Chronological Influences III: The Wrath of Stukov

GeneralHannibal: Nope. Britain rallied in Sudan, pushing the Italians back into Libya and dropped 9 divisions on the western side of the Suez. I've been too preoccupied in Germany, France, Persia, and Siberia to send troops there to push through.

Morpheus506: True, but you must post MORE!

Prufrock451: Once I lose all my non-core provinces, I can finally start strat. redeployment faster than three months.

germanpeon: The horror of it all!

4th Dimension: Knowing the Americans, they'd still find a way.

ColossusCrusher: "For now" is always the case with me.

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September 3rd, 1942

Alexei Stukov stood in one of the minarets of a Baghdad mosque, staring out across the battle-ravaged city. It was only a few hours past midnight, the only illumination being the fires burning out of control. The boom of artillery and sounds of gunfire filled the night air. On the western outskirts of the city, thick columns of dust were being kicked into the air, evidence of the retreating American motorized divisions.

General Simpson had gambled that he could outrun the Soviet trains to Baghdad, destroy the comparatively small Red Army garrison, and completely disrupt the Soviet strategic redeployment into Iraq.

The plan had almost worked. Outnumbered and outgunned, the unimpressive two mountain divisions tasked with defending the Iraqi capital were given orders to hold their ground at all costs, falling under attack from five American motorized divisions on September 1st. Simpson’s troops attacked ferociously, finally breaking through late on the 2nd and swarming toward and through the city. But at midnight, nine infantry divisions under General Federenko finally arrived. Fighting began almost as soon as the trains could unload their precious cargo, sending the comparatively inexperienced Americans in full retreat.

After almost two months of nearly unimpeded advance from the coast of the Mediteranean to Iraq, the American army had finally been halted dead in its tracks by Red Army reinforcements. Only a few days earlier, news had arrived of successful Soviet counterattacks in Siberia.

Despite the carnage unfolding before him, Stukov smiled in satisfaction. With the Red Army finally redeployed to meet the American threat, Stukov and the military would finally have good news to report to Stalin and, more importantly, the Soviet people.

General Fedorenko, standing at his side, lowered his binoculars and glanced toward Stukov. "These Americans are not the most impressive opponents I have faced," he commented.

"They are without a doubt the most annoying," Stukov replied, frowning in distaste. "They attack where we have no defenses and act as if they have dealt us major defeats."

"You know their propaganda?" Fedorenko asked in curiosity.

Stukov nodded. "I have my sources, yes."

"Would you be so kind as to send me some of their propaganda once I drive their armies into the sea?"

"I'll be sure to remember that," Stukov smiled.

Fedorenko turned fully to face Stukov. "My army stands ready and eager to drive the capitalists from our hard-fought lands. We shall not let our people down with all the trust that is being put on us, and for how long we have already fought."

Stukov saluted Fedorenko, hesitant to respond to such a noble sentiment. "It's our time to strike back."

GeneralHannibal: Actually, the United States isn't part of the Allies, so it can't retreat into Egypt. The AI is, of course, cheating. Apparently, there's no range limit to American transports, as they can attack in even the most ridiculously isolated places, as the invasion of the Levant shows.

As for why this isn't in my signature; I don't see my sig when I post, so I forget. That's been rectified now.

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November 7th, 1942

Stukov huddled more securely into his overcoat as he leaned against the Kremlin's walls to shield himself from the biting winter wind. He exhaled loudly with a sigh, watching the thick trail of fog that resulted.

Sometimes, he could almost feel the hairs greying, the blood-pressure rising, and the murderous rage building.

The Soviet Red Army was the largest, most experienced, and most powerful army in the world, backed by a nearly inexhaustable supply of manpower, resources, and political will. It was the army that had conquered most of the entire European continent and the Middle East. It had been defeated, certainly, but never decisively, and had always exacted its revenge eventually.

And the Americans refused to accept that fact.

Frustratingly so.

Stukov managed to push himself off the towering wall and brave the frigid November wind as he strolled contemplatively across Red Square. The anticipated counter-offensive in Iraq had stalled, requiring an additional eighteen divisions to ensure an uncomplicated and inexorable march across the Syrian deserts. That had been prior to landing of several American divisions in southwestern Persia, a feat made all the more impressive due to its sheer impossibility, since the nearest American naval base was in the Phillipines.

