Chronological Influences III: The Wrath of Stukov

ColossusCrusher: Unintentional, I assure you

Patrick O'Harte: Thanks

VILenin: What do you think?

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August 28th, 1943


Alexei Stukov watched in silence amidst the cheering crowds of Soviet citizens, the music of military bands, and the thunder of cannonades along the shore of the Leningrad harbor as the great battleships, aircraft carriers, heavy cruisers, and flotillas of destroyers sailed by in formation.

Since spring, the great warships of the Atlantic fleet had sat anchored in harbor, awaiting the completion of the aircraft carriers' planes. A week ago they had finally arrived, and the Soviet navy was at long last ready to engage the combined Anglo-American fleets on even ground.

The battle fleet itself, under the command of Grand Admiral Panteliev - who had had his White Sea Fleet destroyed by the British - would sail to Rostock where Admiral Kuznetsov was awaiting him to conduct the final preparations.

The bulk of the warships had passed by, firing one last grand salvo much to the crowds delight, who cheered and applauded in response. Following was the far more important but greatly underappreciated transport flotilla under Vice Admiral Abankin - his Far East Fleet destroyed by the Americans in the daring escape from Vladivostok.

Together, the two fleets would cross through the Kiel Canal and enter the North Sea, ideally avoiding enemy forces until arriving at Rotterdam to link up with Zhukov's forces, which were currently amassed menacingly at Calais.

A smile crossed Stukov's face. Soon - perhaps in only two or three weeks - Soviet domination of the European continent would be complete. The British Isles are ready to fall, Stukov thought, a sense of satisfaction to his mind's voice.

By now, the crowd along the shore had mostly dispersed, the Naval Parade now complete. The rest was up to the sailors.

"A fine display," Rear Admiral Viktorov declared proudly as he stepped toward Stukov, grinning from ear to ear. "The capitalists won't know what hit them."

"Both Admiral Panteliev and Abankin will be eager to avenge their fleets' losses, I'm sure," Stukov responded, refusing to be caught up in Viktorov's exuberance.

"The Soviet Navy will not dissapoint you, Premier," Viktorov said reassuringly. "You have given us the finest ships in the world. At the very least, we will take as many ships down to the bottom with us!"

Stukov snorted a laugh. "You had best be careful, Admiral. You never know who might be listening," he said, smiling.

The conversation continued for several moments before a woman dressed in an unflattering aide's uniform approached and handed Viktorov a slip of paper. "Excuse me, Premier, but I must be going now. I will be sure to send you status reports on the fleets as I get them," he said as he hurried away.

Stukov chuckled and turned back toward the harbor. "Do the generals like to pass you around, or can you just not keep a steady job?"

"If you were any other man, I might consider breaking your arm in multiple places for that," Azuren replied in good-humor.

"Sounds like you enjoyed my little naval display."

Azuren shrugged. "It was impressive. It would be a shame if your fleet suffered an unfortunate accident en route to its glorious victory against the forces of the evil reactionaries and such."

Stukov turned his head slightly, cocking his eyebrow. "Just what do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," Azuren replied, dismissing Alexei's suspicions.

Stukov gave a half-smile. "And it would be a shame if some terrible accident befell Rotterdam upon my fleet's arrival."

"Is that supposed to intimidate me?" Azuren responded confidently. Stukov simply shrugged enigmatically in return.

"The events of this next month, Azuren," Stukov said, changing the subject. "Will determine the outcome of this war, as well as the fate of the entire planet."

Azuren smiled. "I'm glad I'm still alive to see it, Alexei," she said in return. "Even in spite of everything that's happened."

Stukov opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. "Yes?" Azuren asked, curious.

"Ask me again some other time," Stukov said, shaking his head. Anton approached the pair silently, watching Azuren skeptically. Stukov looked toward Anton and nodded before looking back at her. "And as much as I enjoy musing about the fate of the world with you, my dear, I still do have a country and a war to run."

With that, he turned and walked away, Anton following behind him. Azuren watched him go, narrowing her eyes.

"You're hiding something from me."

VILenin: What can I say? I love to keep some loose ends out there just in case

grayghost: Glad to have you all caught up again.

