**Chapter 871: Cute Stalin (8)**

Whenever the specific details of the counter-offensive were raised, no one in the CPSU leadership voiced any disagreement with Stalin's views. From the perspective of expelling the invaders or retaking the prime western regions, Stalin held absolute political correctness.

However, as the fighting progressed, more and more members of the top leadership grew uneasy at the horrific losses on the front. Retaking a piece of territory allowed the Soviet Union to utilize its minerals, grain, and manpower, but the cost of doing so was so immense that many felt the gain was not worth the loss.

Many waited for Kirov to speak, yet he consistently avoided the issue. It wasn't that he believed the counter-offensive was flawless; on the contrary, he saw all its problems clearly. It was precisely because he identified the military issues that he was reluctant to trigger a political conflict by voicing opposition.

Months ago, Kirov had argued with Stalin over whether to adopt the Soviet-German war strategy suggested by He Rui. From that debate, Kirov had determined that Stalin was not entirely ignorant of modern warfare; his comprehension of basic issues was sound.

However, as the nation's supreme leader, the perspective from his level was vastly different from those below. Stalin certainly knew that defeats would continue in the latter half of 1942; during the period of rapid German advance, the USSR was simply unprepared to implement He Rui's plan. Suddenly changing the strategic layout would only have caused internal chaos, leaving no one responsible for the subsequent failures.

Without a clear mechanism of responsibility, Stalin would have been unable to use his power to punish incompetent generals, and his power base would have been shaken.

Therefore, the Soviet Union had eventually adopted the Chinese military advice, but the process could not be at the cost of Stalin's authority. The current CPSU operational model was centered on Stalin's absolute leadership. In a sense, Stalin himself was a subordinate to this model, rather than its master.

Kirov's consistent refusal to mention any suggestion that might damage Stalin's prestige was born not of cowardice, but of political responsibility. Stalin was a hostage to the "Stalinist model"—this was something one could think about, recognize, and understand, but never discuss. Once raised, it could shake the very foundations of the state.

Since Kirov remained silent, Stalin met no opposition. Yet various commissioners, when discussing the provision of men and equipment, subtly expressed their dissatisfaction with the immense consumption at the front.

Stalin did not flare up at this dissatisfaction. Whenever politics or economics were discussed, he remained generally reliable. It was only when discussing purely military matters that he displayed that natural state where everything must develop according to his expectations—a state that overlapped significantly with that of a "cute" young child.

The defense of Moscow was over, and the general counter-offensive had begun. The advancing units could no longer rely on the railway network around the capital for supplies and were highly dissatisfied with the logistics department.

Kirov noticed the People's Commissar for the Tank Industry, Vyacheslav Alexandrovich Malyshev, looking his way and gave a slight nod. With that signal, Colonel General Malyshev produced his proposal and said confidently, "Comrade General Secretary, our technical trials along the Trans-Siberian Railway have fully achieved their objectives. Full implementation of the new technology will significantly enhance transport efficiency."

Malyshev's work was outstanding, and the leadership felt a sense of relief hearing him say "achieved objectives." Malyshev was not exaggerating; he described the two automated scheduling centers recently established on the Trans-Siberian using vacuum-tube computers.

Previously, Soviet railway management relied on massive amounts of manpower, supplemented by Cheka personnel tasked with preventing sabotage and ensuring operation. With the computers, a portion of the signals from locomotives and rolling stock was transmitted directly to the calculation centers, where the machines' automated processing took over.

This trial effectively provided the Soviet railways with a dual management system. Humans make mistakes; machines suffer only from malfunctions or human operational errors. The computer's automated control saved vast amounts of labor and possessed high accuracy.

Previously, when a train was delayed, rescheduling the entire line required many people and much time. The new method relied on the computer's high-speed processing; over the past month, the test sites had rapidly handled over a thousand schedule adjustments caused by delays. The Soviets had only needed to add fewer than 400 staff members. The results were indeed brilliant.

Furthermore, the system didn't just solve delays; through the management system, the railway department had immediately discovered hundreds of instances of delayed or erroneous dispatches that hadn't been reported. In the past, resolving these would have required countless calls and telegrams, and sending investigators to the site.