Meanwhile, the majority of the reinforcements "rushed" eastward were finally moving into action against the invaders, all with the grace of a sledgehammer. The city of Yakutsk, one of the few settlements of any significance between Irktusk and Vladivostok, had finally been cleared of American forces, threatening to isolate the impetuous American spearhead from the main force further east, which in turn was being driven back in the face of a massive Soviet attack at Tynda.


Evetually, the whole American force would either starve to death in the Siberian wastes or drown in the Sea of Ohktosk. In one of the few times the two had agreed, Stukov and Stalin sent orders to the Red Army generals that no quarter was to be given and every American was to be killed.

And with encouraging news from Gorkiy, Stukov mused, New York City would be uniquely different in a few years. A satisfied smirk crossed Stukov's expression. Yes, he thought. Just have patience. Before long, even the Americans will suffer my vengeance.

Stukov continued pacing, so caught up in his private thoughts that he did not realize how unusually deserted the Square had suddenly become, and how four men bundled tightly in overcoats had discretely made their way over to him.

Stukov looked up, looking somewhat surprised at the sight of four men shrouded in the night darkness. He opened his mouth to speak.

Before he could utter a word, the men threw open their coats, revealing NKVD uniforms. The lead man, apparently an officer, deliberately drew his pistol and began to level it on Stukov wordlessly.

His eyes went wide and he staggered forward, reaching behind him to feel the hilt of a dagger imbedded in his back before collapsing in a heap face-first.

The other three NKVD spun around to face this unanticipated threat, two drawing their holstered pistols while the third revealed a PPSh.

Stukov did not hesitate the pull his loaded revolver from his coat pocket, firing repeatedly, dropping the two pistol-weilding NKVD men in six wild shots. The man with the PPSh, realizing the mistake his comrades had already made, wheeled around he leveled his machine gun.

"Your time's up, comrade," he pronounced arrogantly.

Stukov dove to the side in an attempt to dodge the hail of bullets. He hit the ground hard and rolled unceremoniously before realizing the man had not fired. He looked up incredulously, only to see a shadowy form standing over the body of the erstwhile assassin, his throat slit.

"I owe you my thanks, and life, stranger," he said, brushing himself off as he rose in an attempt to regain some dignity.

"It's not the first time," a familiar voice responded as Azuren stepped forward, smiling familiarly as she leisurely cleaned the blood from her dagger. "You should start investing in bodyguards."

"Why? When I have you to do it free of charge?"

Azuren smiled, tapping her dagger against her temple. "These daggers aren't just reserved for your enemies, Alexei."

"Point taken," Stukov admitted, pocketing his spent revolver. "I take it these weren't just a bunch of disgruntled or deranged soldiers?"

Azuren shook her head. "Perceptive as always. I actually came here to tell you there was a plot being prepared against you. But I never expected them to move so quickly."

Stukov shrugged. "I can hardly blame them. It's not like I've been idle either."

Azuren looked at him, clearly surprised for the first time. "You mean..."

Stukov turned to walk back toward the Kremlin, gesturing for her to follow. "Come, we have work to do."

Darks63: Better watch out

GeneralHannibal: That would be the most sensible thing to do, though I can imagine how the US would not want to be tied down to the declining fortunes of the Allies.

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November 8th, 1942

Alexei Stukov stifled a yawn as he stepped out of the armoured car, donning his cap leisurely while soldiers scrambled around him. There were already dead bodies scattered around Red Square, evidence of the fighting that had already been raging.

The armoured car's machine gun roared to life, sending a shower of bullets toward a hidden group of enemy soldiers.

Stukov winced slightly at the sound and simply walked away, making his way through the assorted military equipment. Barely a minute later, he found General Popov, who was scanning the parapets of the Kremlin walls.

"Comrade General," Stukov said, announcing his presence.

Popov quickly lowered the binoculars and saluted Stukov. "Greetings, comrade Stukov. I trust your trip here was uneventful?"

Stukov smiled and nodded. "It was. Your..." he was drowned at by the roar of a grenade exploding not far off. "Your men have performed superbly in securing the city."

They paused, both turning to the wall, where a large white banner was being waved frantically.

"I think," Stukov drawled. "I shall pay our good comrade Stalin a visit."

