It was a freezing winter in Birmingham.
The dawn air was, as always, chillingly sharp.
At this rate, I began to wonder if I had truly become an early bird by nature.
'The Chairman is a human being too!'
As I nursed such idle thoughts while gazing out the window, the official car eventually ground to a halt in front of the Administrative Building.
Unlike the usual quietude, the stairs leading to the building had already been swept clear of snow.
Every light within the massive structure was ablaze.
It was a sign that today was far from ordinary.
To be more precise, it meant today was the day some people's careers would reach a definitive end.
I stepped out, pulling my coat collar tight against the wind.
Atop the stairs, OGPU agents in black greatcoats were already lined up in grim formation.
The armbands they wore belonged not to the civil Militsiya, but to the State Political Directorate.
As I ascended, they bowed their heads in synchronized discipline.
"Comrade Chairman."
"How far has the infiltration proceeded?"
"Administrative Sectors 1, 3, and 4 are completely sealed. The People's Commissariat of Finance was served with the warrant and search-and-seizure began at three in the morning. Currently, we are moving into the offices of the Logistics Department, the Food Bureau, and the Southern Railway Directorate."
I nodded.
Feliksa Dzerzhinskaya stood at the top of the stairs.
Today, she wasn't in her full ceremonial regalia, but rather a practical, dark tunic with only half the buttons fastened for ease of movement.
Her hair was neatly tied back, and instead of her usual white gloves, she held a single manila envelope.
Her expression was as bright as ever.
"Good morning, Comrade Chairman."
"It's a bit noisy for a good morning."
"Sometimes, a loud morning isn't so bad. Think of it as the sound of beating the dust out of the rugs during spring cleaning."
She smiled thinly as she spoke.
I climbed the final few steps.
The moment I entered the building, the biting winter chill was replaced by the overwhelming scent of old paper, industrial ink, and the claustrophobic heat of dozens of people.
The hallways echoed with the heavy thud of OGPU agents sealing doors.
Dignitaries—directors, department heads, and deputies—watched the proceedings with hollow, devastated gazes.
The same men who had been smiling and calling me "Comrade" only yesterday were now standing with faces drained of all color.
"C-Comrade Chairman… what is the meaning of this…"
"It is merely a periodic audit. If anything, it's far overdue."
As I spoke, the man could do nothing but stammer, his mouth working like a landed fish.
A female OGPU agent stepped forward and politely presented him with the sealing documents.
"Comrade, please cooperate with us for a moment. This will all be concluded by the end of the day."
"Ah, y-yes… I see…."
Watching his desk and safe being sealed with red tape, it was remarkable to see how small a person could shrink when faced with the apparatus of the state.
I didn't take joy in it. In truth, I felt a slight wave of nausea at the role I had to play today.
Then again, I suppose it's better than being the 'Butcher of Georgia.'
Looking out the window at the end of the hall, I saw several more trucks pulling into the courtyard.
Similar squads would have entered the regional party offices simultaneously. In the provinces, of course, the Militsiya would be involved as well.
Today, the entire Union would wake up through a thorough purging of the dust.
"Where shall we begin?"
I asked Feliksa, who was flanking me.
"The preliminary investigations are complete, and I have the list of key individuals ready. Eighty-four high-ranking cadres and bureaucrats. Among them, twelve are slated for dismissal or demotion. The rest can be handled with warnings, re-education, or reassignment to other regions. We don't need to see any blood today."
"Good."
"And…"
She looked up at me.
"Please don't make such a terrifying face today. Today isn't about sowing fear; it's about sowing reassurance, isn't it?"
"Reassurance?"
"Yes, reassurance. Reassuring our comrades among the people. We are cleaning because things got dirty. Just speak like you're talking to children—like a mother saying, 'Mama is going to clean up now.'"
"A mother?"
"It's a metaphor."
She chuckled.
I let out a short, cynical snort.
No matter how many times I saw her in action, this woman was extraordinary.
To be so adept at managing people and optics.
"Let's start with the briefing then. I assume everyone has gathered."
"Yes. Comrade Frank is already there, sorting through the dossiers. His eyes looked even more sunken than yesterday. I think he's suffering the most among us."
"Likely so."
I walked down the hall toward the briefing room.
***********************************
Inside the conference room, mountains of paperwork had been erected.
Wrangel was already there, slumping sideways in his chair, while the People's Commissar of Defense, Ivanov, sat with his arms crossed, his greatcoat draped over his military uniform.
