Are you shure Stukov's aliass isn't Yuri from C&C Red Allert 2. He reminds me of him in being power behind goverment.
Also is this sequel to CI1 or 2
Also is this sequel to CI1 or 2
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Marchalk_Zjukov: 
Today Baghdad, tomorrow the world!
GeneralHannibal: That's correct. Total world domination is my goal.
4th Dimension: I assure you, Alexei Stukov has no relation to either Yuri from RA2, or Kane from RA1.
And the connection between this AAR and CI1 or CI2 has yet to manifest itself.
grayghost: It's hard on the eyes, let me tell you.
lifeless: Looks like it, doesn't it?
--------------------------------------------
The heady élan rushing through the common Red Army soldier and genuine relief felt by the Soviet command following the conquest of Baghdad was difficult to let go of. The Red Army had rallied - with the arrival of more than a quarter million reinforcements - and stopped or driven back the Allied forces, and captured the most important strategic location between Tehran and Damascus. Hopes for a quick end to the war were high, and the more optimistic predictions expected Soviets to be marching through the Holy Land and swimming in the Mediterranean by the end of March.
Unfortunately - for the Russians - February proved to be a sobering month.
In the days after the fall of Baghdad, the number of French soldiers on the line was decreasing significantly. Save for a major concentration holding back the main Soviet forces west of Baghdad, the Soviets were either unopposed or facing local Iraqi units. The 7th and 36th Army Corps launched an attack on Iraqi-controlled Abadan in former-Persia, confirming suspicions that the French had decided to abandon their Iraqi ally and were in the process of a major fallback to Syria.
After spending the past week reorganizing for continued offensive operations, the two-division Central Asian Military District crossed the Tigris River south of Baghdad, pushing toward Al Nasiriyah on the 16th to isolate Basrah, which still held several French divisions. Initial progress was substantial. Only a single Iraqi division stood in opposition, and for a time it looked as though the French army (divided between Hilla and Basrah), would be split in two.
In the north, the Soviets were advancing on Mosul from both Samarra and Kirkuk in an attempt to threaten a north-westerly retreat into Syria. Sporadic battles occurred throughout the 17th, 18th and 19th. Until now, the hope of quick victory remained undiminished. The Red Army was advancing everywhere it attacked, and the French seemed to be giving up the fight.
Then 7. Armoured rolled into Mosul on the 22nd. Immediately, the armoured division was beset by a determined French counterattack. Outnumbered and surrounded by hostile Iraqis, 7. Armoured gave up the fight after only 5 hours. The 49th Army Corps attempted to salvage the situation, only to be forced back to Kirkuk under French numerical and firepower superiority.
The advance in the south toward Nasiriyah was faring no better, and French reinforcements halted the attack on the 23rd.
The Red Army regrouped and carefully planned their renewed attacks. Hillah finally fell to the onslaught of Batov's Marine Corps on February 30th, allowing the majority of the Soviet forces to support attacks on both Al Nasiriyah and Mosul which managed to push the French and Iraqi forces out throughout the first five days of March.
While the two defeats were not major, or even particularly costly, they were - combined with a continued failure to drive the British out of eastern Persia - seriously diminishing morale and the hope of a quick, crushing victory in the Middle East, one that the Red Army needed with the threat of a German intervention constantly looming. Stalin was by no means pleased by news from Iraq and Persia, and was growing impatient for a decisive victory his commanders assured him would eventually come. Indeed, the opportunity for such a victory in Iraq had slipped away. Save for two divisions remaining in Basrah, the French had successfully managed to evacuate its army into Syria.
A whole month of fighting had taken place since the fall of Baghdad, and the Red Army had managed to advance barely a hundred miles in the intervening days. Soviet commanders hoped for better luck in the future.
Soviet progress as of March 5th, 1939
Numbers represent total division numbers
Today Baghdad, tomorrow the world!GeneralHannibal: That's correct. Total world domination is my goal.
4th Dimension: I assure you, Alexei Stukov has no relation to either Yuri from RA2, or Kane from RA1.
And the connection between this AAR and CI1 or CI2 has yet to manifest itself.
grayghost: It's hard on the eyes, let me tell you.
lifeless: Looks like it, doesn't it?
--------------------------------------------
The heady élan rushing through the common Red Army soldier and genuine relief felt by the Soviet command following the conquest of Baghdad was difficult to let go of. The Red Army had rallied - with the arrival of more than a quarter million reinforcements - and stopped or driven back the Allied forces, and captured the most important strategic location between Tehran and Damascus. Hopes for a quick end to the war were high, and the more optimistic predictions expected Soviets to be marching through the Holy Land and swimming in the Mediterranean by the end of March.
Unfortunately - for the Russians - February proved to be a sobering month.
