Karpov Doctrine

Marching through the Ukraine was not very pleasant in the coming Winter of 1929. Corporal Feofan Karpov heard the mud squelch under his boots, each step feeling heavier then the last. He kept marching though, as any good soldier would. Feofan doubted he was the best soldier in the Red Army, but he was certainly giving the state everything he had.

The Mosin-Nagant bolt action rifle slung over his back he moved along on the left side of the four man row. Every two rows was a Corporal, and this continued for ten rows making up the VII Red Army Division’s fifth platoon. Kliment Pavlyuchenko was in front of Feofan and Viktor Kraminov was behind him. In the distance the small collective farm laid. Second Lieutenant Nikolay Maksimovich, the commanding officer of the platoon, every so often would shout out for someone to stay in formation, or to tow the line. Karpov doubted anyone had done such a thing, and the Lieutenant was just letting his voice be heard.

A grain shortage was spreading through the Soviet Union. Faced with the collapse of the agricultural sector, a decision was made at a plenum of the Central Committee in November, 1929 to embark on a nationwide program of collectivization. Collectivization sought to modernize Soviet agriculture, consolidating the land into parcels that could be farmed by modern equipment using the latest scientific methods of agriculture. Stalin in the army newspapers said, "Our country will, in some three years time, have become one of the richest granaries, if not the richest, in the whole world."
Karpov smiled at such thoughts. His days as the bright academic scholar was over he suspected, after he Viktor and Kliment spoke to a few groups explaining their vision of Stalinism, they where then shipped off to serve the Soviet Union. Feofan was fine with it, after all it would be bourgeois to live off ones words and not serve the people.

At collective farm 102, the platoon spread out to circle it. Lt. Maksimovich walked beside him, “Corporal Karpov get three men and accompany me to speak with these citizens.”

“Yes Comrade Lieutenant,” Karpov followed behind his commanding officer picking men out as he passed. The bodies of dead livestock covered the single road leading to the farm. Karpov sneered at that, they wanted to be paid for their surplus stock. Instead of giving for the state they sought to take from it.
“Who is in charge?” Maksimovich said to the group of fifty odd farmer standing by the central building.

“I am…Comrade Vikalo.” A thin elderly man said. He had a large black eye, and looked about biting his lower lip.

“Comrade Karpov speak with this man, I will look about the buildings.” The Lieutenant said. Karpov walked to Vikalo and smiled.

“Hello Comrade. What has occurred here?” Feofan looked to the farmers, some held picks. He suspected a few of them had killed the livestock.
“They…uh…. I requested the monthly tallies for livestock, and grain. Then those kulaks came and began killing the animals. I tried to stop them but….” Vikalo smiled meekly his eye covered with a bruise.

“You did all you could Comrade.” Karpov said. He waited for the Lieutenant to return. Maksimovich tromped over a fierce look on his face. “Karpov I want the men to arrest all of these men. The charge is violation of General Secretary Stalin’s decree.”

The march back was easier, the thoughts of a warm stove, and possibly hot food made every one in the unit move a little faster. In front of the platoon was twenty men and women who were accused of slaughtering Soviet livestock, and reactionary behavior. At the barracks the three friends sat on there bunks, Feofan cleaning his shoes, Kliment looking at a letter from home, and Viktor dancing about the room to a record of Lidiya Ruslanova. The other men laughed at his antics, clapping and cheering as he dipped his invisible partner low. Feofan looked up and laughed as another soldier tried to cut in, but Viktor puffed out his chest and put an end to it. The soldier stepped back in mock fear, leaving Viktor to continue his dance.

Sergeant Pilko walked in staring at Viktor dancing but shook his head with a smile, “Corporal’s Karpov, Pavlyuchenko, and Kraminov report to the commandants office in ten minutes.”

The three men stood up straight, saluting, “yes Comrade Sergeant.”

“Oh and Kraminov?” Pilko turned to face Viktor.

“Yes Comrade Sergeant?” Viktor despite himself gave his most disarming smile.

“You are a horrid dancer.” The barracks roared with laughter, Viktor held his invisible partners hand passing it to the Sergeant. “She is not my type anyways.”

