That's why Soviets will use a cunning plan. They will attack in afternoon when your tea addiction is strongest and you start craving for tea and count seconds unill tea break.
-
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If the UK and the US are distracted, the USSR might be able to make a quick landing on the isles...
Looks like we have an imperialist sympathizer in our midst. Comrade, excuse me, Premier Stukov looks poorly on such things. 
VILenin said:Looks like we have an imperialist sympathizer in our midst. Comrade, excuse me, Premier Stukov looks poorly on such things.
Yes, but there isn't yet a British Commando that Stukov has managed to capture.....go to war with Britain and commandos will be all over your rear lines
heheh
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Morpheus506: Indeed. The sun itself will be blotted out with CAGs.
ddiplock: Why yes, it won't be long before I rule Britannia
4th Dimension: Drop your guard for even a second, and the commies will step in!
GeneralHannibal: And from quick, it will quickly develop into permanency. It will be a tricky thing for me, considering I've never invaded Britain without using paratroopers initially.
VILenin: I trust my loyal followers will take care of this transgression?
----------------------------------------
Since his ascension to power in the November coup, Stukov's rule had lived a precarious existence, allowed only by the acquiescence of a flattered Red Army and its fabulously hero-generals, and the government's rather poor performance in handling the quadruple American offensive. As the stalemate, and even the failure of numerous winter counter-offensives, reached the Soviet people, many were preparing for Stukov's overthrow, and perhaps even a Stalinist restoration. For his part, Stukov refused to order the execution of the remaining Stalin loyalists living in exile and retirement.
This dangerous existence changed in a dramatic series of events in the 'Glorious April' Offensives. While there had been many noteworthy advances in repelling the Americans, particularly in the Middle East and Siberia, there had been no unequivocal triumph or event that Stukov's propaganda machine could exploit to cement Stukov's place in the Soviet state. By the end of the month, that would no longer be the case. Events unfolding simultaneously but separately on multiple fronts were to make the Premier more than just a rubber stamp for the military's wildly popular generals.
In late March, Patton's bold strategy to seize Vichy and threaten Paris had finally failed, his gains retaken by Zhukov's battered army. All that remained was a several kilometer long salient running along the west bank of the Rhone held by barely 20,000, tenuously supplied through Saint-Etiene. While only a fraction of the American force, it was too tempting a target to pass up. Zhukov launched his attack on 8 April against Patton's right flank, coming up against particularly fierce resistance as Patton attempted to extricate his divisions out of the Rhone salient. But by the 11th, Patton's right had been shattered and Konev surged forward with four armoured divisions, taking Saint-Etienne and cutting off two American divisions, which quickly surrendered after renewed attacks the following day.
At this point, Zhukov could claim victory, albeit a minor one. Suddenly, on 13 April, Konev realized that Patton's army had retreated to the southwest toward Toulouse rather than toward Nimes and Montpelier as was expected, opening a huge gap between is main force and a sizable contingent still east of the Rhone in Provence. Smelling another victory at hand, Konev immediately ordered his tanks south, leaving a single division under Mj. General Volskiy to hold Saint-Etienne and the surrounding land, barely pausing to notify Zhukov, who for his part approved of this move. By later afternoon, Konev had reached Montpellier, encountering piecemeal American resistance as Patton realized his danger all too late. Five divisions were now trapped in Marseille and Nimes.
With nowhere for the American army to flee, Trubnikov surged forward from Toulon, smashing through the Marseille defenses like a sledge hammer. Those that could fled eastward across the few remaining bridges on the Rhone, making a last-ditch defense around Nimes. Almost 50,000 Americans surrendered on the morning of the 14th. Patton's carelessness had cost him dearly. Seven army divisions were now prisoners of war and his army was so badly disorganized that repeated attacks against Konev's positions failed to gain any headway.
By the 14th, Patton's hold on southern France was slipping rapidly
At the very same time events were unfolding in France, the Archangelsk theater, little noted until this point, was developing quite unexpectedly. The United States had placed eleven divisions under the command of Field Marshal Eisenhower, who positioned his army in a tight defensive ring around the city, running as far south as the Severnaya River. Opposing him, stretched across a wide arc, were seventeen Soviet divisions, six in the south under Lt. General Kulik and the rest north under General Dement'ev, reassigned after the destruction of his army in the Far East. Since the total destruction of the White Sea Fleet the previous year, the continued American presence had little strategic value, doing little to disrupt Stukov's military plans elsewhere and hardly causing a ripple in the nation's industrial might. Only the psychological value of having an army in the 'Russian heartland' justified the operation. The American occupation served as a constant reminder to Stukov of just how fragile his rule was and his promise to turn the war around.