In the days after the fall of Baghdad, the number of French soldiers on the line was decreasing significantly. Save for a major concentration holding back the main Soviet forces west of Baghdad, the Soviets were either unopposed or facing local Iraqi units. The 7th and 36th Army Corps launched an attack on Iraqi-controlled Abadan in former-Persia, confirming suspicions that the French had decided to abandon their Iraqi ally and were in the process of a major fallback to Syria.
After spending the past week reorganizing for continued offensive operations, the two-division Central Asian Military District crossed the Tigris River south of Baghdad, pushing toward Al Nasiriyah on the 16th to isolate Basrah, which still held several French divisions. Initial progress was substantial. Only a single Iraqi division stood in opposition, and for a time it looked as though the French army (divided between Hilla and Basrah), would be split in two.
In the north, the Soviets were advancing on Mosul from both Samarra and Kirkuk in an attempt to threaten a north-westerly retreat into Syria. Sporadic battles occurred throughout the 17th, 18th and 19th. Until now, the hope of quick victory remained undiminished. The Red Army was advancing everywhere it attacked, and the French seemed to be giving up the fight.
Then 7. Armoured rolled into Mosul on the 22nd. Immediately, the armoured division was beset by a determined French counterattack. Outnumbered and surrounded by hostile Iraqis, 7. Armoured gave up the fight after only 5 hours. The 49th Army Corps attempted to salvage the situation, only to be forced back to Kirkuk under French numerical and firepower superiority.
The advance in the south toward Nasiriyah was faring no better, and French reinforcements halted the attack on the 23rd.
The Red Army regrouped and carefully planned their renewed attacks. Hillah finally fell to the onslaught of Batov's Marine Corps on February 30th, allowing the majority of the Soviet forces to support attacks on both Al Nasiriyah and Mosul which managed to push the French and Iraqi forces out throughout the first five days of March.
While the two defeats were not major, or even particularly costly, they were - combined with a continued failure to drive the British out of eastern Persia - seriously diminishing morale and the hope of a quick, crushing victory in the Middle East, one that the Red Army needed with the threat of a German intervention constantly looming. Stalin was by no means pleased by news from Iraq and Persia, and was growing impatient for a decisive victory his commanders assured him would eventually come. Indeed, the opportunity for such a victory in Iraq had slipped away. Save for two divisions remaining in Basrah, the French had successfully managed to evacuate its army into Syria.
A whole month of fighting had taken place since the fall of Baghdad, and the Red Army had managed to advance barely a hundred miles in the intervening days. Soviet commanders hoped for better luck in the future.
Soviet progress as of March 5th, 1939
Numbers represent total division numbers
i guess the allies are giving you a hard time....be sure to take those iraqi coast provs, the allies pours reinforcements there all the time
Excellant update. Amazing that the french seem to be pouring more troops into the region than the brits.
Any naval build-up going on right now or is STAVKA content for the moment to rob the imperialists of their misbegotten empires?
lifeless: It doesn't seem like they're doing it this time. They're more concerned with shielding India and Syria.
grayghost: Actually, it's the other way around. The British are either fielding a lot more divisions, or the French are keeping theirs safe in Syria.
VILenin: There's been half-hearted research in heavy cruisers, carriers, and battleships, but no serious thought of construction programs. And at the moment, improving the army is definitely a greater priority.
---------------------------------
April 12th, 1939
Alexei Stukov rushed into the conference room, fumbling to keep the half dozen portfolios he had tucked under his arms from sliding out and spilling all over the floor as he pulled his overcoat off.
The guard at the door saluted as he approached. Stukov nodded absentmindedly and glanced at the man.
"How's it going so far?" he asked.
The soldier, staring straight ahead, furrowed his brow for a moment then shrugged. "He's been quiet."
Stukov nodded slightly and hesitated before proceeding into the room. Stalin was standing at his usual spot at the head of the table, with Molotov on his right and General Shaposhnikov on his left. As Stukov closed the door and walked closer, Stalin acknowledged his presence.
"Ahh, comrade. It appears the world has gone mad," Stalin remarked in amusement.
That was a good sign.
Breathing slightly through his mouth from rushing around the last 10 minutes, Stukov nodded and deposited his papers on the table before taking his seat, Molotov eyeing him curiously.
"It has indeed, comrade Stalin," he replied tersely. He continued. "I've been away from the capital in the last week so I missed the details."
"It seemed to have started on the 15th," Molotov spoke. "When Germany partitioned the rest of Czechoslovakia... against the Treaty of Munich. On the 24th, Lithuania caves and cedes Memel back to Germany. A day later, Portugal decides to join the German-Hungarian alliance."
"Any reason why?" Stukov asked.
"None that we can tell. Anyway, Mussolini decides to meddle in international affairs again and effectively attacks Albania without provocation. Turns out, Italy and Germany were allied as well, which drags all of them in the war."