Moscow is the capital of Russia and the country's principal political, economic, financial, educational and transportation center, located on the river Moskva. The urban area constitutes about 1/10 of the Russian population, thus making it the most populous city in Europe.

The Soviet train pulled into Moscow station, the platform thick with steam. Feofan Karpov, Viktor Kraminov, and Kliment Pavlyuchenko slept in the cramped wooden seats of the passanger car. Feofan Karpov awoke from a light shove by Kliment Pavlyuchenko, “Wake up Comrade. We are here.”
With a stretch and a yawn Feofan stood up. Rubbing his neck, it was sore after five hours sleeping on the hard wood bench in the passenger car. Viktor Kraminov pulled their traveling bags down. Each man wore their uniform, having no other clothes to wear. Feofan opened his bag, a simple canvas bag with a single strap, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

He lit one up, and offered the last two to his friends. Kliment declined, but Viktor gladly took one puffing away at it. “So were do we go from here?” Viktor asked.

“Our orders are to report to the Moscow districtt Military Headquarters.” Kliment stepped onto the platform looking very glad to be on solid none moving ground again.

“What time are we to be there?” Viktor said, a smile crossing his face as the three left the train station and walked into the wonderful city of Moscow. Snow lightly covered every roof, in the distance the onion shaped domes of the Kremlin filled the sky beside more modern buildings.

“We are to report as soon as we arrive.” Kliment looked to the street signs. Having grown up in Moscow the three men knew the lay out rather well, but it had been two years since they were there last.

“ Well the moment we have time off I vote a trip to our homes.” Viktor glanced to his friends, “Would you not agree?”

“Of course. You think I will let me in this wonderful uniform be missed?” Feofan shot back.

Two hours later, after getting lost, and a quick trip to the washroom to clean up, they had reached the office of Major-General S.A. Krasovsky. The middle aged, and very sharp looking man smiled, showing a prominent gold tooth. “Comrades. Welcome to Moscow. How was your trip?”

“It was as comfortable as could be expected.” Feofan said. He sat in the remarkably comfortable chair in front of the General’s desk.

“Good.” Krasovsky held up three folders and laid them out before each man. “Please look over the information, if there is any mistake do correct it.”

Feofan flipped through the folder. Each page held a detailed list of military matters. It was all above a simple Corporal, but the final four pages were maps. Viktor was the first to make the connection of why they had been called to Moscow.

“This is about the paper we wrote?” Viktor said.

“Yes. You see a few days ago we received a most interesting report from our foreign operatives.” The General looked from each man a smile crossing his lips.

“What?” Kliment asked.

“The American stock market crashed. Already the economies of the global markets are showing signs of being affected by this.” Krasovsky pointed to his copy of the Trinity Doctrine on his desk, “Is this not the scenario you envisioned?”

Feofan nodded enthusiastically, “ Oh yes Comrade General. The writings of a man named Keyes, who coined the invisible hand theory; say a modern capitalist economy system is linked. If one nation is unable to thrive within the system it is doomed to be enveloped by stronger surrounding neighbors.”

Viktor leaned forward looking to Feofan, “Correct. It is also stated that should all fail, some nations may still survive, but the nations who are indebted to others will receive the harshest treatment.”

“Do you have any examples of this?” Krasovsky asked, sitting back in his chair listening.

“Germany, the Balkan area, the United States for sure.” Kliment said counting them off on his fingers.

“Now would you care to explain the military aspects of your doctrine?” the General said.

“I am afraid Comrade General, that our military knowledge is lacking. We have been trained on squad tactics, and not larger operations.” Feofan set the folder on the desk as he spoke.

“Ahh. Quite acceptable Comrades.” Krasovsky stood up and opened his desk. He pulled out an envelope setting it before the three soldiers. His arms folded across his chest, he leaned in, “You have become somewhat of celebrities in the higher circles of the party.”

“Really?” Viktor said with a grin. Kliment reached for the letter and read it to himself.

State Order 6162

Corporals Karpov, Feofan, name, Viktor, Kraminov and name, Kliment are to appear before the General Secretary no later then November 12, 1929. Full military dress is required.