Dement'ev, eager to prove himself after allowing the largest Soviet defeat of the war yet, threw himself into preparing for an assault on the city. Styling himself a 'fortress buster', Dement'ev pulled his army away from the American line to better counter any movement Eisenhower made. To the American general, it seemed that the harsh Russian winter and the poor infrastructure to the north of Archangelsk - which Eisenhower deemed virtually uninhabitable - had driven the Russians away, allowing Eisenhower to shift the bulk of his forces toward Kulik.
Hoping to buttress flagging American morale, President Roosevelt and General Marshall concluded an offensive from Archangelsk would be the most likely to succeed. Eisenhower quickly drew up plans for a southward thrust, but expressed misgivings of advancing with so few men. His worries were dismissed and orders were sent out for a general attack. In the early morning hours of 12 April - still the 11th in France - Eisenhower attacked Kulik's left wing. Outnumbered over three to one, Kulik could do little to oppose the Americans from crossing the Severnaya. The 26. Corps dug in and stubbornly battled Eisenhower for every inch for several hours before Kulik ordered a retreat, his men falling back in good order toward Molotovsk. Eisenhower followed in hot pursuit.
Little did the general realize that he had committed a fatal blunder. His offensive had stripped his defenses almost entirely and badly exposed his rear area to attack. Dement'ev had so successfully hidden his forces, that Eisenhower was convinced no Soviet army remained north of Archangelsk. Barely three hours before Kulik ordered his retreat, Dement'ev launched his own attack. At the same moment, Kulik ordered 23. Corps, his right flank, to attack from the southeast, diverting almost all Eisenhower's reserves to protect his left flank. Dement'ev crashed through the paper-thin northern line on the 13th. The surprise was total. Within six hours, Archangelsk and all the American army's supplies had fallen; communications were cut with the small American naval presence outside the harbor, and with it the outside world. Eisenhower himself was nearly captured, having moved his headquarters out of the city just as Dement'ev broke through in the north.
Pandemonium erupted all along the American line. A fresh army had materialized behind them from what appeared to be nothing more than a frigid wasteland. Without supplies, it was inevitable the Americans would surrender. Eisenhower gathered what troops he could in a desperate counter-offensive, only to be smashed backward by Dement'ev's onrushing forces, continuing south and driving the Americans toward the White Sea. Unwilling to suffer the humiliation of losing a Field Marshal, the Navy evacuated Eisenhower in the knick of time, leaving his army to surrender to Dement'ev at noon of the 14th. 110,000 soldiers had been lost. Barely a fraction of that had been inflicted on the Red Army.
Thus, almost simultaneously, nearly 200,000 Americans had been taken prisoner, the United States' best general had been decisively beaten, and its armies driven into the sea in a span of four days. With the victories at Archangelsk and Nimes, America's continental invasion was in ruins. On two fronts America had been decisively beaten and nothing but news of setbacks and retreat were coming from the Middle East and Siberia. The American government did its best to cushion the blows, not even mentioning Devers' surrender of the last pockets of American resistance around Vanavara, deep within Siberia, but the magnitude of the defeats could not be ignored.
The conclusion to be drawn is simple: the American strategy for defeating Russia simply did not work. While it certainly had managed to achieve spectacular victories and make significant headway against the slow and even cumbersome Soviet response, Roosevelt had blundered in dispersing his forces on so many fronts. Had Patton had Eisenhower's eleven divisions in France, he could have reached the Maginot and dug-in indefinitely. If Simpson only had a half dozen more in the Levant, Baghdad could have fallen and the Red Army would have fought through the unforgiving Persian terrain. But the mistakes had been made, and nothing short of a miracle could save America's continental invasion.
Stukov, on the contrary, was almost overcome with the joy of the simultaneous triumphs in France and Archangelsk. Finally, the country was victorious on all fronts. Propaganda had little need to inflate the magnitude of the victories to the Russian people, who greeted the news with wild exuberance and spontaneous celebration. A half dozen cities, from Leningrad to Kiev, virtually shut down for several hours on 17 April, when news was released. Stukov issued specific orders to Uritskiy and city law enforcement to not interfere with the celebrations. Stukov was to capitalize off the rising tide of Soviet victory to the fullest extent and allowed determined himself a moment of optimism, looking to the horizon for even greater triumphs.
========
Excerpt from - A Short History of the Red Army of the USSR: From the Invasion of Poland Through the Second World War
========
ddiplock: Why yes, it won't be long before I rule Britannia
4th Dimension: Drop your guard for even a second, and the commies will step in!
GeneralHannibal: And from quick, it will quickly develop into permanency. It will be a tricky thing for me, considering I've never invaded Britain without using paratroopers initially.
VILenin: I trust my loyal followers will take care of this transgression?
----------------------------------------
Since his ascension to power in the November coup, Stukov's rule had lived a precarious existence, allowed only by the acquiescence of a flattered Red Army and its fabulously hero-generals, and the government's rather poor performance in handling the quadruple American offensive. As the stalemate, and even the failure of numerous winter counter-offensives, reached the Soviet people, many were preparing for Stukov's overthrow, and perhaps even a Stalinist restoration. For his part, Stukov refused to order the execution of the remaining Stalin loyalists living in exile and retirement.