"All that against Albania," Shaposhnikov chuckled.
Molotov glanced at the general. "Considering Albania still hasn't fallen, we've either grossly overestimated Italy, or there's more to Albania than meets the eye."
"Probably the latter," Stalin remarked. He was sitting in his chair now, smoking thoughtfully on his pipe, his chair turned so Stukov could only see him in profile.
Molotov cleared his throat. "Yugoslavia declares war April 4th, under pressure from the Bulgarians."
"Which is irrelevant at this point."
"Very," Molotov agreed. "April 6th, the situation in Europe gets completely out of hand. The French declare war on Germany, drawing Britain in against them, Italy, and Portugal. A day later, Romania declares war on the Allies, and then on the 12th, Yugoslavia declares war on Italy. Meanwhile, the United States is begining to gear itself for war."
Stukov stroked his chin. "I suppose if it weren't for our invasion, Poland would have aligned with the Allies."
"Almost assuredly, making Germany very vulnerable."
"They still are," Shaposhnikov assured confidently. "If they don't strip their eastern borders, the French will be swarming in from across the Maginot."
"Perhaps," Stukov said, unwilling to commit himself to any position in such a new and unpredictable situation.
"We will let the Allies and Axis destroy each other for now," Stalin spoke up, swinging back into view. "Until I decide the time is right, we will continue to push the Allied dogs out of the Middle East."
Stukov nodded silently. Progress was still slow, but the Red Army was still advancing in Iraq. Only a day earlier four French divisions had been encircled and destroyed in Kirkuk, and reports showed the Iraqi army was out of supplies. The British, however, remained strong.
Shaposhnikov spoke at this time. "With Europe at war again, I strongly suggest that the modernization programs be suspended in favor of another expansion. More divisions will be needed in Poland if we are to face both the Germans and the Allies in the Middle East."
"I agree," Stalin replied. "Concentrate on infantry and armoured divisions. Work out the details with Comrade Kaganovich." He paused and looked at each man. "Unless there's anything else, you are all dismissed."
---------------------------------------
Constantin von Neurath walked alone down the deserted Berlin road, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, his head protected from a sharp night wind by a "newsboy" cap, which he wore more for the sake of anonymity than comfort.
Somewhere not far off, a church bell rang, signaling midnight.
Von Neurath scowled as he walked further. Wartime safety provisions had yet to come into effect - the war was a distant worry to Berliners - but the street was already empty save for himself, and most of the house lights were out.
Footsteps began sounding rapidly behind von Neurath, but he resisted the urge to look. That would only make them angry. The heavy footwalls grew louder as they approached, until a large, dark man had caught up to him, his features hidden by the night and the collar of his coat.
"Take the alley to your left, now," a demanding voice emanated out from the man. Von Neurath made no attempt to refuse, turning sharply to the left and down a garbage-strewn alley as the man continued down the road.
About twenty meters down the alley, it made a sharp right turn. Von Neurath stumbled cautiously forward, finally spotting a bright light shining down on a half-rusted door. Again, von Neurath scowled as he approached the door and opened it.
It may as well have been a portal into another world. The dark, shabby, dingy back alley gave way to a brightly lit and extravagantly decorated interior.
As he gazed around the room in surprise, he slowly took off his coat and tossed it absent-mindedly onto a nearby couch.
"Ah, Herr von Neurath, a pleasure to see you again," a slightly-accented voice drifted from deeper in the room. A woman stepped forward from an adjacent room, causing von Neurath to stiffen slightly both out of the woman's beauty and fear of the dagger she was expertly handling in her right hand.
"I... came as soon as I could," he replied, betraying only a hint of his nervousness. He knew she sensed it immediately, judging from her amused half-smile that grew on her lips.
"Of course," she said with a note of regal arrogance. "You were always good at accomplishing your tasks quickly. Perhaps... too quickly."
Von Neurath immediately began to sweat, not failing to miss the veiled malice behind the words. "I-I assure you the Fuhrer suspects nothing..."
"The Fuhrer's suspicions do not concern me, Foreign Minister," she interrupted, drawing closer, the dagger now held firmly in her grip.
"Of course," von Neurath nodded quickly, licking his lips nervously.
The woman smiled and conjured up a briefcase seemingly out of thin air, tossing it casually at him. He nearly dropped it as he fumbled to catch the case.
"Your payment is in there, Herr von Neurath. Europe is now engulfed in war, as per our arrangement. You may carry on now as you see fit. Our partnership is done."
"You mean...?"
"Go," the woman demanded. "And tell no one of how you've contributed to this next wave of wars, or you'll be dead before the Gestapo can get their hands on you."
Von Neurath wasted no time in leaving, actually forgetting to retrieve his coat as he nearly jogged back down the alley. The sooner von Neurath had the mysterious Azuren out of his life, the better.