Kliment felt the letter slip out of his hands. He shook for a few seconds, his friends looked to him with concern. “Kliment? What is wrong?” Feofan asked.

“Is he alright?” Krasovsky poured Kliment a glass of water, patting him on the back.
Kliment leapt up grabbing Feofan by the collar, “WE ARE MEETING STALIN!”

The room was large. Very large, before the Revolution it was said the Tsar used the room as a library. The view of Moscow was stunning, and Tsars liked to read with such a view. Now it housed something greater, it was Josef Stalin’s office. Feofan Karpov, Viktor Kraminov, and Kliment Pavlyuchenko stood in the center of the room at attention. They wore brand new, freshly pressed uniforms, bead of nervous sweat covered their brows. In front of them sat Stalin. He looked massive at his desk; of course he set the room up to give such an illusion. At 5’6” he hardly made a man of steel, but only the leaders of the Soviet Union knew this.

To his side stood Nikolai Ivanovich Yezhovdeputy head of the NKVD, and Vyacheslav Molotov. Stalin was the first to speak, his Georgian accent piercing the room, “I like your writing.”
The three remained at attention not saying a word, “ I like it so much, I wonder if it could work.” Stalin clasped his hands in front of his face, “My General’s tell me it could, but great changes would be needed. In the military, and the Soviet Union itself. I agree. Tell me… Comrade Karpov, can you improve upon this doctrine? Can you spread Communism and Stalinism across the globe?”

Feofan gulped, “Comrade General Secretary. I fear that the military knowledge of my Comrades and I is lacking.”

Stalin leaned forward, “Really? Surely one with a grasp of the dialect as you three could expand upon it. Or do you simply lack the skills to explain military matters beyond a straight line on the map?”

Feofan felt his knees go weak, Kliment bit his lower lip, and Viktor spoke up, “Correct General Secretary Stalin.”

Stalin’s eyes widened, many told him what he wanted to hear, but he had never heard anyone come out an admit ignorance. Feofan’s nails dug into the palms of his hands, Viktor spoke his mind, and cared little for others opinions of him.

“We lack knowledge in these military matters. I am sure your General’s could come up with an acceptable tactical, and strategic plan to fit within the Trinity Doctrine. Of course if you wish we three to do it, we will need two things.”

“And those are? Stalin allowed himself to smile. The young Corporal had a way with words, and an infectious smile and demeanor.

“We require time, and training.” Viktor answered, his smile beaming across the room. He was in a cold sweat but he hid that along with the heart pounding in his chest.
Stalin motioned for Yezhov, and Molotov to come closer. A conversation went on for some time, during which Feofan Karpov, Viktor Kraminov, and Kliment Pavlyuchenko made not a move. Kliment shot a glance at Viktor, but it was one of friendship and not wrath.

Stalin turned back, “I agree with your logic. You are just twenty correct?”

“Yes,” the three said in unison.

“Very well. You shall be promoted and sent to the Frunze Military Academy. I expect signs of progress.” The General Secretary of the Soviet Union smiled. with that said the three were ushered from the room, a new goal in life, and lieutenant’s bars on the way.

“You are expected to have these books finished on Wednesday, a four page minimum paper covering your thoughts is to be included.” The logistical analysis instructor said in his almost monotonous voice. Feofan Karpov sat in the class, listening to the various improvements in military matters. At three o’clock he was allowed to leave, after an hour of physical conditioning he went on his way across the quad of the academy. Everywhere he looked the elite of the Soviet Red Army walked about, being groomed to serve the state.
In the library Karpov sat down pulling out the Trinity Doctrine, his copy was cover from page to page in red ink, his personal notes on miscalculations, undialectic reasoning, and just plain foolish military logic. Viktor, and Kliment had a copy of their own, the three boys decided to work independently, and meet once a week to discuss the Doctrine in full. They had until March to present signs of progress to a Politburo committee; being February 1930 they had plenty of time.

Karpov read through a report on the output of the newest five year plan. The new slogan for it was 2+2=5, which was to mean four years would equal out to five years of production. He was startled when a man cleared his throat behind him. Looking back, a stocky man looking like he was from East of the Urals stood by his chair.