Frank was meticulously aligning documents at precise right angles. The working-level officials from the People's Commissariat of Planning looked as pale as ghosts, as they always did lately.
"You're here."
Wrangel waved a hand languidly.
"Once we finish this, can I finally go back to reclining in my office chair and collecting my salary for doing nothing?"
"Don't count on reclining. This is just the beginning."
"Sigh… I knew you'd say that."
I took my seat.
Feliksa sat beside me, and Frank sat opposite.
Every eye in the room was fixed on me.
I raised my hand.
"Let us hear the first report."
Frank stood up.
He looked even more gaunt than yesterday. He didn't look like someone who had just worked through the night, but like someone who had lived in an archive for a week straight, surviving only on ink fumes and ledgers.
"Comrade Chairman, I shall present the first report of the Provisional Financial Control Committee."
"Proceed."
"The total number of audited subjects is eighty-four. Working in coordination with Comrade Feliksa, we prioritized departments related to financial execution, resource procurement, food distribution, military logistics, and railway transportation under the Central People's Committee. Of these, seventy-two cases were deemed minor—clerical errors, delays caused by personnel shortages, or reporting lags. These can be resolved with re-education and formal warnings."
Frank took a breath and turned the page.
"However, the remaining twelve individuals fall into a different category. We have confirmed cases of clear malpractice, or incompetence so fatal it cannot be tolerated within a wartime administrative system."
He held up the first dossier.
"Vasilyev, Vice-Chairman of the Procurement Department. Over the past six months, he diverted military-grade steel to private exchanges. He framed it as an 'emergency reserve transfer' for market stabilization, but in reality, he was pocketing profits through companies registered under his relatives' names. We have confirmed forty tons so far."
Wrangel clicked his tongue.
"It's rats like that who truly bring a nation down."
Frank pulled up a second document.
"Rodion, Director of the Yorkshire Special Food Bureau. During the Yorkshire riots, he hid a portion of the distribution grain in a private warehouse near his home. His excuse was that he needed to ensure his own family's survival in case of an emergency. During the search, we discovered approximately one ton of flour and two hundred kilograms of sugar on the premises."
I closed my eyes briefly and then opened them.
"So, while the citizens of Yorkshire were starving in ration lines, he thought it was acceptable to prioritize his own kin at the expense of the state."
"Indeed, Comrade."
Frank pulled the next file.
"Roza, Director of the Southern Railway. She modified military transport routes every weekend to prioritize train dispatching for the city where she resides. This resulted in an average forty-eight-hour delay for vital military supplies. When questioned, her reasoning was that those were her days to visit her family."
"Forty-eight hours…"
Ivanov muttered, his voice cold.
"In forty-eight hours, an entire division can be fully deployed and combat-ready."
"That is why she is slated for dismissal," Frank added quietly.
"These people are not necessarily traitors. But within the wartime administrative structure we are building… incompetence is far more lethal than treason."
That sentence was the core of the entire meeting.
I nodded.
"Very well. Then let it be done. These twelve are to be dismissed, demoted, or reassigned to frontier administrative zones as of today. Frame the orders as 'priority redistribution for wartime administration.' Avoid using the word 'corruption' unnecessarily. Instead, write this in the official bulletin: 'The following personnel are reassigned in consideration of the current international situation and the stability of the Union.' It sounds less unsightly that way."
Wrangel chuckled.
"You certainly have a way with words. Calling a purge something other than a purge."
Feliksa tilted her head curiously.
"It's not a purge. No blood is being spilled."
I smiled.
"Exactly. We must avoid bloodshed. That is the principle of this reorganization. We are on the brink of war. If we act too drastically, we will leave scars on the Union's system that will take decades to heal. We choose not to plant fear by killing people, but to clear the path by removing the obstacles."
Frank let out a small, audible sigh of relief.
He wasn't someone who had climbed to this position out of a desire for carnage.
"By the way, what about the press conference?"
Wrangel raised his hand.
"It's already prepared. The plaza in front of the Supreme Soviet. We've invited all the major news outlets. Since this can't be hidden, it's better that we control the narrative from the start."
"Good. Let's conclude it there."
"Who will take the podium?"
Ivanov asked.
"I will go up, with Wrangel beside me and Feliksa behind us. The military should stay out of sight today. It shouldn't look like the army is meddling in internal civil affairs."
"Understood."
Ivanov nodded, his jaw tight. He was a man who understood the nuances of politics.