With computers involved and the use of standard signals from various regions, the machines could process the data independently. Errors were discovered instantly, incorrect dispatches identified, and schedules rewritten. The problem was largely resolved.

Once Malyshev finished, some members of the Central Committee asked with dark faces, "Have the personnel responsible for the incorrect dispatches been punished?"

This question was quintessentially Russian. Too many things, when not weighed, seem insignificant; once placed on the scale, even a thousand pounds isn't enough.

There was a joke in the USSR—and not a funny one—that if you wanted to ruin a man, you put him in charge of the railways. No matter how capable or dutiful he was, after a year his reputation would be ruined and everyone would call for his head.

Scheduling errors were common in the Soviet railway system. Before Malyshev raised the issue, the leadership had looked the other way. But now that he had, it was another matter entirely. If a severe punishment wasn't handed out, how could the CPSU prove it was still in charge of everything?

Malyshev knew he was being put on the spot. By creating the new system, he had inevitably offended those within the railway system. Those people, while cursed at, all had backers. Punishing them would surely invite a counter-strike from those behind them.

It wasn't that Malyshev felt bad for the erring railway workers. It was wartime, and the railways were a quasi-military unit under military law. Firing squads for errors were no problem. But Malyshev's technical progress was intended to solve problems, not create more contradictions. The priority was better cooperation with the railways, not a condescending punishment of personnel.

The other departments had backers, but Malyshev was not alone; he looked toward Kirov. Kirov supported the new technology and thus had to support its spread. Sure enough, Kirov spoke up, his face grave and his tone steady: "Comrades, at this stage, the most important issue is winning the war! Everything for the war!

Regarding the logistics crunch, the only solution is to strengthen railway transport and bring the entire Trans-Siberian to full capacity as quickly as possible. The technical hurdles we previously encountered have been solved through our breakthrough in vacuum-tube computing. We must now bring this new technology into operation across a wider area as rapidly as possible. Any action that hinders its spread is harmful."

Hearing Kirov speak thus, those leaders with close ties to the railways breathed a sigh of relief. They had been nervous moments ago; wartime military law was no joke. Kirov's address indicated an attitude of not using the issue as a pretext—at least, he wouldn't make things difficult for them.

But Kirov was not a man of unconditional leniency. He continued: "However, any practice that obstructs the implementation of new technology will severely damage our efficiency in winning the war. For such actions, we shall show no mercy."

This threat was necessary, for Kirov knew the interests of each department were complex. Adopting new technology meant departmental authority would be affected. Every department naturally seeks to expand its own powers; without such a requirement, who knows what trouble the railway department might stir up. Kirov had to lay down the law first.

The top leadership wasn't about to hinder technical progress over a minor railway issue. Since Kirov didn't intend to start trouble and pointed out the direction, they accepted his view.

Seeing Kirov handle the matter well, Stalin added, "The computer breakthrough has greatly enhanced our management capacity. According to the statistics department, the application of computers in the national economy far exceeds their use in the military. Therefore, I believe it is necessary to establish the People's Commissariat for the Computer Industry to handle computer R&D and application."

Hearing of a new post, the leadership grew excited. A new department meant immense political and economic interests. Take Malyshev, for example: the USSR hadn't originally had a Commissariat for the Tank Industry, but since its creation, Malyshev had done well, and it now effectively dominated Soviet military production.

Once established, the Computer Industry Commissariat would surely become a vital department. Many were eager to lead this clearly long-term organization.

Stalin, intending to boost Kirov's standing, asked, "Comrade Kirov, what kind of authority do you believe the Computer Industry Commissariat should have?"

Since returning to Moscow, Kirov had resumed oversight of national economic work and was very optimistic after encountering the computers. Seeing Stalin let him set the tone, Kirov kept it brief: "Previously, our economic work was limited by the speed of data transmission and processing; often, we could only perform very limited calculations. In responding to problems, we couldn't consider everything comprehensively. This wasn't due to a lack of effort, but because the workload was too vast and the responsibility too heavy. We relied more on experience and personal judgment.

Computers cannot replace humans in making judgments, but they can process vast amounts of data and pre-calculate numerous models for various possibilities. This provides more comprehensive data support for policy formulation and execution.

Therefore, I believe the core work of the Commissariat should be the R&D of computer technology and applications. Every department, in its work, should utilize the data and plans provided by the computers.