Actually, I'm not sure the defeats the U.S. suffered are really much of a dent in their war effort. We all know how much America can produce when its at war.

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September 10th, 1943

"There it is," General Batov breathed disbelievingly as he gazed through his pair of binoculars. "The Thames."

Batov let the binoculars fall from his eyes, allowing him see the land spread out before him from his perch in the bell tower of an abandoned church. His aides stood flanking him, waiting with silent anticipation for their general's orders.

"Any word of resistance?" Batov asked finally. Though the air was thick with a hazy cloud of light fog, it could not fully mask the great expanse of London's urban sprawl laid out before Batov's eyes.

"None, sir. A few civilian militias were dispersed, but still no reports of organized military response from either the west or north," his aide-de-camp responded sharply.

Batov nodded, grimacing slightly and making a noise as he contemplated the news.

"Send out orders to all divisional commands to dig in at their assigned points. Make it clear there will be no further advance," he declared as he turned around, his aides parting before him as he made his way down the stairs of the bell tower.

"B-but, sir!" another aide blustered as they hastily filed down the stairs after him.

"No exceptions!" Batov added, continuing down hurriedly. Two sentries at the bottom of the stairs fumbled with their rifles and saluted the general as he walked quickly on by.

"But London lies open to us," his aide insisted. "A single division could seize the English capital unopposed!"

Batov stopped suddenly, causing his aides to bump together clumsily in order to avoid crashing into him. "No," he said, shaking his head as he gazed down the road to Dover. "We cannot risk our foothold on the island by overextending ourselves. When news of our windfall spreads, I can assure you the British navy will not be long in shutting the door behind us."

"We cannot lose the beachhead before more troops are unloaded," Batov continued, punching his fist into his open palm. "No... we will not march on London just yet. We will wait for Konev."

Darks63: I certainly do have a way of having to earn things the hard way.

VILenin: Like I said before, the colors changed in the process of saving the AAR. Blame the RISK battle mod.

ColossusCrusher: Dare you insult the glorious Soviet colors!?

Guangxi: I couldn't have said it better myself.

grayghost: Or worse, safe and sorry.

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October 8th, 1943

The specialized An-12 transport plane came quickly to a halt on the RAF Biggin Hill runway, the smashed hulks of dozens of RAF fighter planes flanking it as a grim honor guard. Even before the plane had completely stopped and a boarding ladder brought forward, a great throng of Red Army soldiers surged forward from between the shattered British airplanes, bright banners and victory flags waving in the morning breeze.


The plane's hatch opened and Alexei Stukov stepped out, looking resplendent in his immaculate white uniform. A great cheer rose from the crowd of soldiers as Stukov descended down the stairs to the ground. The soldiers averted their eyes as the sun peaked over the top of the plane, silhouetting the great dictator as he joined the crowd, mingling with soldier after soldier, all eager to get even a glimpse of the man that had led them so far.

Somewhere in the crowd, a band struck up patriotic songs and the soldiers burst into song as Stukov made his way forward until the mass of people parted, revealing Field Marshal Zhukov waiting by an idling motorcar.

The two approached each other and embraced warmly, sparking another great cheer from the soldiers.

"All of Britain is yours, Premier!" Zhukov yelled over the din as they parted and headed toward the car.

Zhukov entered the car first. Stukov lingered a moment, turning back toward the watching soldiers. "No, Field Marshal. It is theirs!"

Stukov entered the car and it slowly began its way through the outskirts of the crowd.

"That was a good thing to say to the soldiers, Premier," Zhukov said, louder at first but adjusting his voice to the relative silence of the car.

"And I meant it," Stukov replied, looking out the window and waving to the passing men. "You've done a great thing this past month. A truly historic achievement," he finished, turning back toward Zhukov.

"My generals send their apologies for being unable to meet you," Zhukov said. "But the duty of pacifying the country is taking up all their time and energy."

Stukov nodded. "I understand completely. By the beginning of November, the occupation forces will be ready for deployment to aid in the pacification efforts. Until then, you must be sure to crush any Allied attempts to liberate the island."

"I assure you," Zhukov smirked. "That will not be a problem."

It had been a glorious month. The invasion had been a complete and nearly unprecedented success for the Red Army. After managing to land his forces in and around Dover, General Batov had secured a large landing zone for the navy to ferry in additional soldiers.