Europe at war. Romania involvement not shown.
grayghost: Actually, it's the other way around. The British are either fielding a lot more divisions, or the French are keeping theirs safe in Syria.
VILenin: There's been half-hearted research in heavy cruisers, carriers, and battleships, but no serious thought of construction programs. And at the moment, improving the army is definitely a greater priority.
---------------------------------
April 12th, 1939
Alexei Stukov rushed into the conference room, fumbling to keep the half dozen portfolios he had tucked under his arms from sliding out and spilling all over the floor as he pulled his overcoat off.
The guard at the door saluted as he approached. Stukov nodded absentmindedly and glanced at the man.
"How's it going so far?" he asked.
The soldier, staring straight ahead, furrowed his brow for a moment then shrugged. "He's been quiet."
Stukov nodded slightly and hesitated before proceeding into the room. Stalin was standing at his usual spot at the head of the table, with Molotov on his right and General Shaposhnikov on his left. As Stukov closed the door and walked closer, Stalin acknowledged his presence.
"Ahh, comrade. It appears the world has gone mad," Stalin remarked in amusement.
That was a good sign.
Breathing slightly through his mouth from rushing around the last 10 minutes, Stukov nodded and deposited his papers on the table before taking his seat, Molotov eyeing him curiously.
"It has indeed, comrade Stalin," he replied tersely. He continued. "I've been away from the capital in the last week so I missed the details."
"It seemed to have started on the 15th," Molotov spoke. "When Germany partitioned the rest of Czechoslovakia... against the Treaty of Munich. On the 24th, Lithuania caves and cedes Memel back to Germany. A day later, Portugal decides to join the German-Hungarian alliance."
"Any reason why?" Stukov asked.
"None that we can tell. Anyway, Mussolini decides to meddle in international affairs again and effectively attacks Albania without provocation. Turns out, Italy and Germany were allied as well, which drags all of them in the war."
"All that against Albania," Shaposhnikov chuckled.
Molotov glanced at the general. "Considering Albania still hasn't fallen, we've either grossly overestimated Italy, or there's more to Albania than meets the eye."
"Probably the latter," Stalin remarked. He was sitting in his chair now, smoking thoughtfully on his pipe, his chair turned so Stukov could only see him in profile.
Molotov cleared his throat. "Yugoslavia declares war April 4th, under pressure from the Bulgarians."
"Which is irrelevant at this point."
"Very," Molotov agreed. "April 6th, the situation in Europe gets completely out of hand. The French declare war on Germany, drawing Britain in against them, Italy, and Portugal. A day later, Romania declares war on the Allies, and then on the 12th, Yugoslavia declares war on Italy. Meanwhile, the United States is begining to gear itself for war."
Stukov stroked his chin. "I suppose if it weren't for our invasion, Poland would have aligned with the Allies."
"Almost assuredly, making Germany very vulnerable."
"They still are," Shaposhnikov assured confidently. "If they don't strip their eastern borders, the French will be swarming in from across the Maginot."
"Perhaps," Stukov said, unwilling to commit himself to any position in such a new and unpredictable situation.
"We will let the Allies and Axis destroy each other for now," Stalin spoke up, swinging back into view. "Until I decide the time is right, we will continue to push the Allied dogs out of the Middle East."
Stukov nodded silently. Progress was still slow, but the Red Army was still advancing in Iraq. Only a day earlier four French divisions had been encircled and destroyed in Kirkuk, and reports showed the Iraqi army was out of supplies. The British, however, remained strong.
Shaposhnikov spoke at this time. "With Europe at war again, I strongly suggest that the modernization programs be suspended in favor of another expansion. More divisions will be needed in Poland if we are to face both the Germans and the Allies in the Middle East."
"I agree," Stalin replied. "Concentrate on infantry and armoured divisions. Work out the details with Comrade Kaganovich." He paused and looked at each man. "Unless there's anything else, you are all dismissed."
---------------------------------------
Constantin von Neurath walked alone down the deserted Berlin road, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, his head protected from a sharp night wind by a "newsboy" cap, which he wore more for the sake of anonymity than comfort.
Somewhere not far off, a church bell rang, signaling midnight.
Von Neurath scowled as he walked further. Wartime safety provisions had yet to come into effect - the war was a distant worry to Berliners - but the street was already empty save for himself, and most of the house lights were out.
Footsteps began sounding rapidly behind von Neurath, but he resisted the urge to look. That would only make them angry. The heavy footwalls grew louder as they approached, until a large, dark man had caught up to him, his features hidden by the night and the collar of his coat.
"Take the alley to your left, now," a demanding voice emanated out from the man. Von Neurath made no attempt to refuse, turning sharply to the left and down a garbage-strewn alley as the man continued down the road.