This dangerous existence changed in a dramatic series of events in the 'Glorious April' Offensives. While there had been many noteworthy advances in repelling the Americans, particularly in the Middle East and Siberia, there had been no unequivocal triumph or event that Stukov's propaganda machine could exploit to cement Stukov's place in the Soviet state. By the end of the month, that would no longer be the case. Events unfolding simultaneously but separately on multiple fronts were to make the Premier more than just a rubber stamp for the military's wildly popular generals.
In late March, Patton's bold strategy to seize Vichy and threaten Paris had finally failed, his gains retaken by Zhukov's battered army. All that remained was a several kilometer long salient running along the west bank of the Rhone held by barely 20,000, tenuously supplied through Saint-Etiene. While only a fraction of the American force, it was too tempting a target to pass up. Zhukov launched his attack on 8 April against Patton's right flank, coming up against particularly fierce resistance as Patton attempted to extricate his divisions out of the Rhone salient. But by the 11th, Patton's right had been shattered and Konev surged forward with four armoured divisions, taking Saint-Etienne and cutting off two American divisions, which quickly surrendered after renewed attacks the following day.
At this point, Zhukov could claim victory, albeit a minor one. Suddenly, on 13 April, Konev realized that Patton's army had retreated to the southwest toward Toulouse rather than toward Nimes and Montpelier as was expected, opening a huge gap between is main force and a sizable contingent still east of the Rhone in Provence. Smelling another victory at hand, Konev immediately ordered his tanks south, leaving a single division under Mj. General Volskiy to hold Saint-Etienne and the surrounding land, barely pausing to notify Zhukov, who for his part approved of this move. By later afternoon, Konev had reached Montpellier, encountering piecemeal American resistance as Patton realized his danger all too late. Five divisions were now trapped in Marseille and Nimes.
With nowhere for the American army to flee, Trubnikov surged forward from Toulon, smashing through the Marseille defenses like a sledge hammer. Those that could fled eastward across the few remaining bridges on the Rhone, making a last-ditch defense around Nimes. Almost 50,000 Americans surrendered on the morning of the 14th. Patton's carelessness had cost him dearly. Seven army divisions were now prisoners of war and his army was so badly disorganized that repeated attacks against Konev's positions failed to gain any headway.
By the 14th, Patton's hold on southern France was slipping rapidly
At the very same time events were unfolding in France, the Archangelsk theater, little noted until this point, was developing quite unexpectedly. The United States had placed eleven divisions under the command of Field Marshal Eisenhower, who positioned his army in a tight defensive ring around the city, running as far south as the Severnaya River. Opposing him, stretched across a wide arc, were seventeen Soviet divisions, six in the south under Lt. General Kulik and the rest north under General Dement'ev, reassigned after the destruction of his army in the Far East. Since the total destruction of the White Sea Fleet the previous year, the continued American presence had little strategic value, doing little to disrupt Stukov's military plans elsewhere and hardly causing a ripple in the nation's industrial might. Only the psychological value of having an army in the 'Russian heartland' justified the operation. The American occupation served as a constant reminder to Stukov of just how fragile his rule was and his promise to turn the war around.
Dement'ev, eager to prove himself after allowing the largest Soviet defeat of the war yet, threw himself into preparing for an assault on the city. Styling himself a 'fortress buster', Dement'ev pulled his army away from the American line to better counter any movement Eisenhower made. To the American general, it seemed that the harsh Russian winter and the poor infrastructure to the north of Archangelsk - which Eisenhower deemed virtually uninhabitable - had driven the Russians away, allowing Eisenhower to shift the bulk of his forces toward Kulik.
Hoping to buttress flagging American morale, President Roosevelt and General Marshall concluded an offensive from Archangelsk would be the most likely to succeed. Eisenhower quickly drew up plans for a southward thrust, but expressed misgivings of advancing with so few men. His worries were dismissed and orders were sent out for a general attack. In the early morning hours of 12 April - still the 11th in France - Eisenhower attacked Kulik's left wing. Outnumbered over three to one, Kulik could do little to oppose the Americans from crossing the Severnaya. The 26. Corps dug in and stubbornly battled Eisenhower for every inch for several hours before Kulik ordered a retreat, his men falling back in good order toward Molotovsk. Eisenhower followed in hot pursuit.
Little did the general realize that he had committed a fatal blunder. His offensive had stripped his defenses almost entirely and badly exposed his rear area to attack. Dement'ev had so successfully hidden his forces, that Eisenhower was convinced no Soviet army remained north of Archangelsk. Barely three hours before Kulik ordered his retreat, Dement'ev launched his own attack. At the same moment, Kulik ordered 23. Corps, his right flank, to attack from the southeast, diverting almost all Eisenhower's reserves to protect his left flank. Dement'ev crashed through the paper-thin northern line on the 13th. The surprise was total. Within six hours, Archangelsk and all the American army's supplies had fallen; communications were cut with the small American naval presence outside the harbor, and with it the outside world. Eisenhower himself was nearly captured, having moved his headquarters out of the city just as Dement'ev broke through in the north.
