Be apart of the revolution
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Join the Revolution
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February 1918 — Petrograd / Moscow
The ice was beginning to break on the Neva, but the city still felt frozen in spirit.
Petrograd, a city that had once been starving and Moscow another that was half-functioning, were no longer on the same recourse of failure.
But now ,something new was spreading with the thaw — paperwork bearing my seal.My influence stretching, my power seeping in every crack, every crevice.
Directives , orders, decrees. They found their way to those that needed to hear them, the great machine of industry and structure was taking form into something proper.
Workshops reopened. Coal reached the furnaces.Rail hubs once empty began to operate on fixed schedules again.
And with each dispatch, each signed directive, my Commissariat became the artery through which the the state learned to breathe.
I stood before a wall where a new and an even larger map was pinned with red markers — each representing a functioning regional committee now tied to my office.
Makarov begun to read from the latest reports.
"Comrade, the Orel–Bryansk line reports full operation.Tula and Rybinsk have sent word they're following your ration-priority system.
Only Kazan refuses upon cooperation, claiming they answer to the Council of National Economy."
I snorted at that. "Then remind Kazan that coal doesn't get moved by the wind nor wishful thoughts — it moves by railway. And the railways answer to me. He has a choice, either cooperate or find himself removed from office if and when I bring this matter to Lenin and the council"
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In mid-February, I traveled once again. But this time I had decided to go with a fully garrison of soldiers on board and a team of inspectors.
Almost 250 men enroute to our destination, we cut through towns still fresh with hunger and hardship. And yet still at every station, I still asked the same three questions:
"Who commands here?"
"What are your stocks?"
"Where does the next train go?"
It was astonishing how frequently the answers changed between morning and evening. But with each visit, a new pattern emerged. Timetables posted, guards deployed, and reports forwarded to Smolny. I started calling it The Network, a web of allegiance connected by routines. Each link depended on the one above it, and they all led back to my desk.
By early March, The Network had spread to a dozen cities. Telegraph lines carried my coded messages down the line, each order ending with the same signature:
Commissariat 47 / For the Revolution's Order.
Factories that had been idle since November began producing again. But we were moving forward step by step.
The economy was still fragile — but it was moving, and movement was living, movement was survival.
Yet even with its hidden objectives, Trotsky saw through the network first. He stormed into Lenin's office one evening while I was there, waving a set of intercepted orders.
"These!" he barked. "They're signed by Stalin, not Sovnarkom. He's issuing directives to regional committees without Council approval!"
"Comrade Lenin had already given me his blessing on the matter. Comrade Trotsky!" I informed the buffoon whether he wished to listen or not.
Lenin sighed always tired of us constantly bickering back and forth. He was tired of our verbal squabbles.
"Stalin does as I tell", Lenin said .
"Yet what you tell him goes against our entire organizational structure, why have a council if you would go behind our backs to give out orders that would need general approval from the Sovnarkom!" Trotsky snapped.
The Sovnarkom as in otl was the Council of People's Commissars, the highest executive body of the Soviet Union and its republics from 1917 to 1946. Formed after the October Revolution, it was essentially the cabinet of the communist government, responsible for day-to-day governance, issuing decrees, and overseeing the various "People's Commissariats" which were the equivalent of ministries. Vladimir Lenin was its first chairman, and the body was renamed the Council of Ministers in 1946.
"Dont you see he's trying to build his own hierarchy!" Trotsky blurted out.
" If any one was building a hierarchy it would be you Comrade Trotsky, your control of the military alone makes us question the power you alone holds, not for the people but yourself."
"Stalin, Trotsky thats enough, I will not have you both bickering like this in my presence!" Lenin slammed his hand on the table.
Trotsky scrutinized us both in fury and annoyance. That look on his face I knew it all too well. He said nothing more and like a soldier on a quick march he left , slamming the door behind.
Lenin and I both had our eyes to the exit. He didn't say nothing and neither did I.
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By late March, my office in Moscow had grown into something like a full-fledged ministry. Clerks came and went at all hours, working through the night. The walls were crowded with maps tangled in strings and colored pins. Telegraph operators dozed beside their machines. Every sheet of paper carried the same red seal — the mark of the Commissariat for Internal Administration and Economic Reconstruction.
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