If the current agricultural policy were reformed to grant farmers true autonomy—allowing them to earn more from a good harvest—their motivation could be fully unleashed.
After voicing this idea, Andrei remained silent, carefully observing Andropov's expression. He understood the gravity of what he had just proposed. If this had been spoken publicly, he could have been arrested and tried as an enemy of the people.
His proposal clashed directly with the ideological bedrock of the Soviet Union: collective farms, public ownership, and the planned economy. Yet Andrei believed, with certainty, that this path held the key to making the Soviet Union a true global power.
China had not yet embarked on such reforms, which made Andrei the first, in this timeline, to voice such a concept. Of course, adaptation was necessary. In China, with its dense population and limited land, contracts were issued to individual households. But the Soviet Union had vast lands and a smaller population density, making it better suited for group contracting. Several skilled farmers could jointly manage large-scale plots, benefiting from mechanization.
The Soviet Union had overdeveloped its heavy industry, while light industry and agriculture lagged far behind. Despite abundant land, it still couldn't feed its people. To Andrei, this was unacceptable. Reform was not optional—it was essential.
Still, this was only a theory. Implementation would require time, power, and political will. Unless Andropov gained full authority, reforms like this would remain impossible. Even with power, cleaning out entrenched bureaucratic resistance would take years.
In Andrei's mind, he remembered the failed reforms of future Soviet leaders. Every new policy threatened someone's interests, provoking silent resistance. Without political control, reforms would fail or be derailed. In the end, misguided liberalization without political structure would lead the Union to collapse.
"Andrei, your thinking is bold," Andropov said, leaning back in his chair. "Only someone like you could come up with this."
"I would never have dared say it aloud, Chairman, if it weren't to you," Andrei replied earnestly. "For now, it's only an idea. But I hope one day, it can be realized."
Andropov smiled faintly, but shifted topics. "Let's not discuss policy any further tonight. You're back in Moscow. Are you planning to return to your unit soon?"
Andrei hesitated. He hadn't decided yet.
"Ekaterina has no family here. She's now studying further at Central Moscow Hospital," Andropov continued. "As for you—you're welcome to return permanently. Designer Simonov from the Sukhoi Design Bureau mentioned you by name. If you wish, you could become a test pilot there. Rank of colonel."
To most Soviet pilots, becoming a test pilot was a dream. It meant pushing aircraft to their limits, exploring the frontier of aviation—as glorious as any mountaintop. Andrei knew what it meant. Belenko, too, had once chased that dream. But Andrei also understood the trade-off.
Test pilots rarely advanced beyond a certain point. Even with Andropov's support, he might reach the rank of major general—but his influence would end there.
"No, Chairman," Andrei said at last. "I believe my place is still with the 513th. Defending our frontier, that is my calling."
Andropov nodded, clearly satisfied. "I see I haven't misjudged you. Good. Now, when do you plan to marry Ekaterina? She's had a difficult life, growing up alone here in Moscow. I think it's time she found someone to build a future with."
The shift from policy to personal matters caught Andrei off guard. He had never heard Ekaterina speak of her parents, and now Andropov's tone was unmistakably paternal.
"Chairman, I…" Andrei stammered.
"What, you don't want to?" Andropov's face darkened.
"No! It's just that I'm… honored," Andrei replied quickly. "I'll send a telegram to Leningrad and have my parents come to Moscow to propose officially. We'll arrange the wedding here."
Andrei had grown up in Kiev, but years ago, his father—an engineer—had been transferred to Leningrad to work on a new power station. The family had since settled there.
Though old customs were fading, a formal proposal was still expected. And with Ekaterina's parents gone, it was only proper to approach her guardian—a high-ranking man in the Soviet state.
"Let's hold the wedding in Leningrad," Andropov said. "Your father is a power station engineer. A quiet wedding is better."
"Yes, of course, Chairman. I will follow your arrangements," Andrei said, barely containing his excitement. "It is my greatest honor to marry Ekaterina."
Andropov stood slowly, his posture showing the toll of age. "It's getting late. We should all rest. The military parade is approaching, and there's much to prepare."
Despite his busy schedule, Andropov had made time for this conversation. And after hearing Andrei's vision and intentions, he felt more certain than ever: this young man was worth nurturing. He had bold ideas, energy, and the discipline to act.
Andropov would support the marriage. In doing so, he would give Andrei not only a family, but also a shield. In the political labyrinth of Moscow, protection was everything. If Andrei could survive Brezhnev's final years, he might one day shape the nation himself.
Reform was no longer a matter of choice. Without it, the country would fall.
After Andropov left, Andrei stood quietly, his mind racing.
Was that it? Was he truly about to be married? Had anyone even asked Ekaterina yet?
"Andrei," a soft voice called.
He turned. Ekaterina stood nearby, her smile radiant.
Clearly, she had overheard everything.