Pandemonium erupted all along the American line. A fresh army had materialized behind them from what appeared to be nothing more than a frigid wasteland. Without supplies, it was inevitable the Americans would surrender. Eisenhower gathered what troops he could in a desperate counter-offensive, only to be smashed backward by Dement'ev's onrushing forces, continuing south and driving the Americans toward the White Sea. Unwilling to suffer the humiliation of losing a Field Marshal, the Navy evacuated Eisenhower in the knick of time, leaving his army to surrender to Dement'ev at noon of the 14th. 110,000 soldiers had been lost. Barely a fraction of that had been inflicted on the Red Army.
Thus, almost simultaneously, nearly 200,000 Americans had been taken prisoner, the United States' best general had been decisively beaten, and its armies driven into the sea in a span of four days. With the victories at Archangelsk and Nimes, America's continental invasion was in ruins. On two fronts America had been decisively beaten and nothing but news of setbacks and retreat were coming from the Middle East and Siberia. The American government did its best to cushion the blows, not even mentioning Devers' surrender of the last pockets of American resistance around Vanavara, deep within Siberia, but the magnitude of the defeats could not be ignored.
The conclusion to be drawn is simple: the American strategy for defeating Russia simply did not work. While it certainly had managed to achieve spectacular victories and make significant headway against the slow and even cumbersome Soviet response, Roosevelt had blundered in dispersing his forces on so many fronts. Had Patton had Eisenhower's eleven divisions in France, he could have reached the Maginot and dug-in indefinitely. If Simpson only had a half dozen more in the Levant, Baghdad could have fallen and the Red Army would have fought through the unforgiving Persian terrain. But the mistakes had been made, and nothing short of a miracle could save America's continental invasion.
Stukov, on the contrary, was almost overcome with the joy of the simultaneous triumphs in France and Archangelsk. Finally, the country was victorious on all fronts. Propaganda had little need to inflate the magnitude of the victories to the Russian people, who greeted the news with wild exuberance and spontaneous celebration. A half dozen cities, from Leningrad to Kiev, virtually shut down for several hours on 17 April, when news was released. Stukov issued specific orders to Uritskiy and city law enforcement to not interfere with the celebrations. Stukov was to capitalize off the rising tide of Soviet victory to the fullest extent and allowed determined himself a moment of optimism, looking to the horizon for even greater triumphs.
========
Excerpt from - A Short History of the Red Army of the USSR: From the Invasion of Poland Through the Second World War
========
Stupid, stupid Americans, what were they thinking trying to invade thru Archangelsk? Looks like the invaders will soon be driven off, then it'll be Stukov's turn to invade something.
Looks like the invaders will soon be driven off, then it'll be Stukov's turn to invade something.
rcduggan: Again...
VILenin: America was invading from all four corners of the empire, it seems, despite the fact that it was technically impossible for their transports to move that far.
It's been so long since I've been on the offensive that I've nearly forgotten how to do it
-------------------------------------
July 8th, 1943
Premier Stukov watched the seemingly endless lines of defeated soldiers disinterestedly as his motorcade drove down the French country road, marching slowly toward an uncertain fate.
The orders to show no quarter had been unilaterally suspended several weeks earlier, shortly after the combined surrender of 200,000 American soldiers in southern France and Archangelsk.
These men, bloodied, beaten, outnumbered, outgunned, and better lead, had in spite of all odds fought on with stubborn determination. Acting against Patton's orders, the remains of his invasion force had struck north in a desperate effort to avoid destruction, engaging in a race to possible salvation at the English Channel, leading Zhukov on a week-long chase that should have ended in Boudreaux. Now they were at Angers, 300 miles north.
"Quite a sight to behold," Anton, his bodyguard, commented to break the silence.
"It certainly is," Stukov agreed with a slight nod of his head. "And a sign of things to come."
The convoy continued on, the line of soldiers stretching to the horizon. There was nearly two-hundred thousand of them, twenty divisions worth. One American, his right arm in a bloody sling, collapsed to his knees, catching Stukov's attention.
As he passed, he furrowed his brow in confusion and stared after the man. Suddenly, a realization dawned upon Stukov. He lurched forward from his seat. "Stop the car! Pull over! Stop the car!" he ordered hurriedly, looking back toward the American, as if fearing he would vanish into the sea of bodies.
Even before the convoy had come to a stand-still, Stukov jumped out, half-jogging, half-walking the way he had come, Anton trailing behind, doing his best to keep up.
Ahead, an NKVD officer had descended on the wounded soldier, prodding him to stand with the butt of his sub-machine gun.
