red moscow

Chapter 3155

"Don't worry, Asya." Sokov held Asya's hands, feeling the slight coolness of her palms, and said softly, "I won't put myself in danger, and I don't want you to worry about me."

Asya nodded, her gaze softening, but then her attention was drawn to the book Sokov had placed on the table. The cover was dark blue with German letters printed on it, which she couldn't understand at all. She couldn't help but ask Sokov curiously, "Misha, what book are you reading? I don't recognize a single letter."

Sokov released Asya's hand, picked up the book, and gently held it in front of Asya. "This is Buddenbrooks by the famous German writer Thomas Mann, a masterpiece depicting the rise and fall of a merchant family. He won the Nobel Prize in Literature for this book."

Asya took the book, ran her fingers over the pages, and casually flipped through a few. The dense German text dazzled her, and she looked up in surprise: "Misha, it's all in German, isn't it? Can you read it? I remember you used to..."

“Hmm, I can understand it.” Sokov’s heart tightened; he knew he hadn’t understood German before. He had to give a reasonable explanation to avoid arousing Asya’s suspicion. He paused, then said calmly, “As you know, I don’t understand German. When I captured German prisoners on the battlefield, I always needed a German interpreter for interrogation. But after waking up from my injuries this time, I found myself inexplicably understanding German, like I suddenly had a breakthrough. I don’t know how it happened. Perhaps some kind of change occurred in my brain while I was unconscious.”

Although Sokov's explanation was far-fetched, Asya didn't delve into it. She looked at him trustingly, gently handed the book back to Sokov, and smiled slightly: "It's always good to know another foreign language. If your superiors send you to Berlin again in the future, knowing German will make things much more convenient, as you won't need to carry a translator with you all the time."

Sokov took the heavy book, his fingertips lightly tracing the gilded title on the cover, before placing it flat on the oak table. He took a deep breath, braced himself against the back of the chair, and slowly stood up, his movements still stiff from his injury. Seeing this, Asya quickly stepped forward and took his arm, her eyes full of concern: "Misha, your injury hasn't fully healed yet. Be careful. You'll need at least two weeks of rest before you can move around freely."

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” Sokov turned his head and said with a gentle smile, while patting her hand lightly. “I just wanted to stand by the window and look at the scenery outside.”

“Then I’ll help you over.” Asia nodded, steadily supporting his arm with one hand and carefully wrapping her other arm around his waist. As she walked slowly toward the window, she kept whispering, “Walk slowly, one step at a time, so you don’t reopen the wound. If you feel dizzy, tell me immediately.”

The afternoon sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting dappled shadows on the floor. The two approached the tall, arched window. Sokov gently placed his hand on the cool glass, gazing at the courtyard filled with colorful flowers. Roses, tulips, and irises swayed in the breeze, and in the distance, several apple trees stood, their branches already laden with unripe fruit. He couldn't help but remark, "I wonder which is more beautiful, this place or our villa in Moscow?"

Upon hearing Sokov's question, Asya paused for a moment, her gaze drifting into the distance, as if she could see her distant homeland through the scenery before her. Then she softly replied, "I think they each have their own charm. The sea breeze here makes the flowers bloom more wildly, while the courtyards in Moscow are more orderly." She paused again, then sighed, a hint of melancholy in her voice, "I wonder when we'll be able to return to Moscow. Sometimes I dream of that red star atop the Red Square bell tower."

Sokov turned his head to examine Asya's slightly lowered profile closely, and asked softly, "Asia, are you missing your parents?"

“Well, we’re in Odessa now, and it’s quite inconvenient to go back to Moscow to visit them. The train journey takes several days, and besides, you can’t leave your post,” Asya said, pouting, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes. “If I had a choice, I’d rather stay in Moscow. After all, that’s where we grew up; every street and alley is as familiar as the lines on my palm.” Sokov fell silent upon hearing this. He turned his head to look out the window again, his heart churning with emotion. He thought that Zhukov would only stay in the Odessa Military District for a little over a year before being transferred to the even more remote Ural Military District, and as his trusted confidant, he would certainly have to go with him. By then, he would be even further from Moscow, and even occasional leave would be difficult to arrange. These thoughts weighed heavily on his heart, leaving him unsure how to respond to Asya’s homesickness.

For a moment, the study fell silent, with only the regular ticking of the old clock on the fireplace and the occasional birdsong coming from outside the window.

After an unknown amount of time, Asia suddenly looked up, as if startled from her reverie, and broke the silence in the room with a deliberately feigned ease in her voice: "Oh right, Misha, I almost forgot something important. Look at my memory, I was so busy chatting."

"What important thing?" Sokov turned his gaze away from the window and looked at her curiously.

“Yasa called me,” Asya said, her voice tinged with joy. “He came specifically to check on your health, asking very detailed questions. He was overjoyed to learn that you were awake and getting better every day; I could hear it even through the receiver—his voice was brighter and full of energy. He said that once he has some free time from his busy work, he will personally come to see you.”

Hearing that familiar name, Sokov's smile deepened, and the lines at the corners of his eyes smoothed out. Because of his presence, Yakov—a man who, according to the original historical trajectory, should have died in a German prisoner-of-war camp long ago—not only survived, but thrived, and even rose to the rank of general through his own abilities and opportunities. This fate altered because of him always filled Sokov with a subtle sense of relief and responsibility. Continuing to maintain their friendship and nurturing this relationship over time, perhaps at some point in the future, Yakov would become an unexpected and invaluable asset.

"How is Yasha doing lately? Is everything alright?" Sokov asked casually, his tone both concerned and natural. "Is he still working in his old department?"

To everyone's surprise, Asia gave an unexpected answer. She tilted her head slightly and recalled, "When you were still unconscious some time ago, he actually came to see you once, but you didn't know. He sat by your bedside for a while, and before leaving, he mentioned to me that he had been transferred from his original department to a new unit." She paused and added, "It's a classified department."

"The secret service?!" Sokov asked, somewhat surprised, a hint of doubt and curiosity flashing across his face. "Do you know exactly what kind of department it is? What's it called?"

"Misha, what's wrong with you today?" Asiya looked at his serious expression, shook her head with a wry smile, her tone gentle yet matter-of-fact, "Since it's a secret department, we can't just tell others. I think even if you asked Yasha to his face, given his discipline, he probably wouldn't reveal a single word to you."

Sokov gave a soft "hmm" and didn't press further, but he couldn't help but start pondering to himself. What kind of secret service had Yakov gone to? The fact that he couldn't even reveal the name of the unit to Asiya suggested a very high level of secrecy. Was it a special force under the NKVD? Or a clandestine agency directly under the Supreme Command, responsible for cutting-edge technology or strategic intelligence? Perhaps he should wait until he met Yakov and subtly inquire further.

(End of this chapter)