He seems different now. Can half a year of doing nothing really change a man so much?
-
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i hope you will take over china before war in europe ends because i see that in asia is crazily lot of america 
Finland falls. The mighty Tannu Tavu is ground under the boot heels of the Soviet juggernaut...but now they face a truly mighty foe...Manchuria!!!
You shall feel the wrath of the mighty Manchu Banners!!!
Okay...maybe not.
You shall feel the wrath of the mighty Manchu Banners!!!
Okay...maybe not.
What a lazy drunk Voroshilov is!
Im sure that the formidable Manchurian military will give you the shock of your life.
Discomb: What are you talking about? We've not seen Voroshilov before
Deus Eversor: Aww man, China would really drain at my resources, it would probably need the dedication of three fully manned Fronts (and at the moment I don't have any fully manned Fronts)
grayghost: Haha
General Jac: Oh, definitely
Update coming up!
Deus Eversor: Aww man, China would really drain at my resources, it would probably need the dedication of three fully manned Fronts (and at the moment I don't have any fully manned Fronts)
grayghost: Haha
General Jac: Oh, definitely
Update coming up!
The Kremlin
November 23, 1936
Litvinov winced as he received the slip of paper from his orderly, knowing approximately what it contained and knowing what he would have to do with it. It was a missive from the Far East, and it would have to be brought to Stalin to read for himself. Stalin always wanted reports from Front commanders, and Voroshilov was no ordinary Front commander; he was also the Red Army Commander-in-Chief and one of Stalin’s oldest political cronies. Thus, a message from him was of utmost importance, even above that of Stalin’s own family. After all, whereas Stalin’s family could possibly ruin his day and thus make him decide on a sudden paranoid whim to slaughter twenty percent of the Soviet general staff, Voroshilov can easily bump up the amount of carnage to fifty percent or more just by ticking his nose the wrong way at the wrong time. Litvinov sighed as he batted the missive back and forth lengthwise across his desk, afraid of reading it.
He knew it was good news, of course. Voroshilov would not order a missive wrapped with golden ribbon and sealed with expensive red wax with a personal seal of his own devising if it was bad news; he would likely not report bad news at all unless it was absolutely necessary to save himself. Voroshilov wanted his good news to catch everybody’s attention right away. With a sigh, exasperated at his own hesitation, Litvinov broke the red wax seal with his penknife and pulled the ribbon away, tossing it aside idly. He unrolled the missive and began reading.
To My Greatest and Dearest Comrade, Iosif Stalin,
I have naught but good news to report from here in the Far East, which is so far away from Moscow and from you. As you know, I have long labored on two operational plans of outstanding brilliance to bring more territories under the luminance of the great Soviet dream. The first of these plans, which I so rightly named Operation Red October, has been officially completed! Earlier this day, my brave soldiers of the Manchurian Front arrived in Kyzyl. They saw no resistance after the initial skirmish in the foothills of the mountains and, upon arriving in Kyzyl, encountered a very festive welcome. The much abused people were quite thankful that I had liberated them from their misguided imperialist rulers and brought them into the glorious Soviet fold…
Litvinov dropped the note, unable to read more. Voroshilov could always put such an incredible spin on everything that it made most people sick in the stomach. Feeling queasy, Litvinov reviewed the facts. The regime in Kyzyl that Voroshilov had toppled was hardly an imperialist power, and actually modeled their policies off those that emanated from Stalin’s desk in Moscow. Honestly though, Litvinov did not doubt that they were much abused, though he did doubt the welcome Voroshilov got. Not that he really believed that Voroshilov had even set foot within two hundred kilometers of Kyzyl. Picking up the missive with a finger and his thumb as if it was an odious piece of garbage, which is was, Litvinov set off to deliver it to Stalin.
Fortunately, Stalin did not have an appointment at the moment, allowing Litvinov to slip into his office. He silently handed the note to Stalin and sat down, allowing him to read it in silence. Stalin was not known as the man of steel for nothing, and Litvinov witnessed in person the impressive feat of him reading through Litvinov’s entire message before gently setting it down on the table. He glanced up at Litvinov, who noticed that Stalin looked haggard after reading all of Voroshilov’s tripe. Gesturing to the note, Stalin asked “what do you think of all this?”
