id=ivan_serov_win_elect
title=Serov Triumphant!
desc=Serov did not smile often. He prided himself on his osim, cold exterior. After all, "Friendly" and "NKVD officer" were not mixable traits. The last time he could remember himself smiling genuinely smiling, not just the crocodile smile he gave to those he needed for his pians-was at his desk long ago, writing out his masterpiece. He could remember the ecstasy of the final tap of the typewriter, and he could remember the crushing blow of Suslov, rather than even taking a moment to truly think about his writings, casting aside out of hand. If only old Mikhail could see him now!He had worked hard in the last years. Going from the Left to the Right was nearly unheard of, and took much time for them to trust him as one of their own. He was no fascist, not at all. At heart, he was still a socialist-just not one of those doddering fools or naive idealista who seemed to think that slapping the same red coat of paint on Russia would be enough to win. He knew better. Maybe Russia hadnt wanted to accept in then, but they were going to accept it now. He would make them.And so, as chaos swept the floor of the National Assembly, and men leapt from their seats in astonishment at what was thought to be impossible, Serov allowed himself a genuine smile.
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