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Despite having barely seen combat, Stukov admitted Popov's soldiers were certainly efficient. The last vestiges of Stalin's soldiers, at best paramilitary NKVD and a few regiments of regular army personnel, had surrendered barely twenty minutes ago. Already, they had been disarmed and kept under close guard and Popov's men had swarmed through the Kremlin.

Stukov marched purposefully down the corridors. Men looked away from their tasks as he went, drawn to his uncanny calm and confidence. Here was a man who would be so bold as to overthrow the mighty Stalin! The thought would have unbelievable, even impossible, five years ago.

And here was Alexei Stukov, looking as if he were heading to his office as if it were a normal day of work.

Stukov dismissed the men assigned to guard him and without the least hesitation, entered Stalin's office chambers.

When he stepped through the doorway, there was no gunshot, no flurry of movement of armed goons swooping in for the kill, no menacing greeting from the Soviet head of government.

Instead, Stalin was seated stiffly behind his expansive desk, nearly livid with rage, a dagger resting dangerously close to his throat.

"Azuren," he greeted her with a tip of his hat, who was standing behind and to the side of Stalin's chair. "And comrade Stalin."

Stalin's right eye twitched furiously.

Stukov slowly sat down in front of Stalin's desk, sighing despondently and shaking his head. "How did it ever come to his, comrade?"

"You won't get away with this!" Stalin barked.

A feral grin crossed Stukov's face, vanishing a moment later. "Quite the contrary, comrade Stalin," he said mockingly. "I will get away with this, and I will be fabulously succesful in doing so."

He gestured toward Azuren. "My dear Azuren here has not only assured us that the battle for the Kremlin was embarrassingly short, but that the majority of your erstwhile allies have been...neutralized."

Stalin blinked in disbelief, his mouth falling open. "You mean..."

"Kalinin, Molotov, Beria, Kaganovich, Voroshilov; all either arrested, killed, or forced into retirement." He paused, pulling out a slip of paper. "And I just recently recieved this joint communiqué from Generals Zhukov, Konev, Rokossovsky, and assorted other heroic and popular generals, whole-heartedly supporting my cause to overthrow you, the murderous and paranoid leader who has allowed the Americans to land in Siberia, Archangelsk, southern France, and the Middle East."

"You bastard!" Stalin howled in fury.

As Stalin devolved into a virulent tirade of obscenities and threats, Stukov gestured sweepingly to Azuren.

Stalin's ramblings were suddenly cut off. He gaped at Stukov, feeling the blood fill his throat and mouth. He reached up, feeling his neck in wonderment before collapsing across his desk.

"I am in command now, comrade Stalin."

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When news of the events unfolding deep behind enemy lines finally reached London and Washington D.C. several days later, it was greeted with the utmost surprise and confusion. While the tensions simmering within the Soviet government and military were well-known to even the most junior official and officer, on the exterior the Russian state appeared as ever to be the monolithic, implaccably unified entity led by a power-mongering, paranoid psycopath. To see the "Man of Steel" fall to such a massive coup was startling. President Roosevelt hoped privately that the explosive political overthrow would soon degenerate into civil war.

Yet the coup was remarkable in that it possessed almost the full support of the army, and at the very least the passive acquiescence of the Soviet citizenry. By November 10th, all prominent pro-Stalin officials were apprehended - with all but Marshal Voroshilov, who escaped into the backwaters of Persia, caught on the first day - in a spectacular display of coordination. Within a few days, word had spread throughout the country that it had a new leader. Roosevelt's hopes were dashed when the popular uprisings and army defections did not occur. The Soviet state did not disintegrate.

Now finding himself both head of state and government, Alexei Stukov quickly moved to consolidate his position, drafting numerous addresses to be delivered directly to the Soviet people via radio announcements. Stukov often cited the 'treasonous negligence that has allowed the imperialists to advance so far onto the Motherland' and the 'blood-thirsty tyranny of the usurper of our beloved Lenin's ideals.' The people, many of them taught for their entire lives that Stalin was nearly a god, were reluctant to accept this fact, as if this were all some attempt by Stalin to weed out those who might appear traitors. But as the reality that Stalin was indeed dead settled in, and it became clear that life was carrying on well enough as it did under Stalin, a new man in the Kremlin was not so difficult a pill to swallow.