We cannot let the computers control our judgment, but neither should we make judgments in the absence of data. The task of the Computer Industry Commissariat is mutual cooperation to comprehensively enhance the capacity and standard of government management."

Kirov's view was restrained and modest, very much in his style. The Central Committee members didn't fully believe his description, but they believed his attitude.

After all, in the development of the USSR, many departments were established to make the nation run more efficiently. But as situations changed and departments grew, those that were initially service-oriented had greatly expanded their authority to become leadership organs.

The KGB was an excellent example. It was the successor to Dzerzhinsky's "Cheka" and Stalin's NKVD.

The Cheka and NKVD were originally for economics and protection; who could have imagined that as the economy developed, the KGB would handle all sorts of troublesome tasks and thus expand its purview? By early 1942, before the war, its primary personnel were actually working on anti-smuggling and anti-trafficking. Even the social support issues for unwed mothers, being too troublesome, had been handed to a powerful organization like the KGB to manage.

Currently, the Computer Industry Commissariat looked like a service department, but it would likely fall under Kirov's management. With such powerful backing, and given the tradition of service departments, the members felt it would inevitably become a powerful organ in the future.

Stalin knew this too. Seeing Kirov's comprehensive briefing and clear logic, he proposed that Kirov oversee the preparations for the new Commissariat.

Stalin's NKVD was a "service department" that cooperated with every other Soviet department; knowing the history of such organs, the Committee members naturally raised no objections—especially since Kirov had said the new Commissariat would cooperate with everyone.

Kirov, at least, worked through policy and statistics, making him far more moderate than the NKVD. To oppose his moderate approach might well invite a "heart-to-heart" talk from the NKVD.

The meeting was largely one of good news. Afterward, Kirov held a working session with Commissioner Malyshev. Malyshev was considered a genius manager of military industry; there was a saying that his brain held all the data of the Soviet economy and could allocate it with precision.

In this meeting, Malyshev didn't discuss his own abilities but gave a high evaluation of the computers. "Comrade Kirov, your view on computer application is profound. The greatest role of the computer is not to replace humans, but to help those who previously lacked the capacity to formulate or understand plans to gain the necessary ability and cognition."

As this was a working meeting rather than one for setting development directions, Malyshev was very blunt.

Kirov understood his point and remarked with emotion, "Commissioner Malyshev, when do you think China developed the computer?"

Malyshev had already considered this. "I believe it was no later than 1930. By then, the Chinese government already possessed vacuum-tube production technology."

Kirov nodded. "How much do you think the computer aided China's rapid development?"

Malyshev shook his head. "Comrade Kirov, I cannot make that judgment. He Rui's influence on Chinese politics, economics, and industry is too great to be measured by ordinary standards."

"Then give me your intuition." Kirov still wanted more perspectives. Malyshev was right: only by removing the He Rui variable from China could one see a "normal" development path. And a China on that path would still be a nation suppressed by the Great Powers, never one of the strongest in the world.

After reflecting, Malyshev replied, "The most singular aspect of Chinese industrial development is the appearance of entirely new electronics, chemical, and aviation technical... sectors. These sectors exploded after 1926, and they required China to possess a massive number of skilled engineers with good technical accumulation. Yet China clearly lacked those conditions in 1926."

Kirov noticed Malyshev's brief pause, replacing "technology" with "sectors" (chan ye). This small shift told Kirov that Malyshev's economic thinking had already been heavily influenced by China's unique Marxist economic theory.

However, Malyshev's next point shifted Kirov's attention back to Chinese industry. Kirov asked, "You believe China was already relying on computers to assist its industrial development back then?"

"Yes," Malyshev said firmly.

Kirov was shocked. Before seeing the computer, he hadn't found China's development strange—it seemed quite rational. Since the full Sino-French cooperation of 1928, China had bought massive technology from France and added its own huge investment, roughly $10 billion worth in industry.

Soviet industrial development had only invested the equivalent of $2 billion. With five times the investment, China naturally had more results.

But thinking of China's computer development, Kirov saw another world. China's investment not only far exceeded the USSR's, but the "quality" of its industrial growth surpassed it even more.

China's industrial development had far more depth and power than Kirov had previously imagined!