About twenty meters down the alley, it made a sharp right turn. Von Neurath stumbled cautiously forward, finally spotting a bright light shining down on a half-rusted door. Again, von Neurath scowled as he approached the door and opened it.
It may as well have been a portal into another world. The dark, shabby, dingy back alley gave way to a brightly lit and extravagantly decorated interior.
As he gazed around the room in surprise, he slowly took off his coat and tossed it absent-mindedly onto a nearby couch.
"Ah, Herr von Neurath, a pleasure to see you again," a slightly-accented voice drifted from deeper in the room. A woman stepped forward from an adjacent room, causing von Neurath to stiffen slightly both out of the woman's beauty and fear of the dagger she was expertly handling in her right hand.
"I... came as soon as I could," he replied, betraying only a hint of his nervousness. He knew she sensed it immediately, judging from her amused half-smile that grew on her lips.
"Of course," she said with a note of regal arrogance. "You were always good at accomplishing your tasks quickly. Perhaps... too quickly."
Von Neurath immediately began to sweat, not failing to miss the veiled malice behind the words. "I-I assure you the Fuhrer suspects nothing..."
"The Fuhrer's suspicions do not concern me, Foreign Minister," she interrupted, drawing closer, the dagger now held firmly in her grip.
"Of course," von Neurath nodded quickly, licking his lips nervously.
The woman smiled and conjured up a briefcase seemingly out of thin air, tossing it casually at him. He nearly dropped it as he fumbled to catch the case.
"Your payment is in there, Herr von Neurath. Europe is now engulfed in war, as per our arrangement. You may carry on now as you see fit. Our partnership is done."
"You mean...?"
"Go," the woman demanded. "And tell no one of how you've contributed to this next wave of wars, or you'll be dead before the Gestapo can get their hands on you."
Von Neurath wasted no time in leaving, actually forgetting to retrieve his coat as he nearly jogged back down the alley. The sooner von Neurath had the mysterious Azuren out of his life, the better.
Europe at war. Romania involvement not shown.
Ah, Azuren makes her return(?)/debut. I'm really looking forward to how you tie everything together TC.
September 5th, 1939
Lt. General Konev stood on the shore of the Baltic Sea, watching a flotilla of transports as they leisurely cut through the murky waters. Not far off was the Polish city of Danzig.
A single artillery battery could have sunk them in a few short volleys. Konev wondered how many thousands of Nazi soldiers would have perished in that case.
The sound of boot steps crunching on the gravel behind him pulled Konev from his musings, but he did not bother to turn around. Most likely, it was some adjutant bringing him more reports he wasn't going to read.
General Zhukov stepped up alongside Konev, looking off toward the German transports.
"They're gambling an awful lot by doing this," Zhukov remarked.
Konev nodded silently. Though Zhukov was his superior, years of close cooperation had eroded all but the most basic formalities of rank.
"Unlike you," Zhukov smiled. "I bother to read the intelligence reports Stukov keeps sending us."
Konev finally broke a smile. "I suppose I'll start reading them when there's a reason to read them. Until then, I'll just rely on my eyes."
"The Germans aren't being very discreet about it."
Konev pulled out a cigarette and lit it, offering one to Zhukov.
"No thanks. Not now."
Konev furrowed his brow and put the cigarette carton away. "Is something bothering you?"
Zhukov looked uncertain, remaining silent for several moments. "I think so, Ivan. Stalin is going to see this," he gestured off to the west, "And think we can steamroll the Germans."
"I agree. Half the border is being defended by Hungarians, anyway. But we're not ready. Half of the divisions we had for the Poland invasion are in Iraq and Persia now. Which reminds me, how are things going down there?"
Zhukov chuckled. "Eremenko destroyed the rest of the Allied forces in Kuwait just yesterday. At least 80,000 prisoners, half of them French."
Konev whistled appreciatively. "not bad for the guy. He just got that army a week ago."
"He's being shipped immediately to Damascus for the push on Jerusalem."
Konev exhaled, emitting a long, thin trail of smoke. "Can the Allies stop them?"
Zhukov shook his head. "Not against what Eremenko's bringing. I doubt they could hold out against Batov's marines if STAVKA let him. Once he's in place, they'll be at the Suez in no time."
Konev tossed his cigarette aside and crushed it under his boot. "Then we can finally make some progress in Persia. Who would have thought the British would throw half their army into the fight?"
"It's actually more than half now, plus the minor allied divisions, but they don't matter," Zhukov said casually.
Konev nodded and the conversation drifted away in silence. The German flotilla was now a mere speck in the west. Finally, Konev broke the silence by clearing his throat. "Well, I think it's time I got back to my army. You too."
Zhukov smiled. "Right. I'll see you later, then."
"Cards at eight again?"
Konev smiled and shook his head. "No, make it nine. I have to send in a requisition order for the new BT-7 tanks."