Litvinov smiled in an embarrassed fashion, replying “comrade Stalin, I could not read beyond the latter half of the first paragraph.”
Stalin grunted, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I admit that it challenged me as well. He made the conquest sound like the second coming of the Christian Christ. I know that he sent five divisions against them, and that their defense consisted of only one. I also know that he didn’t set foot within two hundred kilometers of the place. Nevertheless, it is a conquest for him and he is proud.”
The annexation of Tannu Tuva, on November 23rd.
Litvinov smiled, knowing that in some ways his and Stalin’s minds were parallel as Stalin continued. “Oh, he also wants to know about the Japanese.”
Litvinov blinked, not quite understanding. He hesitated before speaking, “I am afraid that I do not understand the reference.”
Stalin raised an eyebrow at him. “Surely you remember the Japanese declaring war?”
Revelation bolted across Litvinov’s face. “Of course! Have the Japanese begun landing in the east?”
Stalin shook his head. “Not yet, at least not as far as he reports. He just wants to know whether his rear is safe so that he can dedicate his entire Front to gloriously conquering the moronic upstart warlords of Manchuria.” Seeing Litvinov’s look, Stalin playfully raised his arms defensively in front of him. “His words, not mine. Anyway, the question is whether the Japanese are a threat or not.”
Litvinov shrugged. “They’re at war with us and they have an army and navy, so I assume that they are a threat of some sort, at least. Still, if he makes his conquest of Manchuria quick then he shouldn’t be in much danger, I believe.”
Stalin grunted again. “Fair enough. Draft up a reply concerning the Japanese to him and run it by me, then send it off. Otherwise, I believe we’re finished here.”
November 23, 1936
Litvinov winced as he received the slip of paper from his orderly, knowing approximately what it contained and knowing what he would have to do with it. It was a missive from the Far East, and it would have to be brought to Stalin to read for himself. Stalin always wanted reports from Front commanders, and Voroshilov was no ordinary Front commander; he was also the Red Army Commander-in-Chief and one of Stalin’s oldest political cronies. Thus, a message from him was of utmost importance, even above that of Stalin’s own family. After all, whereas Stalin’s family could possibly ruin his day and thus make him decide on a sudden paranoid whim to slaughter twenty percent of the Soviet general staff, Voroshilov can easily bump up the amount of carnage to fifty percent or more just by ticking his nose the wrong way at the wrong time. Litvinov sighed as he batted the missive back and forth lengthwise across his desk, afraid of reading it.
He knew it was good news, of course. Voroshilov would not order a missive wrapped with golden ribbon and sealed with expensive red wax with a personal seal of his own devising if it was bad news; he would likely not report bad news at all unless it was absolutely necessary to save himself. Voroshilov wanted his good news to catch everybody’s attention right away. With a sigh, exasperated at his own hesitation, Litvinov broke the red wax seal with his penknife and pulled the ribbon away, tossing it aside idly. He unrolled the missive and began reading.
To My Greatest and Dearest Comrade, Iosif Stalin,
I have naught but good news to report from here in the Far East, which is so far away from Moscow and from you. As you know, I have long labored on two operational plans of outstanding brilliance to bring more territories under the luminance of the great Soviet dream. The first of these plans, which I so rightly named Operation Red October, has been officially completed! Earlier this day, my brave soldiers of the Manchurian Front arrived in Kyzyl. They saw no resistance after the initial skirmish in the foothills of the mountains and, upon arriving in Kyzyl, encountered a very festive welcome. The much abused people were quite thankful that I had liberated them from their misguided imperialist rulers and brought them into the glorious Soviet fold…
Litvinov dropped the note, unable to read more. Voroshilov could always put such an incredible spin on everything that it made most people sick in the stomach. Feeling queasy, Litvinov reviewed the facts. The regime in Kyzyl that Voroshilov had toppled was hardly an imperialist power, and actually modeled their policies off those that emanated from Stalin’s desk in Moscow. Honestly though, Litvinov did not doubt that they were much abused, though he did doubt the welcome Voroshilov got. Not that he really believed that Voroshilov had even set foot within two hundred kilometers of Kyzyl. Picking up the missive with a finger and his thumb as if it was an odious piece of garbage, which is was, Litvinov set off to deliver it to Stalin.