Stukov never forgot to whom, or what, he owed his continued existence upon: the military. Without the shelter the Red Army's power had given Stukov, he would almost assuredly have been eliminated years ago - or forced to fall in line as one of Stalin's lackeys. To fill the openings left by the departed pro-Stalin hardliners - Kaganovich, Molotov, Voroshilov, etc. - loyal Stukovian men, mostly officers, were appointed or volunteered. A few, such as Sergei Uritskiy, remained where they were, while others such as General Shaposhnikov resigned quietly. Stukov realized that reliance upon the military was a dangerous gamble: 'as it was with Napoleon, what I have done can just as easily be done to me. I must never forget to whom I owe my current place, and never stray from the path that had led my supporters to raise me up.' Thus it became imperative for the new Soviet tsar to steadfastly support the Red Army as it fought to repel the troublesome American invaders.


To the outside world, and to the inhabitants of the occupied countries, the difference between Stalin and Stukov was immaterial. The war still raged with equal ferocity. Whatever ideological differences or personal squabbles had brought this change of leadership was purely academic, at least for the time being. Yet, though Joseph Stalin was a colossus among world leaders, he would appear as nothing compared to the might, and wrath, of Alexei Stukov.

ColossusCrusher: That would make it too obvious...

rcduggan: Hail Stukov, indeed!

GeneralHannibal: Coincidentally, a day after I fired off my coup event, the Chinese surrender event fired. At the moment, Japan remains something of an unknown quantity. It could easily attack the U.S., DoW me because of my belligerence (well into the triple digits), or both.

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January 22nd, 1943

Stukov stood silently, hands clasped at the small of his back, as he stared up at the large world map spread out across the wall. Only a few modest desk lamps and the rising dawn sun provided illumination was the new Soviet dictator studied the numerous pegs and symbols representing Soviet and enemy armies.

Little had changed in the last two months. The Americans remained in their footholds on the continent and the British continued to resist furiously in southeastern Persia. Still, in spite of the vicious winter conditions, Soviet armies were prevailing spectacularly in the east. Fifty thousand American soldiers were cut off, isolated in a huge but insignificant Siberian wasteland just west of Yaktusk. Eight divisions were trapped in Archangelsk. And in the Middle East, where the Americans were pouring reinforcements, Soviet infantry were slowly but surely driving the enemy back.

Inevitably, inexorably, Soviet might would prevail.

Stukov smiled. That thought had been on his mind in the stressful preceding months as he worked to consolidate his hold on the Soviet Union, giving him a measure of satisfaction in an otherwise frustrating war.

Stukov turned, unsurprised to see Azuren waiting patiently by the window.

"I simply must hire a better security staff," Stukov said flippantly.

"You could," Azuren shrugged. "But it would only be a waste."

Stukov smiled. "Do you want something?"

"Am I not allowed to just drop by and say hello?" Azuren retorted, arching an eyebrow.

"You are," Stukov said, unscrewing the cap to his flask and taking a swig. "But since when have you ever been one to drop in and say hello? You want something."

"It's always business with you," said chidingly with a shake of her head.

"I'm beginning to think it's time to start replacing the Red Army's infantry," Stukov said flatly as he sat down in a chair near the window, determined to keep control of the conversation.

"Oh?" Azuren replied, appearing to feign interest, as far as Stukov could judge. "But I thought the Red Army was an invincible, unstoppable force filled with capable and courageous soldiers?"

Stukov shook his finger warningly. "Don't try it. I know you're too smart to take any news reels seriously." His tone quickly became more serious. "Experience against the Americans has led me to believe it is time to make the transition to motorized, and even mechanized, divisions."

"Replacing so many divisions would be expensive, and take years."

Stukov dismissed the problem with a wave of his hand. "Then the infantry can simply be supplemented by more advanced units. My decision is not set in stone."

"You're the dictator," Azuren shrugged. The administrative details, which Stukov found himself partaking in now more than he had expected, were of little concern to her.

"Indeed," Stukov agreed with a satisfied nod. He stood up again and paced toward the map. "And perhaps more, one day," he continued, his voice trailing away at the end.

For a few moments, there was a renewed silence. Azuren remained motionless, regarding Stukov with her calculating gaze while he brooded over his options.