"You and your tanks," Zhukov laughed. "Alright. I'll see you then."
Situation in Europe as of September, 1939
Situation in Palestine, with 17 divisions on the way
Situation in Poland
Lt. General Konev stood on the shore of the Baltic Sea, watching a flotilla of transports as they leisurely cut through the murky waters. Not far off was the Polish city of Danzig.
A single artillery battery could have sunk them in a few short volleys. Konev wondered how many thousands of Nazi soldiers would have perished in that case.
The sound of boot steps crunching on the gravel behind him pulled Konev from his musings, but he did not bother to turn around. Most likely, it was some adjutant bringing him more reports he wasn't going to read.
General Zhukov stepped up alongside Konev, looking off toward the German transports.
"They're gambling an awful lot by doing this," Zhukov remarked.
Konev nodded silently. Though Zhukov was his superior, years of close cooperation had eroded all but the most basic formalities of rank.
"Unlike you," Zhukov smiled. "I bother to read the intelligence reports Stukov keeps sending us."
Konev finally broke a smile. "I suppose I'll start reading them when there's a reason to read them. Until then, I'll just rely on my eyes."
"The Germans aren't being very discreet about it."
Konev pulled out a cigarette and lit it, offering one to Zhukov.
"No thanks. Not now."
Konev furrowed his brow and put the cigarette carton away. "Is something bothering you?"
Zhukov looked uncertain, remaining silent for several moments. "I think so, Ivan. Stalin is going to see this," he gestured off to the west, "And think we can steamroll the Germans."
"I agree. Half the border is being defended by Hungarians, anyway. But we're not ready. Half of the divisions we had for the Poland invasion are in Iraq and Persia now. Which reminds me, how are things going down there?"
Zhukov chuckled. "Eremenko destroyed the rest of the Allied forces in Kuwait just yesterday. At least 80,000 prisoners, half of them French."
Konev whistled appreciatively. "not bad for the guy. He just got that army a week ago."
"He's being shipped immediately to Damascus for the push on Jerusalem."
Konev exhaled, emitting a long, thin trail of smoke. "Can the Allies stop them?"
Zhukov shook his head. "Not against what Eremenko's bringing. I doubt they could hold out against Batov's marines if STAVKA let him. Once he's in place, they'll be at the Suez in no time."
Konev tossed his cigarette aside and crushed it under his boot. "Then we can finally make some progress in Persia. Who would have thought the British would throw half their army into the fight?"
"It's actually more than half now, plus the minor allied divisions, but they don't matter," Zhukov said casually.
Konev nodded and the conversation drifted away in silence. The German flotilla was now a mere speck in the west. Finally, Konev broke the silence by clearing his throat. "Well, I think it's time I got back to my army. You too."
Zhukov smiled. "Right. I'll see you later, then."
"Cards at eight again?"
Konev smiled and shook his head. "No, make it nine. I have to send in a requisition order for the new BT-7 tanks."
"You and your tanks," Zhukov laughed. "Alright. I'll see you then."
GeneralHannibal: That would be nice
Darks63/lifeless: There's no pact so the only way to take them is through a war.
------------------------------------------
November 15th, 1939
Alexei Stukov sighed audibly and slowly massaged his temples, trying to work out the sudden spike of stress stabbing into him and wrecking his concentration.
Stukov took a slow, deep breath and tried his best to calm himself down. So far, the results were proving unsatisfactory. Regardless, Stukov reached over to the phone that was lying on his desk and put it back up to his ear.
He cleared his throat loudly. "Comrade Molotov, are you still there?" he asked calmly.
"I am," Molotov replied in his typical bluntness.
"Now," Stukov drawled, enunciating every word carefully. "I want you to tell me what you just said again, just to make sure I understood it."
There was a momentary hesitation on the other end of the line, no doubt caused by Stukov's strange reaction to his phone call. "I received a diplomatic communiqué from the embassy in Helsinki just this hour. The Finnish government has, after careful consideration and debate, decided it is in the best interests of the Finnish state to accept the Union's rightful claims and ceded Karelia."
As Molotov finished repeating his report, Stukov closed his eyes and slowly fell backwards into his chair. "That is what I hoped you said, comrade. I am relieved I was simply not imagining it."
"As am I," Molotov replied neutrally. "For now, I will be staying in Leningrad to oversee Karelia's incorporation with Field Marshal Budennij."
"Thank you, Minister. Goodbye." With that, Stukov hang up the phone. For several minutes, Stukov simply sat still, letting the news finally hit home. The odds of the Finns caving to Soviet pressure had been nil, and Stukov had adamantly opposed demanding territory with only fifteen divisions along the entire Finnish border.