Expecting furious British and Commonwealth resistance, Stukov had been delighted to discover that the entire English country was defended by two British and four leftover French divisions. With the arrival of Konev's armoured corps and Zhukov's main army, the Red Army had swept all organized resistance before them, driving them north with ease. Twenty-seven divisions had been used - Zhukov, Konev, Batov, Govorov, and Romanenko the victorious generals - but not even half were truly needed.


By October 4th, the last remnants of the Allied army had surrendered in Scapa Flow. All that remained was the take the Western Isles of Scotland, and the entire island would be Stukov's.

"Perhaps it was a good thing to have such a long stalemate in Persia," Stukov said at length. "All those Allied soldiers will be in for quite a shock to learn their homes have been conquered."

Zhukov barked a laugh. "That is certainly an optimistic view of the situation. One may start to think you had it all planned out that way from the start."

"Oh no," Stukov smiled slyly. "I'm making it all up as I go along."

"Intelligence indicates the British government managed to flee to North Africa before we could capture them," Zhukov admitted.

"It is of no consequence whether they escaped or not," Stukov rebutted, waving his hand dismissively. "North Africa will not stand forever, and India will fall in due time as well."

"And once Rokossovsky is ready in southern France..."

"It will only be a matter of time before the entire continent is ours," Stukov finished for him. Zhukov was silent, looking out the window toward the sky, daring to imagine.

"And what of America?" Zhukov asked, looking back toward his Premier.

"One enemy at a time, Field Marshal," Stukov began, gazing out toward the looming city buildings. "We have all the time in the world."

grayghost: "Stalled in Persia" is misleading. Compared to other fronts, yes. Compared to the past history of that front, no.

VILenin: Ah, but isn't megalomania a good thing in your evil dictators?

Darks63: Hard to say. It was a cake-walk in CI1, but that was when the US went communist and never went to war.

GeneralHannibal: I wonder if that's what the Senate said to Claudius upon his conquest of Britania. That's gratitude for you!

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November 16th, 1943


Sergei Uritskiy and Alexander Stucon sat quietly seated across Alexei's expansive desk, watching patiently as he wrote almost frantically with his pen. Stukov would pause every moment or so, his lips moving silently as he read to himself, before continuing with renewed haste, adding a flourish each time he reached the end of the page.

Sergei glanced over to Alexander, who met his gaze and simply shrugged. Both of them had been waiting ten minutes since they had been ushered into the office.

Finally, Stukov put his pen aside and looked up. "Hello, Sergei, Alexander," he said, nodding to each of them in turn.

"I presume what you are writing has to do with why you called us?" Sergei asked.

Stukov's lips curled into a half-smile, snorting in amusement. "Correct. It's a speech I'll be making soon, once news of our recent victories have been spread to the people."

Alexander shook his head in partial disgust. "Seventeen divisions bagged in Gaza and now breakthroughs into Egypt and India. The British were fools to put everything into India."

"With victory after victory, your popularity is great enough that there's little you can do, save restoring the Romanovs, that would turn them against you," Sergei said.

Stukov chuckled and shared a knowing look with Alexander, before returning to Sergei. "My speech is fairly straightforward; I'll praise the army for their victories, then announce a series of reforms to be instated in the near-future."

That got their attention. Both men immediately sat up straighter in their chairs, Sergei because reforms in Stalinist Russia meant purges, and Alexander because it meant interesting changes.

"What reforms?" Sergei asked hesitantly.

As if reading Uritskiy's mind, Stukov smiled. "Don't worry. No more purges, unless you have reason to believe there's disloyalty in..."

"Not at all!" Sergei insisted quickly.

"The military has too much power," Stukov said, becoming serious. "A coup now would topple me and any civilian government like a house of cards. The generals don't, of course, because they believe in the system. That is not enough."

"Then what?" Sergei asked.

"Europe and the Middle East," Stukov continued, "Have been in a state of military occupation for years now. It is time to establish direct civilian control over the territories, instate a bureaucracy, appoint governors, etcetera."

"That will be loyal to you," Alexander remarked, pondering the revelation.