"Stand up, worm!" the officer snarled in a language the American couldn't understand. Hardly waiting a second, he raised his gun over his head to bring it crashing down on his helpless prey.
"Restrain yourself!" Stukov barked as he jogged up to the scene.
"Just who do you think..."the NKVD officer said as he turned, a malicious fire in his eye at being defied. His expression changed from one of anger to shock as he realized who was standing before him. "P-premier Stukov!" he gulped, saluting sharply.
Stukov snorted, shouldering him aside as he stood before the exhausted American. "I don't suppose you understand me," Stukov said wistfully.
"Premier..." Anton began to object but was silenced when Stukov raised his hand for silence.
"What is your name, soldier?" Stukov asked, startling the NKVD officer and Anton, as well as the Red Army soldiers who had gathered around to watch the spectacle, with his English.
The man finally looked up from the ground, sending a shiver down Alexei's spine at what he saw.
His eyes... he thought.
"Alexander Stucon," the man said, his voice cracking from a parched throat.
Stukov's heart raced, staring intently down at this man. "Were you named after your grandfather?" he asked, failing to keep the sense of urgency from his voice.
Alexander blinked several times, pondering Alexei's words. "No. I've been told I was named after my great-grandfather, actually."
Stukov opened his mouth to speak, his lips quivering slightly as he pondered this. Finally, he spoke at length, whirling around and pointing to the nearest Russian soldiers. "You two," he demanded, pointing at them. "Take this man to the nearest hospital, see to it he receives the best treatment possible."
He continued: "Anton," he said while turning back to his bodyguard. "See to it no harm comes to him. Protect him as if he were myself!"
"But Premier..." Anton stammered.
"Swear that no harm will come to him!" Stukov yelled demandingly, eyes smoldering with anger.
Anton wilted under his gaze, nodding: "Yes, Premier. I swear to it."
Stukov glared at Anton for a moment longer, contemplating the promise. Finally, he turned back to Alexander, pulling his canteen off his belt. "Here, take this," he said, offering it out.
"Thanks, I guess," he replied warily.
Stukov nodded to the waiting soldiers, who stepped forward and helped Alexander to his feet. Days, perhaps even hours ago, they would have been ready to kill each other without hesitation. And now they were helping him as if he were a comrade-in-arms. Stukov watched them go, and continued to stare off at where they had vanished from view for several more moments.
"This changes things greatly," he muttered to himself before turning back to the waiting motorcade.
VILenin: America was invading from all four corners of the empire, it seems, despite the fact that it was technically impossible for their transports to move that far.
It's been so long since I've been on the offensive that I've nearly forgotten how to do it
-------------------------------------
July 8th, 1943
Premier Stukov watched the seemingly endless lines of defeated soldiers disinterestedly as his motorcade drove down the French country road, marching slowly toward an uncertain fate.
The orders to show no quarter had been unilaterally suspended several weeks earlier, shortly after the combined surrender of 200,000 American soldiers in southern France and Archangelsk.
These men, bloodied, beaten, outnumbered, outgunned, and better lead, had in spite of all odds fought on with stubborn determination. Acting against Patton's orders, the remains of his invasion force had struck north in a desperate effort to avoid destruction, engaging in a race to possible salvation at the English Channel, leading Zhukov on a week-long chase that should have ended in Boudreaux. Now they were at Angers, 300 miles north.
"Quite a sight to behold," Anton, his bodyguard, commented to break the silence.
"It certainly is," Stukov agreed with a slight nod of his head. "And a sign of things to come."
The convoy continued on, the line of soldiers stretching to the horizon. There was nearly two-hundred thousand of them, twenty divisions worth. One American, his right arm in a bloody sling, collapsed to his knees, catching Stukov's attention.
As he passed, he furrowed his brow in confusion and stared after the man. Suddenly, a realization dawned upon Stukov. He lurched forward from his seat. "Stop the car! Pull over! Stop the car!" he ordered hurriedly, looking back toward the American, as if fearing he would vanish into the sea of bodies.
Even before the convoy had come to a stand-still, Stukov jumped out, half-jogging, half-walking the way he had come, Anton trailing behind, doing his best to keep up.
Ahead, an NKVD officer had descended on the wounded soldier, prodding him to stand with the butt of his sub-machine gun.
"Stand up, worm!" the officer snarled in a language the American couldn't understand. Hardly waiting a second, he raised his gun over his head to bring it crashing down on his helpless prey.
"Restrain yourself!" Stukov barked as he jogged up to the scene.
"Just who do you think..."the NKVD officer said as he turned, a malicious fire in his eye at being defied. His expression changed from one of anger to shock as he realized who was standing before him. "P-premier Stukov!" he gulped, saluting sharply.
Stukov snorted, shouldering him aside as he stood before the exhausted American. "I don't suppose you understand me," Stukov said wistfully.
"Premier..." Anton began to object but was silenced when Stukov raised his hand for silence.
