The A.I.
indicated a specialized room designed for custom weapon modification, outfitted entirely with Soviet equipment.
The room lacked any decorative paint, leaving the cold iron hull walls fully exposed.
A sharp, pungent odor hung in the air, forcing Anna and Dito to briefly step outside because they couldn’t stand the smell.
Even so, they noticed a rectangular anvil and various other tools laid out.
Dito looked down at the pistol in his hand: a Colt Anaconda, weighing around 53 ounces (about 1.5 kilograms) with a barrel length of 11 and 5/8 inches (approximately 29.5 centimeters).
Dito had acquired the handgun after his reincarnation, and he loved its design—silver-colored with three ports on each side of the barrel.
It was a double-action revolver frame featuring an ejector-rod lug beneath the full-length barrel and a six-round cylinder, designed and manufactured by Colt’s Manufacturing Company in 1990.
Chambered for powerful .44 Magnum and .45 Colt centerfire cartridges, it marked the company’s first major entry into large-frame revolvers in Hartford, Connecticut, before spreading across the United States and eventually the world.
Dito cupped his hand, manifesting a flame element that flared up until it licked the iron ceiling above him.
A grin touched his lips, drawing a curious look from Anna, who seemed entirely perplexed by his train of thought.
Fortunately, the flames didn’t draw any outside attention.
Anna set to work forging, pushing herself to the absolute limit; she refused to use a half-baked weapon.
Attempt after attempt, she swung the smithing hammer, even if it wasn’t her area of expertise.
“Are you done yet?” Dito asked.
“Don’t disturb me!
I’m trying to concentrate!” Anna snapped.
Dito raised his hands and took a few steps back, clearly uncomfortable with the tension.
Wielding a heavy iron hammer while sweating profusely, he finally decided to strip off his outer layer of clothing.
Anna caught sight of him and quickly turned away, her face flushing.
“Idiot!
What are you doing?”
“It’s boiling in here, Anna!
Do you think sweating like this is fun?
It’s miserable!” Dito shot back.
“That doesn’t mean you have to spread your body odor everywhere!” Anna complained, pinching her nose.
The two bickered back and forth while continuing to forge their respective weapons.
Unfazed by their shouting, Vladimir and Huey sat engrossed in a game of chess.
The board had dwindled down to a tense endgame: White had a rook and a king left, while Black had only a lone king.
The position stood with the black king on A8, the white rook on B7, and the white king on C6.
“Is this a draw?” Vladimir muttered.
“In that case, I’d like to—”
“Not so fast, Huey Long.”
Huey frowned.
He opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers.
The slicked-back politician stared intently at Vladimir, who looked back with skepticism, refusing to be easily impressed.
Anticipating this, Huey handed over a specific document—a speech from his days campaigning as a senator.
“And it is here, under this oak, where Evangeline waited in vain for her lover, Gabriel, who never came.
This oak is an immortal spot, made so by Longfellow’s poem, but Evangeline is not the only one who has waited here in disappointment.
Where are the schools that you have waited for your children to have, that have never come?
Where are the roads and the highways that you sent your money to build, that are no nearer now than ever before?
Where are the institutions to care for the sick and disabled?
Evangeline wept bitter tears in her disappointment, but it lasted only through one lifetime.
Your tears in this country, around this oak, have lasted for generations.
Give me the chance to dry the eyes of those who still weep here.”
That wasn’t all Huey shared.
His ideology isn’t bad at all, Vladimir thought to himself.
Even so, Huey had ultimately failed to reach the presidency because he was surrounded by dangerous adversaries.
Had he fled to the Soviet Union instead, he undoubtedly would have been welcomed by Vladimir Lenin or Joseph Stalin.
“How on earth did this—”
“I don’t know why this ended up in my files, but chances are, my future self was elected senator.
Back home, I’m just a lawyer, Vladimir!”
“Even so, I have to hand it to you—taking on Wall Street all by yourself is deeply impressive.”
That was the extent of Vladimir’s commentary, as he wasn’t well-versed in the intricacies of politics.
Huey scratched his head, his expression tightening as he recalled the fierce battles that nearly won him the governorship, though he ultimately fell short of the office.
Vladimir read page after page, piecing together the fragmented history before looking back up at Huey.
A [Copy File] skill had activated within him; he realized this man could not be dismissed simply as a common lawyer.
“I understand now.
But are you certain about this path, Huey?” Vladimir asked.
“If I wasn’t certain, why would I have begged you to let me join this submarine journey?” Huey replied.
“A fair point.
Forgive me for doubting your resolve.”
“No worries.
Besides, we’re both leftists at heart, regardless of our different backgrounds and countries,” Huey said, pulling a cigar from his suit jacket.
Throughout the voyage, Vladimir and Huey engaged in deep discussions concerning left-wing democratic theory.
Meanwhile, Vladimir asked the A.I.
to pull up books detailing the lives of Stalin and Lenin.
Despite coming from different countries and distinct timelines, they found common ground: the goal of positioning Huey as a leader of a territory.
His charisma allowed him to command loyalty easily; his speech was smooth yet sharp, delivered entirely without deceit.