In fact, the campaign in Palestine and Syria was quickly degenerating into a disaster. Jerusalem had fallen last month and Soviet troops had finally reached the Mediterranean Sea. British forces had counter-attacked into Jordan had cut off the Soviet armies positioned around Jerusalem. Frantic attacks were carried out to relieve Batov's marines, meeting with a see-saw over control of Jordan. Even Damascus had fallen for a time.
Stukov's rage equaled if not surpassed Stalin's. As a result, 15 divisions were being strategically redeployed to Syria. Among the reinforcements, which were to arrive tomorrow in the morning, was the bulk of the Soviet armoured corps and motorized units. That, Stukov believed with only a tiny amount of skepticism, would be enough to break Allied resistance.
There was a sudden knock on the door. Voroshilov stepped in, carrying several papers.
"What can I do for you, general?" Stukov asked calmly, leaning forward over his desk and tropping his arms up on his elbows in order to steeple his fingers.
"I received a copy of this...rather unusual report," Voroshilov spoke. "It orders that all Allied officers captured in the Palestine front are to be executed immediately, and all soldiers to be shipped to Siberia."
"That is correct, comrade," Stukov replied calmly, disturbingly so.
"And you approved of this measure!?" Voroshilov shouted incredulously.
"I damn well did!" Stukov lashed out, smashing his fist on the top of his desk. "I want them to pay! I want those insufferable armies smashed and their soldiers broken and humiliated. The world must pay the price for daring to resist... our military might."
Voroshilov flinched visibly. It was clear he could not press the issue further. Both Stukov and Stalin had apparently approved of the General Order, and there was no hope of revoking it now.
"Very well, comrade," Voroshilov finally said with a sigh.
"See that you do, General," Stukov said with a venomous malice. "I want that Allied army obliterated from the face of the earth."
Darks63/lifeless: There's no pact so the only way to take them is through a war.
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November 15th, 1939
Alexei Stukov sighed audibly and slowly massaged his temples, trying to work out the sudden spike of stress stabbing into him and wrecking his concentration.
Stukov took a slow, deep breath and tried his best to calm himself down. So far, the results were proving unsatisfactory. Regardless, Stukov reached over to the phone that was lying on his desk and put it back up to his ear.
He cleared his throat loudly. "Comrade Molotov, are you still there?" he asked calmly.
"I am," Molotov replied in his typical bluntness.
"Now," Stukov drawled, enunciating every word carefully. "I want you to tell me what you just said again, just to make sure I understood it."
There was a momentary hesitation on the other end of the line, no doubt caused by Stukov's strange reaction to his phone call. "I received a diplomatic communiqué from the embassy in Helsinki just this hour. The Finnish government has, after careful consideration and debate, decided it is in the best interests of the Finnish state to accept the Union's rightful claims and ceded Karelia."
As Molotov finished repeating his report, Stukov closed his eyes and slowly fell backwards into his chair. "That is what I hoped you said, comrade. I am relieved I was simply not imagining it."
"As am I," Molotov replied neutrally. "For now, I will be staying in Leningrad to oversee Karelia's incorporation with Field Marshal Budennij."
"Thank you, Minister. Goodbye." With that, Stukov hang up the phone. For several minutes, Stukov simply sat still, letting the news finally hit home. The odds of the Finns caving to Soviet pressure had been nil, and Stukov had adamantly opposed demanding territory with only fifteen divisions along the entire Finnish border.
In fact, the campaign in Palestine and Syria was quickly degenerating into a disaster. Jerusalem had fallen last month and Soviet troops had finally reached the Mediterranean Sea. British forces had counter-attacked into Jordan had cut off the Soviet armies positioned around Jerusalem. Frantic attacks were carried out to relieve Batov's marines, meeting with a see-saw over control of Jordan. Even Damascus had fallen for a time.
Stukov's rage equaled if not surpassed Stalin's. As a result, 15 divisions were being strategically redeployed to Syria. Among the reinforcements, which were to arrive tomorrow in the morning, was the bulk of the Soviet armoured corps and motorized units. That, Stukov believed with only a tiny amount of skepticism, would be enough to break Allied resistance.
There was a sudden knock on the door. Voroshilov stepped in, carrying several papers.
"What can I do for you, general?" Stukov asked calmly, leaning forward over his desk and tropping his arms up on his elbows in order to steeple his fingers.
"I received a copy of this...rather unusual report," Voroshilov spoke. "It orders that all Allied officers captured in the Palestine front are to be executed immediately, and all soldiers to be shipped to Siberia."
"That is correct, comrade," Stukov replied calmly, disturbingly so.
"And you approved of this measure!?" Voroshilov shouted incredulously.
"I damn well did!" Stukov lashed out, smashing his fist on the top of his desk. "I want them to pay! I want those insufferable armies smashed and their soldiers broken and humiliated. The world must pay the price for daring to resist... our military might."