You don't reach the upper echelons of power in uniform without knowing how to play the game.
I pushed back my chair and stood up.
"Now, it's time to offer an explanation that isn't quite an excuse."
************************************
A crowd had already gathered in the plaza. Journalists, photographers from every major paper, and radio broadcast vans were stationed throughout.
The presence of OGPU agents and Militsiya had been doubled.
In that vast square, I ascended the podium.
The cold wind whipped at my face as I looked out.
I took a deep breath.
The snow crunched beneath my boots.
The microphone let out a sharp, high-pitched whine of feedback before settling.
The journalists hoisted their cameras in unison.
"Comrades."
I opened my mouth, speaking as slowly and clearly as possible.
"This morning, we conducted an audit of several administrative offices and party organizations within the Union. Let me state first and foremost: this is not a measure for punishment. We are not here to penalize individuals, but to rebuild the Union."
Camera flashes erupted like silent thunder.
"For the past eight years, we have achieved miraculous growth. We all know the story. We advanced our agriculture. We built our industry. We constructed Nomadic Cities. But at the same time, we have been turning a blind eye to one crucial fact. As the system grew, did the people running it grow as well? We have deferred that question for too long."
The pens of the journalists scratched feverishly across their notebooks.
"There are only two ways to win the coming war: a strong army and honest administration. The army is being tempered as we speak. What remains is the administration. The measures taken today are intended to restore that honesty."
I spared a glance at Frank standing nearby, then turned back to the press.
"Today, twelve People's Commissars and high-level cadres have been dismissed or reassigned. Some were guilty of corruption, while others were diligent yet incompetent. A nation facing war cannot afford incompetence. Because whether the intent is malicious or not, the result of incompetence is the same."
The wind howled across the square.
My fingers were growing numb with the cold.
I adjusted my suit sleeves.
"Unlike those feudal kingdoms across the borders, we do not resort to bloody purges."
Every head in the press corps snapped up. That was a perfect headline.
"We do not kill our own people. We do not use blood as a substitute for order. We will correct the system with paperwork. We will move personnel, reduce workloads, re-educate those who need it, and elevate the honest. This is our way. Ten years ago, the Revolution saw enough blood. Is it not time we pursued a revolution without bloodshed?"
Somewhere in the back, a faint, solitary applause began.
I didn't acknowledge it. I simply kept speaking.
"Some will call this a purge. Fine. People are free to choose their labels. But we have chosen a different name for this action."
I enunciated the words clearly, one by one.
"We call it the Cleanup."
Behind me, I could sense Wrangel smiling subtly.
A journalist raised his hand.
"Comrade Chairman, do you state unequivocally that this measure was taken with the impending war against Gaul in mind?"
I weighed the question for a moment, then nodded firmly.
"I do. This action is taken for the war that will eventually arrive. If the corrupt hold these seats today, then when war breaks out tomorrow, ammunition will not arrive on time. If we leave the incompetent in place today, the army on the front lines will starve tomorrow. Who will you blame then? The Supreme Soviet? The People's Commissariat? No. We have ensured today that the incompetent will not be the ones holding the nation's trigger."
I nudged the microphone slightly.
"Someday, when the day of war comes… this decision today will be the one that saves us."
With those words, camera flashes strobe-lighted the podium.
Even from a distance, I could see the journalists scrambling and competing to be the first to wire the story.
As I stepped aside, Feliksa came forward.
She spoke quietly, her voice calm and controlled, not needing the proximity of the microphone.
"I have an additional statement."
The pens were poised once again.
"The OGPU does not view this as a simple 'punishment.' We prefer to call it a 'fortification' process. A tree grows stronger when its dead branches are pruned. I have only one request for the personnel in the regional and central parties: please cooperate with the OGPU's investigations. This is not targeting any specific faction or group. This is simply a measure to ensure the Union lasts forever."
She smiled.
The journalists captured that smile.
Then Wrangel leaned into the mic for a brief moment.
"The Social Revolutionary Workers' League also fully supports this action. The people's trust in the Party and the Perpetual Revolution must be absolute. This measure serves only to preserve that sacred trust."
The press conference ended with those words.
As I descended the podium, I looked back at the far end of the plaza.
Perhaps those who received their dismissal notices today were watching us from behind distant windows, shedding tears of regret or resentment.
But there was no blood in the streets.
It was merely the turning of a generational wheel.
It was the best I could do.