"That will be loyal to the leader of the country," Stukov corrected his descendant, raising his finger to to add to the effect. "And it will keep the army in check."

Sergei shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "They may consider it a threat..."

"I am no Stalin!" Stukov barked, pounding his fist on the desk to drive the point home. "They will not be threatened until they threaten me."

Alexander frowned detecting a hint of something deeper behind Stukov's words.

"This discussion is finished," Stukov declared, grabbing the paper and holding it out to Uritskiy, who in turn took it. "I will expect your assessment of the proposal by tomorrow. Both of you are dismissed."

Both Alexander and Sergei stood up and silently left the room. When the door had shut behind them, Stukov slowly sat back down into his seat, exhaling deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

After a long moment of silence, without moving, Stukov spoke up. "How long have you been there?"

Azuren emerged from the shadows of the corner of the room like a ghostly phantom. "Long enough."

Alexei let his hands drop to the desktop. "I'm starting to get sloppy."

Azuren arched an eyebrow. "Quite. I think you have some explaining to do, Alexei."

VILenin: I'm not sure what exactly there would be in the realm of psychological trauma time travel would have inflicted on him in principle. This is the same guy who nearly conquered the world twice and ruled the United States through a series of puppet leaders for three decades. The man's a power-monger, there's no doubt about that, and the whole case of him being trapped in some bizarre chronological vortex akin to hell for a century certainly wasn't pleasant. But he's hardly any less stable than the man who ordered South America to be destroyed or tortured Presidents into mindless submission.

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"What exactly do I have to explain to you, Azuren?" Alexei Stukov said as he steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips as he stared off into the room.

Azuren glared. "Don't play coy with me!" she spat.

"You must understand..."

"What I understand," she interrupted. "Is that there happens to be an Alexander Stucon wandering the halls of the Kremlin! What more is there to understand!?"

Stukov remained silent for several seconds while Azuren stalked closer, propping her hands against the top of the chair Alexander had occupied moments before.

"He's been here for months now. Since before the fleet launched."

Azuren arched an eyebrow. "And?"

"He's our great-grandson," Stukov replied, still not meeting her gaze.

"And you didn't think I might want to know?" Azuren demanded.

Stukov looked up finally. "You didn't need to know. You don't need to know." He continued to stare at her unblinking.

Azuren slowly approached Stukov, stopping in front of his desk and slapping him hard across the face. Unphased, Stukov slowly turned his head back to face her.

"He's going to be my heir," Stukov continued.

"Your heir!?" Azuren snorted. "Oh, so you're going to start another glorious Stukov dynasty. What about Feodor?"

Stukov reached out with a speed that shocked even Azuren, grabbing her tightly by the throat and wrenching her across the desk until their faces were nearly touching.

"My...son...is...dead," he hissed between gritted teeth, saying each word in turn. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I don't replay my failure in my mind every... single... day? Do you think I want to do this all over again?"

Azuren squirmed in an attempt to free herself but couldn't. "Then just.... stop. Alexei, just let go."

Stukov smiled and reached out with his free hand to stroke Azuren's cheek gently, their eyes locked. Slowly, he shook his head. "No," he whispered. "You don't understand, and I don't think you ever understood."

"Alexei..."

He silenced her suddenly with a kiss. The pair held the kiss for another, long moment before finally pulling away again, Stukov's hand still on Azuren's throat.

"Power, Azuren," he said, his eyes glinting with a hint of desperation. "It's all about power now. I am going to conquer this world, once and for all. And when I do, I'm going to shape it any way I see fit. And I'm going to pass that legacy on to my heirs, and they will continue where I began. And nothing, not you, not the Red Army, and certainly not the Allies, will stop me."

"You're absolutely mad," Azuren whispered, her mouth hanging slightly open as she lost herself in his eyes.

Stukov nodded. "You have no idea," he said, his lips twisting into a smile. "And you know what? You're going to help me anyway."

With that, Stukov released her from his grip. She immediately pulled back and began rubbing her neck, bright red marks where his fingers had been. She closed her eyes slowly, Stukov watching her intently.

Azuren sighed deeply and opened her eyes again. "Damn it all, Alexei. You're right. But one of these days, I'm going to kill you."

"I'll keep that in mind."