Stukov suddenly became animated again, drawing a pipe - Stalin's - with such speed that Azuren almost flinched at the thought of it being a gun. Instead of attempting to kill her, Stukov tapped the map furiously with the end of the pipe, making wide gestures toward south-eastern Persia.

"The deadlock has gone on for too long," he proclaimed imperiously. "It is time something was done about it."

VILenin: What more do you want to know that I haven't told you already?

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April 1st, 1943

Stukov stood rigidly upright at the bow of the Sovyetskaya Soyuz, hands clasped at the small of his back, a satisfied half-smile crossing his face, as he gazed out across the assembled warships. Not far ahead starboard, the aircraft carriers Kharkov, Novorossiysk, Leningrad, Kiyev, Minsk, and Moskva lay anchored, planes still noticably absent. Two heavy cruisers lay to port, Kaganovich and Voroshilov. Hidden behind the rising mass of the battleship's structure was th Sovyetskaya Ukraina. Combined with the multitude of destroyers, the fleet represented the most technologically advanced fleet on the planet, though not the largest.

Stukov heard footsteps approaching him from behind. He turned his head as Azuren, dressed in a nondescript and unflattering brown military uniform handed him a dossier. He glanced it over quickly, more interested in Azuren than the information.

He turned back to look out at the Leningrad harbor. "You certainly choose strange times to talk with me," he said casually.

"It's more fun that way, comrade Stukov," Azuren said with a coy smile.

"You've certainly caught me in a good mood," Stukov admitted, gesturing out across the assemblage. "Before us now lies the key to the total domination of Europe."

"I've always had a fondness for ships," Azuren began casually. "You certainly have placed great faith in their chances," Azuren responded, showing no sign of being impressed.

Stukov chuckled, knowing full well how dangerous it was to be optimistic in this war. "True, but things have changed since the winter. With Japan at war with the British and Americans now, their navies are even more scattered. All it will take is one mistake, and a quarter of a million soldiers will be steamrolling through England!" he finished by stamping his foot.

Doing so drew the attention of the gathered naval and army officers, who looked toward the duo. Azuren frowned in annoyance. "We'll talk later then," she said before turning and walking back toward the group.

"We will," he said softly under his breath, watching her go.

He quickly turned back and looked down at the dossier. Since January, the melaise of stalemate had been dispelled from his mind. He had confidently declared that things would begin to change for the better - an event he desperately needed to more firmly establish himself into power. Yet, the Americans were still dug-in in southern France and Archangelsk, and still held large swathes of territory in Siberia and the Middle East, while the British doggedly refused to retreat from Persia.

But stalemate it was not. On February 18th, after much juggling of forces, Soviet armies under General Tolbukhin invaded Afghanistan in a massive strategic flanking manuever around the British forces in Persia. Patton's offensives had been crushed by Zhukov in France. On March 8th alone, forty thousand American soldiers had been captured in Toulon. The victory coincided with Japan, with China now a Japanese puppet, declaring war on the Allies and United States. More good news arrived on the 15th with the surrender of three US divisions in Kuwait, paving the way for an inexorable march back to the Meditteranean. And in Siberia, General Rokossovsky raced from Tynda eastward toward the sea, splitting the invading American forces in half. The Red Army had now established itself for slow, but steady march toward total victory.

Alexei didn't mind waiting.

And from Gorkij, Igor Kurchatov was sending steadily more promising reports on his research. Once, in another time, a scientist in his own right, Stukov could appreciate the astounding possibilities Kurchatov's findings could open up.

And then nothing could stop him, save for the heavenly wrath of God himself. And he was not sure even that would be enough.

Stukov snorted. Don't go mad with power just yet, Alexei, he chastised himself.

Again he heard the thud of footfalls approaching him. Grand Admiral Panteleiev, recently promoted after the coup, saluted him formally. "I trust you find the fleet satisfactory, Premier?"

Stukov smiled, noting that 'comrade' was becoming a far less common form of address around him. "Yes, Grand Admiral," he replied with a nod. "I also trust it will be this fleet that will obliterate the antique Royal Navy and guide our Red Army to new conquest."

Panteleiev nearly visibly rocked from the complimentary wave of expectation from Stukov. "We will do what we can," the admiral said after a moment's hesitation.

Stukov nodded, turning back to the fleet and leaning forward against the railings. "Sooner or later, it will be time."