"What is your name, soldier?" Stukov asked, startling the NKVD officer and Anton, as well as the Red Army soldiers who had gathered around to watch the spectacle, with his English.
The man finally looked up from the ground, sending a shiver down Alexei's spine at what he saw.
His eyes... he thought.
"Alexander Stucon," the man said, his voice cracking from a parched throat.
Stukov's heart raced, staring intently down at this man. "Were you named after your grandfather?" he asked, failing to keep the sense of urgency from his voice.
Alexander blinked several times, pondering Alexei's words. "No. I've been told I was named after my great-grandfather, actually."
Stukov opened his mouth to speak, his lips quivering slightly as he pondered this. Finally, he spoke at length, whirling around and pointing to the nearest Russian soldiers. "You two," he demanded, pointing at them. "Take this man to the nearest hospital, see to it he receives the best treatment possible."
He continued: "Anton," he said while turning back to his bodyguard. "See to it no harm comes to him. Protect him as if he were myself!"
"But Premier..." Anton stammered.
"Swear that no harm will come to him!" Stukov yelled demandingly, eyes smoldering with anger.
Anton wilted under his gaze, nodding: "Yes, Premier. I swear to it."
Stukov glared at Anton for a moment longer, contemplating the promise. Finally, he turned back to Alexander, pulling his canteen off his belt. "Here, take this," he said, offering it out.
"Thanks, I guess," he replied warily.
Stukov nodded to the waiting soldiers, who stepped forward and helped Alexander to his feet. Days, perhaps even hours ago, they would have been ready to kill each other without hesitation. And now they were helping him as if he were a comrade-in-arms. Stukov watched them go, and continued to stare off at where they had vanished from view for several more moments.
"This changes things greatly," he muttered to himself before turning back to the waiting motorcade.
GeneralHannibal said:
"The Second Chapter in My Time Travelling Series; Chronological Influences II: An American AAR"
Read this, damn time travelers. Great as usual btw.
Uh-oh, my paradox-alarm is going wild. We're looking at the potential for converging timelnes, merging timelines, causality loops... :wacko: Curse whatever sci-fi writer invented time travel!That being said, I look forward to seeing how Stukov's past, present and future tie everything together.
uh-oh! those teradactyl things from doctor who are coming! get inside a church! :rofl:ColossusCrusher said:
Stukov, like Fry, may be his own ancestor!!!!
Conversely, it's only a matter of time before Duran's Stukov-meter brings him here...and the Zerg.
Conversely, it's only a matter of time before Duran's Stukov-meter brings him here...and the Zerg.
Before going any further, I would like to apologize for the significant delay since my last update. Unfortunately, while deactivating my 'Kaiserreich' mod, it glitched and for all intents and purpouses inbedded itself into the vanilla game files. Fortunately, I was able to get a functional, though slightly different, copy of the game to run. Everything is now the same, except for the color of the countries, and the name of some east Asian countries. Besides that, expect an update within the next twenty-four hours.
GeneralHannibal: It's a possibility.
Marchalk_Zjukov: Thank you, kind sir.
VILenin: It's complicated, but it can work.
ColossusCrusher: Yeah. I established that in CI1 when Stukov's past self was murdered without affecting his future self.o
Patrick O'Harte: Well, keep in mind Stukov died in CI2.
GeneralHannibal: It's a possibility.
Marchalk_Zjukov: Thank you, kind sir.
VILenin: It's complicated, but it can work.
ColossusCrusher: Yeah. I established that in CI1 when Stukov's past self was murdered without affecting his future self.
o Patrick O'Harte: Well, keep in mind Stukov died in CI2.
VILenin: Indeed. It would have been awful to abandon this AAR because of some stupid glitch after so much time spent.
---------------------------------
August 5th, 1943
General Popov stood patiently in front of Premier Stukov's expansive office desk as Stukov glanced through the report he had delivered. After several moments of silence, Stukov looked up from the papers.
"How recent is this update?" Stukov asked, setting the paper down.
"It was received early this morning, Premier," Popov replied formally, not forgetting his military discipline. "I forwarded it on to intelligence, and they confirm roughly the same estimates General Eremenko gave in the report."
Stukov nodded, allowing a smile to cross his expression. "Good. Order General Eremenko to begin the attack immediately if he has not done so already, and send him my congratulations. The country will be pleased to hear of the destruction of ten British divisions in Afghanistan.
Popov nodded in agreement and began turning to leave. Stukov held up his hand, indicating he had more to say. "Before you go," he began, sliding a seal envelope across the desk. "Be sure to also convey this to Mj. General Ivanov in Gorkij. Mister Kurchatov's recent expansion requests have been granted."
Popov hesitated before taking the envelope, nodding his understanding. "As you wish, Premier." The general saluted, Stukov nodding in response, before leaving.
General Popov spared only a temporary glance at Anton as Stukov's bodyguard entered the office, followed closely by an unassuming young man.