“Can I help you?” Feofan said, obvious annoyance in his voice.

“May I use one of your books?” the man said.

Karpov looked over the table dozens of books covering every topic imaginable. He looked back, “Which one, Comrade?”

“Illyanovic. Lt. Illyanovic. I would like to see the copy of the new armor movement book.” The Lieutenant said. Feofan looked around and frowned, “I cannot seem to find it.”

“May I? Comrade…”

“Karpov. Lt. Feofan Karpov.” He smiled as Illyanovic took a step back.

“I heard you went to this academy. I had not seen you around before, do the other Doctrine writers attend this academy?”

Karpov nodded, as Illyanovic lifted a few books up on the edge of the table, and pulled out a thin green book. Feofan tilted his head to the side to read the cover, “J.F.C. Fuller?”

“Have you not read it?”

“I have enough of amour from those tactical manuals.” Karpov said stretching his legs.

The other lieutenant laughed and handed the book back, “ I suggest you read this then. My instructor Col. Grashov, spoke highly of it. I concern the idea of mass armor movements.”

“Mass armor movements?” Feofan pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote the phase down underlining it and adding a dark question mark next to it. Illyanovic pulled out a chair and sat down, “Yes. It is the idea that tanks are to be used as an offensive weapon instead of assisting infantry as is considered the norm.”

“Is not the Moscow Engineering academy working on a high speed, low armor tank? I recall hearing that it was to be used with such a doctrine in mind.” Karpov took notes when he could. He then stopped and smiled, “Tell me Comrade Illyanovic have you a copy of the Trinity Doctrine?”

“Please call me Alexis Comrade Karpov, and yes I do own a copy.” Feofan pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and wrote a few notes.

“And you feel free to call me Feofan, Alexis. I would like you to make some notes for me concerning mass armored movement. That is the term correct?”

Alexis smiled wide, “Why thank you Comrade.” He saluted and reached for the book. Feofan rested his pencil on it, “I must read this book first. You may send a message to me whenever you have comments prepared.”
Illyanovic nodded a look of awe still on his face, “May I discuss this with other cadets?”

“Yes, but keep it small no more then three.” Feofan turned back to his studies.

The steppes of Russia were truly large. It stretched for so many miles a man could disappear like a ship on the horizon. Viktor Kraminov looked out of the cock pit to the Tupolev ANT-13 Interceptor. His instructor Col. F.I. Tolbukhin sat behind him in the bi-plane. He yelled as loud as he could, “Having fun?”
“Yes Comrade!” Viktor snapped a few photos from the camera his father sent to him. Viktor had taken a shine to the prospects of aerial reconnaissance. What a single plane could do in an hour, plus two hours for developing pictures, an entire platoon would take a whole day. The plane bounced down the runway of the small Moscow Militia airfield. Viktor pulled out his notebook and wrote some quick notes.

“Tell me Comrade Academic Tolbukhin what else do you suggest I look into?” Viktor smiled.

“Your papers let you go to very many places, and I suggest you go to every one you can. The Moscow engineering, and aeronautic design school is a good place to start.” Tolbukhin smiled, pulling his goggles off. In his late forties he had fought in three wars, the Russo-Japanese war, the Imperialistic war, and the Civil war. During which time he witnessed numerous changes to warfare, but the airplane was his favorite. Fast, nimble, and able to rain destruction down. The bi-plane he just flew was completely obsolete. Compared to the Grigorovich IP-1 Cannon Fighter, and Tupolev TB-1 Heavy Bomber.

Viktor wrote whatever the man said down, he liked Tolbukhin. He seemed like an older wiser, version of himself. Plus he always had the best tobacco lying about. “I must go Comrade Col. Tolbukhin.”

Viktor saluted him, “You may go Comrade Kraminov.” Tolbukhin returned the salute with a lopsided grin.
Viktor started to leave, but stopped and turned around. He ripped a slip of paper from his notebook, “This is my mailing address, and if you have anyone who can help with my studies please have him or her contact me.”
Viktor trotted off to the motorpool hoping he would have a ride back to the dorms before the sunset.