The expeditionary force began to dominate Southeast Asia by recruiting defeated soldiers

Chapter 677 The Third Nuclear Explosion? The Iron Marshal's Decision

Inside the Kremlin.

The dark red carpet in the corridor at night swallowed all footsteps.

The wall lamps cast a dim, yellowish glow, illuminating the portraits of the leaders on the wall. Their gazes seemed to pierce through time and space, fixed on the heartland that determined the fate of the nation.

Minister of the Interior Beria, clutching a thin telegram, strode quickly through the corridor.

The light reflected off the glasses on his round face, concealing the deep seriousness in his eyes.

He stopped in front of a heavy oak door, straightened his collar, and then raised his hand to knock.

"Come in." A deep voice with a slight Georgian accent came from inside the door.

The study was not brightly lit, and behind the huge desk, the Iron Marshal was bent over reviewing documents.

He was dressed in a simple marshal's uniform, his hair was already gray, and his face was etched with the lines of time and the weariness of war.

He didn't look up, but just scribbled on the document with a red pencil.

“Joseph Vissarionovich,” Beria’s voice carried its usual, perfectly measured respect, “a top-secret urgent telegram from the Far East.”

The Iron Marshal finally stopped writing, but did not immediately go to receive the telegram.

He raised his eyelids and glanced at Beria; his gaze was cloudy, yet it possessed a sharpness that could pierce through the heart.

He didn't speak, but gently placed the red pencil next to the inkwell, then reached for the pipe on the corner of the table.

This is a slow and ritualistic process.

He first opened a small tin box that emitted a faint scent of cypress wood, and with his thick fingers, he plucked out a small pinch of golden tobacco shreds, his movements as precise as a pharmacist weighing medicinal herbs.

He carefully stuffed the tobacco into the bowl of the pipe, pressing it gently with his fingertips to ensure it was just the right tightness.

Then, he picked up his pipe and tapped it three times on the corner of the table as usual, "tap, tap, tap," the crisp sound particularly clear in the quiet study, as if tapping out some kind of countdown.

Finally, he picked up a box of specially supplied birchwood long matches bearing the Kremlin emblem, struck one with a "snap," and brought the orange flame close to his pipe. He took a deep drag, and the tobacco instantly ignited, emitting a soft hissing sound. A thick cloud of smoke, carrying the aroma of caramel and leather, filled the air.

Having done all this, the Iron Marshal seemed truly ready to face any news.

He took a deep drag of his pipe, letting the smoke swirl in his lungs for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at Beria and slowly exhaled a complete smoke ring.

Gray smoke rings rose and twisted under the light.

"Another nuclear explosion? Where did it happen?" The Iron Marshal's voice came through the smoke, so calm that no emotion could be detected. "Those capitalist enemies of the White Eagle don't seem to be so honest, do they? They really did hide a third nuclear bomb?"

His tone carried a hint of expected sarcasm, as if he had already assumed this was a signature move of the White Eagles.

Beria stepped forward and placed the telegram on the table in front of the Iron Marshal: "The initial target is identified as Niigata. But... Joseph Vissarionovich, something is amiss."

"Oh?" The Iron Marshal tapped the telegram lightly with his pipe, signaling him to continue.

“Based on the scattered information we’ve deciphered from Project Vinona, which we’ve infiltrated within White Eagle, and feedback from our intelligence network around Tokyo and the Neon Sea,” Beria carefully chose his words.

"The White Eagles... seem to be surprised by the explosion as well. There's been some confusion and questioning in their high-level communications."

If Truman truly ordered the third bomb to be dropped, given his and his advisors' penchant for boasting, they would probably have already broadcast "Another Triumph for Justice" to the world via radio.

But now, they remain silent, or rather, in a state of bewildered silence.

The Iron Marshal silently puffed on his pipe, his eyes shifting uncertainly amidst the swirling smoke.

“Not White Eagle…” he murmured, then shook his head. “Then who could it be? John? As far as we know, their ‘alloy tube’ project is still in the theoretical stage, far from being able to build a bomb that can be used in actual combat.”

Furthermore, do they have a place to stay around the neon lights?

He paused, then ruled out another possibility:

"Gallic? That self-important General Dai... Hmph, they just crawled out from under the Hans's iron heel, they don't even have many decent steel mills, how can they build an atomic bomb? Unless God puts it in their hands."

A brief silence fell over the study, broken only by the faint sound of burning tobacco.

A third force possessing atomic bombs but whose identity remains unknown is more unsettling than a clearly defined enemy.

The Iron Marshal tapped his pipe lightly on the table, making a rhythmic "tap, tap" sound.

“Interesting… a guy hiding in the shadows.” He finally gave a cold snort, his tone returning to its usual calm.

"In the end, this cowardly fellow will eventually show his true colors. Especially when he discovers that this thing can't be eaten, or that he needs to use it to exchange for more things."

He set the topic aside for the time being and turned his attention to a more immediate threat.

"So, what surprises have our allies prepared for us in Europe?"

Beria immediately understood and began to report on the situation in Europe.

“Although we haven’t had a direct conflict with White Eagle and John, tensions are escalating, Joseph Vesalionovich.” Beria’s tone turned serious.

"The main focus is on Hans. According to the agreement, Berlin is to be jointly administered by us, the White Eagle, Johann, and the Gallic countries, but the entire city is isolated in the heart of our occupied territory, which is itself a ticking time bomb."

He walked to the large map of Europe hanging on the wall and pointed to Berlin:

"Currently, the two sides have begun to vie for power over municipal management, resource allocation, and especially currency issues."

The White Eagles attempted to implement a new mark in their jurisdiction, trying to economically sever Berlin and undermine the Commonwealth Council.

Our comrades reported that in some areas, informal border lines and patrols have even appeared. Although barbed wire has not yet been erected, the seeds of separatism are already clearly visible.

The Iron Marshal narrowed his eyes, staring at the area on the map divided by four colors, as if looking at a lesion that urgently needed to be removed.

“On the issue of Hans’s compensation,” Beria continued.

"The White Eagles intentionally limited the quantity and type of industrial equipment we could acquire from the occupied territories. They wanted a weakened Hans as their outpost in Europe, rather than allowing us to receive the compensation we deserved to repair our war-destroyed industries."

Furthermore, on the issue of the status of Danzig (Gdańsk) and Silesia on Poland's western border, Truman and Attlee are also constantly creating noise, attempting to negate the consensus we have reached.

The Iron Marshal slowly stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the deep night of Moscow.

His back was broad and slightly hunched, yet it contained immense power.

“Truman…” He looked out the window, as if speaking to his adversary far away in the White House, “He thought that by dropping those two… or even three atomic bombs on Japan, he could make me, the Red Alliance, change my mind.”

Does that mean we'll back down in Hans, in Eastern Europe, or on any issue concerning our core national interests? Does that mean we can be pressured?

He suddenly turned around, the light from his pipe drawing a red arc in the darkness.

His face showed no fear, only a granite-like hardness.

"Even if this third bomb is ultimately proven to have been dropped by White Eagle..." The Iron Marshal's voice was not loud, but every word was like iron, crashing onto the floor, "I am not afraid."

He walked back to his desk and slammed the still-burnt pipe into the brass ashtray, sending up a few sparks.

"Tell them that whether it's bombs or knives, the will of the Soviets will not bend."