That sincerity was what earned Vladimir’s cautious trust.
Yet, a disturbing detail lingered in the final pages regarding Huey’s death—pages only Vladimir had permission to open.
On Sunday, September 8, 1935, U.S.
Senator and former Louisiana Governor Huey Long was mortally wounded at the Louisiana State Capitol in Baton Rouge.
At the time, Long was an immensely popular and influential politician, and his assassination effectively eliminated the possibility of a 1936 presidential run against the incumbent Franklin D.
Roosevelt.
Two hundred thousand people attended Long’s funeral.
He was buried on the grounds of the Louisiana State Capitol, a building he had commissioned, and a statue by Charles Keck was erected at his gravesite in 1940.
Without Long at the helm, his Share Our Wealth movement collapsed, clearing the path for Roosevelt to secure a landslide reelection.
Long and Robert F.
Kennedy of New York (in 1968) remain the only two U.S.
senators to be assassinated.
Long’s death brought immense relief to the Roosevelt administration, which triumphed in the 1936 election.
James Farley openly admitted his anxiety over campaigning against Long, stating, “I always laughed off Huey, but I didn’t feel that way about him.” Close economic advisor Rexford Tugwell later wrote, “When he was gone, it seemed as if a profound peace had fallen over the land…
Father Coughlin, Townsend, and company were, after all, pygmies compared to Huey.” Tugwell also noted that Roosevelt viewed Long’s assassination as a “convenient coincidence.”
Reading this filled Vladimir with burning fury toward the United States, as if painting Huey Long as a man unworthy of leading.
Growling low in his throat, the old soldier slammed his fist down so hard the chess table cracked clean in two.
Huey flinched in surprise at the outburst.
“Galyno (Damn it)!” Vladimir cursed.
“I don’t know Russian, but I understand your frustration,” Huey murmured, giving a helpless shrug.
“How can you remain so calm about this?
I don’t understand!”
“Sometimes I wonder if all my struggles were for nothing, especially when people constantly try to tear me down.
But I suppose that’s just the reality of life,” Huey said with a bitter smile.
The atmosphere grew frosty.
Neither man spoke for a long time until Vladimir silently slid a chess piece across the board, leaving Huey alone with his swirling thoughts.
The man in the suit closed his eyes.
He knew he had provoked Vladimir’s anger, yet he appreciated the old man’s fierce intolerance for injustice.
Nearby, Dito sat across from Huey, wordlessly moving a chess piece.
It was an unexpected pivot, but a small smile touched Huey’s lips as he engaged the youngster.
Without a time-stop or any tournament clock, the two continued their match.
Dito pushed his black pawn to D4, his eyes narrowed in intense concentration.
Huey’s lips twitched into a mocking smirk, treating Dito like an absolute amateur.
Yet, that thinly veiled condescension worked in the boy’s favor, giving him the opening he needed to strike at Huey’s pride.
As the game transitioned into the midgame, the board shifted dramatically as Dito executed his plan: pushing his pawn to E5.
Huey instantly countered by capturing it with a piece on D4, directly threatening Dito’s queen and rook.
Dito scratched his head, feeling the overwhelming pressure of facing an experienced adult.
Huey tapped his fingers rhythmically against his wooden chair.
Stifling heat radiated from their clothes, sweat beading on both of their faces.
Neither Dito nor Huey enjoyed the oppressive atmosphere of the submarine, but it was the only vessel left to ensure their survival.
Gradually, Huey began reading through Dito’s strategies.
No matter how many pawns or knights Dito moved, Huey methodically trapped them.
Using a white knight, Huey kept relentless pressure on the queen at F4.
Dito wrung his brain dry, desperately searching for a winning line until a daring idea flashed in his mind.
“You know, Uncle Huey, I have an interesting proposal.”
“Interesting?
Are you planning to stall for time, kid?” Huey guessed with an effortless checkmate in sight.
He leaned in slightly, adding, “Don’t bother, young man.
Your position is indefensible.
No amount of stalling will save this match.”
Dito gritted his teeth in frustration.
The man could read two or three moves ahead with ease.
Underneath the table, his right hand clenched into a tight fist.
After a tense silence, Dito let out a short breath.
He knew the only path to victory demanded a crazy risk.
With a sharp flick of his right hand, he moved his piece to F6.
Huey reached out and captured the piece with his queen, momentarily wondering what trap Dito was trying to spring.
“You know, I wasn’t finished talking.
So…
I think I’ll test those five adventurers using my own method.”
Suddenly, Huey’s eyes widened in shock.
With blinding speed, Dito’s hand slammed a piece down onto E7, delivering a fatal blow that simultaneously trapped both the king and the rook.
“Checkmate.”
Huey stared at the board in utter disbelief, utterly blindsided by the reckless yet brilliant gamble that had culminated in his dramatic defeat.
He had underestimated the boy, mistaking rigidity for weakness, while Dito had ruthlessly paid the price for a winning sacrifice.
And as for Dito’s final declaration?
Huey hadn’t misheard him at all.
The young man was dead serious about challenging the five adventurers Vladimir had recruited.