Stukov watched silently, leaning back into his chair and waiting as the pair entered the room.
"Good to see you have made a full recovery from your injuries," Stukov spoke at last.
Alexander nodded slightly as he took his seat, fidgeting slightly from time to time. "It was nothing serious..." he replied quietly.
Chuckling, Stukov turned his chair slightly to the side and steepled his fingers. "No doubt you have many questions, considering as I have barely spoken to you in a month. For that, I apologize. Running the country takes up more of my time than I realize at times."
Alexander hesitated, completely unprepared for the situation he was now in. "Well," he started at last. "First off, you can't expect me to be just start talking to you like you weren't some commie tyrant."
Stukov grinned but stifled a laugh. "No doubt your government has trained you to hate me, kill me, even."
"I certainly would enjoy doing that right about now," Alexander nodded, causing Anton to stiffen abruptly. "Might make the world a little bit brighter."
"Yes," Stukov drawled, taking his time in articulating himself. "I do come off as quite a villain in most people's minds. I'm used to that, because I really can be so evil at times."
Stukov's honesty caught Alexander off-guard, having expected him to be more defensive. "Why me? Why am I here?" he demanded.
Stukov remained silent for a long time. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he gauged Anton before returning his gaze to Alexander. "Because," he said with great sobriety. "You are my great-grandson, Alexander."
He was unsure who was more surprised by the remark, watching both his bodyguard and the American closely. "G-great-grandson!?" Alexander stammered in disbelief. "What, are you insane?"
Stukov shook his head slowly. "No, what I tell you is the truth, Alexander. You are the last living descendent of the Imperial family, the rulers of the earth, my family, Alexander."
Alexander and Anton's mouths fell open as Stukov finished, utterly speechless. "Time-travel," Stukov answered their unspoken questions. "Through a machine that could transport people through time and space, I was able to rise from nothing more than a scientist on the fringe of respectable learning to Emperor of the world itself!" he declared proudly, leaning forward in his chair and hitting the desktop with his closed fist.
"But I was betrayed," he continued, his eyes smoldering with righteous anger. "I went too far, became overconfident, and was nearly killed in the ensuing military coup. As the Red Army,my army, descended upon me and my family from all sides, we escaped in time using the time machine."
He paused, letting his words sink in. His eyes flickered between both Anton and Alexander repeatedly, judging their reactions. "But just as we made our escape, an artillery blast sent a power-surge into the time machine. I was nearly obliterated in a nether world of indescribable horror and pain. I watched myself and my family become deposited in America in 1836, watched them take power and repeat history all over again, and I felt myself die. And then I woke up here, in Russia, seven years ago. And so I began all over again."
"But I never forgot what I had seen. I always wondered if somehow, my wife and child survived that cataclysmic journey through hell. Maybe that was what I saw. And here you are," he gestured triumphantly at Alexander. "The great-grandson of Emperor Alexei Stukov, master of the Earth!"
"I..." Alexander managed. "This is ridiculous! You can't prove any of this!"
Stukov chuckled and shook his head. "No, no I cannot. I don't have a time machine anymore, and no proof from my reign. But I do know your great-grandmother's name, even your grandfather's. How do you suppose a former-peasant from Russia would know the names of a fourth generation American's ancestors?"
"Your existence changes things. Before, I was content with what power I could obtain in this life, as Premier," he said, furrowing his brow in distaste. "But with the last heir to my rule, I can create an empire once more! One greater and more glorious than the last! Leading humanity into the future!" He held out his hand, quivering with delight. "And you, Alexander, you are the first chain in a link that will rule all of mankind in an empire the world has never known before! The ambition of the Stukov family still runs within you, don't deny it! Power, Alexander, unlimited power can be yours! Join me!"
Alexander hesitated, his lips quivering as his mind raced with this series of stunning revelations. He was silent for several minutes. Finally, he looked up at Anton, searching for some hint, some support to cling to. Despite his initial shock, though, Anton gave Alexander no such help. Finally, Alexander looked at Stukov, then down at his own hand. At long last, he reached out and clasped Stukov's hand, a familiar glimmer sparking to life in his eyes.
"You can have your empire, great-grandfather."
Stukov's eyes were alight with demonic energy, and a feral smile appeared as he tightly clasped Alexander's hand. "So it begins."
---------------------------------
August 5th, 1943
General Popov stood patiently in front of Premier Stukov's expansive office desk as Stukov glanced through the report he had delivered. After several moments of silence, Stukov looked up from the papers.
"How recent is this update?" Stukov asked, setting the paper down.
"It was received early this morning, Premier," Popov replied formally, not forgetting his military discipline. "I forwarded it on to intelligence, and they confirm roughly the same estimates General Eremenko gave in the report."
Stukov nodded, allowing a smile to cross his expression. "Good. Order General Eremenko to begin the attack immediately if he has not done so already, and send him my congratulations. The country will be pleased to hear of the destruction of ten British divisions in Afghanistan.