Voroshilov flinched visibly. It was clear he could not press the issue further. Both Stukov and Stalin had apparently approved of the General Order, and there was no hope of revoking it now.
"Very well, comrade," Voroshilov finally said with a sigh.
"See that you do, General," Stukov said with a venomous malice. "I want that Allied army obliterated from the face of the earth."
Ah, excellant update as usual. Like your new header, certainly attracts the eye. Are you surprised to be meeting so much resistance in the middle east? I would have thought with the amount of troops you have moved there that the allies would have crumbled by now.
Too bad the Finns gave the land away, would have been a fun, challenging war. Also, you better hurry up, or the Italians might get to suez before you.
grayghost: Yes, as a matter of fact, I'm shocked at how poorly my army faired in the Middle East, though I suspect it has more to do with my overconfidence in dealing with the Allies and paranoia over the Germans than poor military quality.
Marchalk_Zjukov: Thank you very mucho
GeneralHannibal: Yes, the Winter War would have made it more difficult for me for a time, but the situation in and of itself was rather ridiculous. It shouldn't have fired without the M-R pact.
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February 15th, 1940
General Batov removed his hat and wiped the sweat forming on his brow with an already soaking rag. Futilely, he fanned himself with his cap in an attempt to find relief from the blazing noon sun overhead. After over a year of hard fighting from Baghdad to the Suez, General Batov missed the weather in distant Vladivostok. The reinforcements STAVKA had sent from Poland were already on their way back. Plans were in the works for an intervention while the Germans were preoccupied with the French, and everything had to be in place as soon as possible.
Stretched out across miles of sandy, scorching hot desert, the remnants of the British expeditionary forces that had been causing Batov's men so much trouble, and the Kremlin so much annoyance marched, already worn out, exhausted, and beaten. A few lightly armed Soviet marines and NKVD officers watched over them, making sure none of them would have much spirit left in them.
A few had already dropped out of the line and collapsed in the sand, never to rise again. Others were dragged away to be shot after being identified as officers.
In total, there was about thirty thousand of them. The trains waiting in Jerusalem probably could only be expected to carry a third of that number, hence the reason the prisoners were being marched there.
Batov's pity for these doomed souls was equaled only by his pity for the French. Seven divisions had been encircled and forced to surrender around the Golan Heights two weeks earlier.
Special orders from the Kremlin made it clear Stalin was not going to be merciful to the army that had kept the Red Army from the Suez Canal for over a year. It had cost the army too much for mercy.
"I did not want to have to do this," Batov muttered to himself, too low for the half-circle of aides hovering behind Batov to hear. Unfortunately, there was no alternative. If Batov refused, one of the countless NKVD would remove him, replace him with some young, aspiring officer who would, or do it themselves.
And the soldiers -the poor men- they were just following their orders.
And that, General Batov thought with a sigh, Is how it all gets started.
Marchalk_Zjukov: Thank you very much
o GeneralHannibal: Yes, the Winter War would have made it more difficult for me for a time, but the situation in and of itself was rather ridiculous. It shouldn't have fired without the M-R pact.
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February 15th, 1940
General Batov removed his hat and wiped the sweat forming on his brow with an already soaking rag. Futilely, he fanned himself with his cap in an attempt to find relief from the blazing noon sun overhead. After over a year of hard fighting from Baghdad to the Suez, General Batov missed the weather in distant Vladivostok. The reinforcements STAVKA had sent from Poland were already on their way back. Plans were in the works for an intervention while the Germans were preoccupied with the French, and everything had to be in place as soon as possible.
Stretched out across miles of sandy, scorching hot desert, the remnants of the British expeditionary forces that had been causing Batov's men so much trouble, and the Kremlin so much annoyance marched, already worn out, exhausted, and beaten. A few lightly armed Soviet marines and NKVD officers watched over them, making sure none of them would have much spirit left in them.
A few had already dropped out of the line and collapsed in the sand, never to rise again. Others were dragged away to be shot after being identified as officers.
In total, there was about thirty thousand of them. The trains waiting in Jerusalem probably could only be expected to carry a third of that number, hence the reason the prisoners were being marched there.
Batov's pity for these doomed souls was equaled only by his pity for the French. Seven divisions had been encircled and forced to surrender around the Golan Heights two weeks earlier.
Special orders from the Kremlin made it clear Stalin was not going to be merciful to the army that had kept the Red Army from the Suez Canal for over a year. It had cost the army too much for mercy.
"I did not want to have to do this," Batov muttered to himself, too low for the half-circle of aides hovering behind Batov to hear. Unfortunately, there was no alternative. If Batov refused, one of the countless NKVD would remove him, replace him with some young, aspiring officer who would, or do it themselves.
And the soldiers -the poor men- they were just following their orders.
And that, General Batov thought with a sigh, Is how it all gets started.