might not even be room for discussion.

Yezhov sighed deeply. "Marshal Voroshilov, right now, we're like fleas on the same rope. Do you think I want this? Shouldn't I be in Moscow?" Given his relationship with the leader, as long as he found a small excuse, Stalin wouldn't force him. Yet, here he was, foolishly rushing into this dilemma.

True, Voroshilov thought he made sense. After all, if he didn't come here, staying in Moscow would still make him a prominent figure. However, he chose to come and snatched military authority, showing off his nonexistent military talent, resulting in the current embarrassing situation.

Picking up a pen, tremblingly signing his name, he felt as if he had been drained after signing, almost unable to stand. "The rest, Comrade Yezhov, I leave it to you. I'll go back and rest for a while."

Watching Voroshilov stagger out, Yezhov sighed again, called his confidant, and sent the top-secret stamped report to Moscow. After sending away his confidant, he returned to his room, lying straight on the bed. In his heart, he prayed to every conceivable deity.

As expected, Stalin, upon receiving the report, was overjoyed. In the subsequent meeting, he personally commended the two of them, awarded medals, and even planned to hold symposiums in major military districts to discuss this hard-earned great victory. Moscow's newspapers also widely publicized this challenging triumph.

However, Voroshilov and Yezhov couldn't find much joy. After all, the land captured in that illusory victory was still trodden under Polish feet. They needed to find a way to take it quickly to preserve their lives.

At this moment, an unexpected event occurred.

The Spanish government, which had been engaged in a war of words with the Soviet Union, suddenly published an article in newspapers titled "The Illusory Victory." The title seemed plain, and the opening quoted the victory news from Moscow newspapers. Following this were the firsthand accounts of Spanish war correspondents witnessing the actual battlefield.

According to them, the Soviets seemed to be cooperating with the Polish defenders. When the Poles were afraid and hesitant to retreat, the Soviets blindly attacked, getting pushed back to their homes, giving the Poles the courage to resist. When the Poles were weak and helpless, the Soviets, in their confusion, wasted opportunities, giving the Poles a breathing window. When the Poles were ready to face the battle, the Soviets, disarrayed, cleaned their faces and came forward.

If it weren't for the tense situation in the Polish rear, with their conduct, breaking through the Polish defense line, let alone defeating the whole army, was not impossible.

The article ended with a sarcastic and ironic tone, mercilessly mocking Stalin as the most foolish leader in Russian history, being manipulated by his subordinates and foolishly preparing to award medals.

Although there was no Soviet embassy in Spain, there was still a consulate. The consul was greatly surprised when he saw this newspaper and immediately transmitted the newspaper content back to the domestic foreign affairs department. Upon receiving the report, Foreign Minister Molotov, although finding it unbelievable, didn't dare to delay and hurriedly came to the Kremlin to see Stalin. He was in a rush, carrying his own personal agenda since he didn't have a good relationship with Yezhov, usually finding him disagreeable. Now, if this news were confirmed, Yezhov would be in deep trouble.

Just as he entered the Kremlin, he met Stalin's personal secretary and quickly stopped him. "Comrade Anatoli, where is Comrade Stalin? I have urgent matters to report to him."

Anatoly wore a troubled expression. "Comrade Minister, the great leader is currently having a meal, and you know he dislikes disturbances during such times."

"I know, I know. But this matter is extremely urgent; it can't be delayed!" Molotov anxiously took out the telegram from his bag and handed it to Anatoly. "Take a look at this!"

Anatoly hastily waved his hand. "Comrade Minister, I cannot examine these documents; it's against the rules. Since you say it's urgent, I can inquire, but if the leader refuses to see you, there's nothing I can do."

Molotov nodded hastily. "Please."

The two approached Stalin's office, where Anatoly gestured to wait for a moment. He lightly knocked on the door and entered.

After a while, the door opened again, and Anatoly inside signaled that Molotov could go in.

Molotov nodded in gratitude and briskly entered the office. Anatoly led him to a small dining room connected to the office.

Stalin, chewing on sausage, saw Molotov entering and lifted the fork in his hand, pointing to the opposite chair, indicating him to sit down. Swallowing what was in his mouth, Stalin kindly ordered, "Prepare breakfast for our Comrade Vyacheslav."

"Yes." Anatoly nodded, bowed, and left the small dining room. Molotov, unable to contain his urgency, got straight to the point. "Great Leader, a major issue has arisen!"

"Oh? What is it?" Stalin's mood seemed quite good. He leisurely took a sip of porridge before calmly inquiring.

Molotov respectfully handed the telegram to Stalin. "Please have a look."

"What is this?" Initially, Stalin's expression didn't change much, but as he read through it, his face gradually became serious, and by the end, the muscles on his face twitched unnaturally.

Setting down his fork, Stalin contemplated for a moment before asking, "Comrade Vyacheslav, how do you see this matter?"

"..." Molotov was stumped. He wasn't clairvoyant or omniscient; how could he know the actual situation on the front lines? After hesitating for a moment, he cautiously spoke, "Great Leader, there's an old saying, 'It's better to believe it exists than to believe it doesn't.' Although these Spaniards are detestable, I think they wouldn't make things up out of thin air." The best evidence was the matter of the 560 tons of gold, but that had become a taboo topic in the Kremlin. He wouldn't be foolish enough to mention Stalin's nerves on that matter.

At this moment, Anatoly brought in a breakfast. Stalin instructed him, "Bring Comrade Mikhail here." Mikhail was his chief of the security detail and one of the most trusted individuals.

In no time, a young man around thirty entered. Although not in military uniform, his straight posture and brisk walking indicated his military background, exuding a reliable and trustworthy aura.

The young man saluted Stalin. "Leader, what are your orders?"

"You lead a team, go to the front lines, and check if Yezhov report is accurate. If he lied..."

Stalin lightly tapped his desk with his fingers, pondering something. After a while, he ordered, "Bring both him and Voroshilov here. Go."

"Yes!" The young man saluted again, turned, and left.