Popov nodded in agreement and began turning to leave. Stukov held up his hand, indicating he had more to say. "Before you go," he began, sliding a seal envelope across the desk. "Be sure to also convey this to Mj. General Ivanov in Gorkij. Mister Kurchatov's recent expansion requests have been granted."
Popov hesitated before taking the envelope, nodding his understanding. "As you wish, Premier." The general saluted, Stukov nodding in response, before leaving.
General Popov spared only a temporary glance at Anton as Stukov's bodyguard entered the office, followed closely by an unassuming young man.
Stukov watched silently, leaning back into his chair and waiting as the pair entered the room.
"Good to see you have made a full recovery from your injuries," Stukov spoke at last.
Alexander nodded slightly as he took his seat, fidgeting slightly from time to time. "It was nothing serious..." he replied quietly.
Chuckling, Stukov turned his chair slightly to the side and steepled his fingers. "No doubt you have many questions, considering as I have barely spoken to you in a month. For that, I apologize. Running the country takes up more of my time than I realize at times."
Alexander hesitated, completely unprepared for the situation he was now in. "Well," he started at last. "First off, you can't expect me to be just start talking to you like you weren't some commie tyrant."
Stukov grinned but stifled a laugh. "No doubt your government has trained you to hate me, kill me, even."
"I certainly would enjoy doing that right about now," Alexander nodded, causing Anton to stiffen abruptly. "Might make the world a little bit brighter."
"Yes," Stukov drawled, taking his time in articulating himself. "I do come off as quite a villain in most people's minds. I'm used to that, because I really can be so evil at times."
Stukov's honesty caught Alexander off-guard, having expected him to be more defensive. "Why me? Why am I here?" he demanded.
Stukov remained silent for a long time. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he gauged Anton before returning his gaze to Alexander. "Because," he said with great sobriety. "You are my great-grandson, Alexander."
He was unsure who was more surprised by the remark, watching both his bodyguard and the American closely. "G-great-grandson!?" Alexander stammered in disbelief. "What, are you insane?"
Stukov shook his head slowly. "No, what I tell you is the truth, Alexander. You are the last living descendent of the Imperial family, the rulers of the earth, my family, Alexander."
Alexander and Anton's mouths fell open as Stukov finished, utterly speechless. "Time-travel," Stukov answered their unspoken questions. "Through a machine that could transport people through time and space, I was able to rise from nothing more than a scientist on the fringe of respectable learning to Emperor of the world itself!" he declared proudly, leaning forward in his chair and hitting the desktop with his closed fist.
"But I was betrayed," he continued, his eyes smoldering with righteous anger. "I went too far, became overconfident, and was nearly killed in the ensuing military coup. As the Red Army,my army, descended upon me and my family from all sides, we escaped in time using the time machine."
He paused, letting his words sink in. His eyes flickered between both Anton and Alexander repeatedly, judging their reactions. "But just as we made our escape, an artillery blast sent a power-surge into the time machine. I was nearly obliterated in a nether world of indescribable horror and pain. I watched myself and my family become deposited in America in 1836, watched them take power and repeat history all over again, and I felt myself die. And then I woke up here, in Russia, seven years ago. And so I began all over again."
"But I never forgot what I had seen. I always wondered if somehow, my wife and child survived that cataclysmic journey through hell. Maybe that was what I saw. And here you are," he gestured triumphantly at Alexander. "The great-grandson of Emperor Alexei Stukov, master of the Earth!"
"I..." Alexander managed. "This is ridiculous! You can't prove any of this!"
Stukov chuckled and shook his head. "No, no I cannot. I don't have a time machine anymore, and no proof from my reign. But I do know your great-grandmother's name, even your grandfather's. How do you suppose a former-peasant from Russia would know the names of a fourth generation American's ancestors?"
"Your existence changes things. Before, I was content with what power I could obtain in this life, as Premier," he said, furrowing his brow in distaste. "But with the last heir to my rule, I can create an empire once more! One greater and more glorious than the last! Leading humanity into the future!" He held out his hand, quivering with delight. "And you, Alexander, you are the first chain in a link that will rule all of mankind in an empire the world has never known before! The ambition of the Stukov family still runs within you, don't deny it! Power, Alexander, unlimited power can be yours! Join me!"
Alexander hesitated, his lips quivering as his mind raced with this series of stunning revelations. He was silent for several minutes. Finally, he looked up at Anton, searching for some hint, some support to cling to. Despite his initial shock, though, Anton gave Alexander no such help. Finally, Alexander looked at Stukov, then down at his own hand. At long last, he reached out and clasped Stukov's hand, a familiar glimmer sparking to life in his eyes.
"You can have your empire, great-grandfather."
Stukov's eyes were alight with demonic energy, and a feral smile appeared as he tightly clasped Alexander's hand. "So it begins."