Struggle in Russia

Admiral Menshkov sat quietly behind the huge desk, leaning his gray-haired head on a tall French high-backed chair, his puffy eyelids squinted heavily, his hands full of age spots and loose skin naturally It was already asleep on the armrest.

At this time, in this luxurious office, everything was so quiet except for the beeping sound of the burning wood in the fireplace. The solid walls, thick carpets, and heavy curtains, like the city walls, cut off outside interference, allowing the elderly admiral and **** eunuch to snore comfortably.

In the past few years, Menshkov has become increasingly distressed and wants to snore whenever he has the opportunity. He prefers to sit on his easy chair to read a beloved color novel and enjoy a glass of Burgundy red wine. Rather than sitting in an uninteresting Admiralty building looking after official documents that can be piled up like hills.

When he was young, he liked these official affairs, the sense of accomplishment in which he had authority when approving documents, and the sense of authority that said everything in one word. Therefore, according to the instructions of Nicholas I, he created countless bureaucracies and bureaucrats, fabricated countless documents and cumbersome systems.

But as he got older, he became more and more bored with these increasingly tedious and tedious tasks. Every day, he could only sign, stamp and seal in the vast ocean of documents. He was tired of it.

However, he was reluctant to give up the power in his hands, just like a DU addicted addict, knowing that DU products are harmful, but he couldn't quit. Even if he let go of his power, he felt unaccustomed and uncomfortable, and even went back to seek more power whenever he got a chance.

Whenever tired and tired, Menshkov will lock himself in an isolated office, take a nap, and charge it with blood. It's just that such opportunities are too few and too few, because the power in his hands will always create countless problems and troubles to harass him.

Like now.

The thick oak door was pushed slowly open, and Colonel Pavel Nikolaevich Chernesov, dressed in the Navy's military uniform, slowly leaned in to enter. Shicai had knocked on the door for a long time, but the dormant **** in the door did not respond, which made the young Viscount speechless.

This is the fifth time in November, and the elderly general has slept twice this week alone. I slept for a whole day, and once again, they were awakened by a broken door. Fortunately, the old man didn't lock the room door after that break, which saved him a lot of trouble.

To be honest, Viscount Chernesov likes his work. The environment is elegant, the treatment is generous, there are countless opportunities to meet the power and the beauty of the sky, and there are countless people who hope to end up, and don't go too far through all kinds of backdoors. But the Viscount did not like his boss, the **** chief eunuch.

It wasn't that he was prejudiced against the Tatars, but that the old man had a sluggish response and memory loss, and often forgotten some key issues or meetings, which caught Chernestov by surprise.

At the same time, Nicholas I and the Crown Prince will certainly not blame the highly respected and "very meritorious" old courtiers, only to let him be a young lieutenant. Although it was a few reprimands and criticisms, Viscount Chernesov was still very unhappy, and sincerely hoped that he could quickly change to a reliable boss.

For example, now, the old **** who had fallen asleep drooling his collar and the huge medal obviously forgot the executive meeting of the Navy Department again. If the young and aggressive Archduke Constantine was allowed to wait for an hour like last time, I am afraid that the archduke would send a report and make a small report again?

Viscount Chernestov didn't want to carry on any more, so he wisely came to check the status of his boss in advance to awaken the sleepy old man.

"Sir Prince, wake up! Wake up! The meeting is about to begin!"

In his sleep, Menshkov took a nap. I don't know if it was Chernyshev that disturbed his dreams, or whether the cold air that was blown in by the open door made his elderly body unbearable.

In short, the **** was very angry: "What's going on!"

The old **** asked angrily and asked, "Did you see that I was doing business?"

Cernesov skipped in his heart: [Che, I really didn't see this, but I saw that you slept soundly. Is this a business task in a dream! 】

Cernesov apologized resolutely, apologizing for interfering with the Secretary of the Navy's official duties, but there is a reason for this: "The executive meeting is about to begin, and the generals are already in the big conference room."

The old **** was still a little hesitant, and mumbled, "What's wrong with letting them wait for a while! As your subordinates, we should do our job first. Their job is to serve your majesty and me. Serving me to deal with everything This is the first thing about naval affairs! Instead of harassing me to do my normal work when everything is fine! "

Chernesov is still very disdainful: [No one in the entire Admiralty is more leisurely than you ~ www.ltnovel.com ~ You can't even do the work of the humanoid rubber stamp ... Well, it's clear that you're dragging your legs. 】

With the help of Chernesov, the elderly **** struggled to get up from the high-backed chair. He didn't seem to sleep well, which caused his legs to be paralyzed and his hands could not be strengthened. He almost fell on the huge one. On the desk.

"I don't need help!"

The old **** grasped Chernesov's arm tightly, reprimanding stubbornly: "I haven't reached the point where I can't move anymore. When I faced Turkish locusts, I was in a position of thousands of troops. I gallop ... "

"You young people don't know what it means to fight, and they can't compare with us at that time. Without our support, you can't do anything! You must step up your exercise and you must work harder!"

Chernesov: [Oh ...]

The old **** stumbled into the locker room next to the office. This is his unique habit. Whenever he appears in public, before the State Council or Imperial Conference, he must personally groom himself.

Standing in front of a dressing mirror that was as tall as a person and a wall wide, the old **** took off the wrinkled admiral uniform and carefully took out one of the most satisfactory spares from the ironed military uniforms lined up in the wardrobe. Then meticulously polish the shoes with oil.

The old **** nodded with satisfaction only after everything became bright again and slightly corrected the slightly crooked fake beard on the lips.

At this time, he was like a soldier like Nicholas I. He was handsome, tall, bright in uniform, and empty-headed.

When Menshkov walked slowly into the large conference room, more than half an hour had passed since the scheduled meeting, in which Grandpa Constantine was impatient ...