Fortunately, Stalin did not have an appointment at the moment, allowing Litvinov to slip into his office. He silently handed the note to Stalin and sat down, allowing him to read it in silence. Stalin was not known as the man of steel for nothing, and Litvinov witnessed in person the impressive feat of him reading through Litvinov’s entire message before gently setting it down on the table. He glanced up at Litvinov, who noticed that Stalin looked haggard after reading all of Voroshilov’s tripe. Gesturing to the note, Stalin asked “what do you think of all this?”
Litvinov smiled in an embarrassed fashion, replying “comrade Stalin, I could not read beyond the latter half of the first paragraph.”
Stalin grunted, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I admit that it challenged me as well. He made the conquest sound like the second coming of the Christian Christ. I know that he sent five divisions against them, and that their defense consisted of only one. I also know that he didn’t set foot within two hundred kilometers of the place. Nevertheless, it is a conquest for him and he is proud.”
The annexation of Tannu Tuva, on November 23rd.
Litvinov smiled, knowing that in some ways his and Stalin’s minds were parallel as Stalin continued. “Oh, he also wants to know about the Japanese.”
Litvinov blinked, not quite understanding. He hesitated before speaking, “I am afraid that I do not understand the reference.”
Stalin raised an eyebrow at him. “Surely you remember the Japanese declaring war?”
Revelation bolted across Litvinov’s face. “Of course! Have the Japanese begun landing in the east?”
Stalin shook his head. “Not yet, at least not as far as he reports. He just wants to know whether his rear is safe so that he can dedicate his entire Front to gloriously conquering the moronic upstart warlords of Manchuria.” Seeing Litvinov’s look, Stalin playfully raised his arms defensively in front of him. “His words, not mine. Anyway, the question is whether the Japanese are a threat or not.”
Litvinov shrugged. “They’re at war with us and they have an army and navy, so I assume that they are a threat of some sort, at least. Still, if he makes his conquest of Manchuria quick then he shouldn’t be in much danger, I believe.”
Stalin grunted again. “Fair enough. Draft up a reply concerning the Japanese to him and run it by me, then send it off. Otherwise, I believe we’re finished here.”
Another excellent chapter Mr. Myth ! The description of the "odious piece of garbage" I could almost see with my own eyes XD . I think your narrative voice has found more maturity these past few months !
"Sick to his stomach" barely even describes the queasy feelings I got from the little bit of Voroshilov's note that we were...ahem...fortunate enough to be able to partake of.
The Japanese declared war? Must have missed that. Could prove interesting.
The Japanese declared war? Must have missed that. Could prove interesting.
Indeed, I am curious to see the Japanese front. How have they been doing in China up till now?
Looks like the USSR will be fighting a two front war for a while (or will if the German DoW ever comes. )
Looks like the USSR will be fighting a two front war for a while (or will if the German DoW ever comes.
)
We have a saying here that goes back to socialist times. For West, when we wanted to state our distaste for their dekadence, we would say Rotten West, or Rotten capitalism, but we never had any idea that things wee THIS rotten in USSR.
Oh we were aware of purges, but not of this degree of . . . rottenness!
And other:
:rofl: :rofl: :rofl: :rofl: :rofl: :rofl: :rofl:
canonized: Thanks! Though maybe I just got lucky on this one
grayghost: Yeah, I missed the Japanese declaring war too, I didn't have a screenshot. So I just slipped it in like that
coz1: They haven't been doing anything in China. Not only has their territory on the mainland (Korea, southern Manchuria) been given to Equatorial Africa but without events (which have been disabled bar ai events, random events and secret weapon events) there's nothing to drive them to war. The screenshot in the update shows that they've not done anything, though you can also see a hint of a Guangxi-Nationalist war, with the Guangxi Clique seemingly on the offensive.
Deus Eversor: Yes, destiny, of course
4th Dimension: That party I described, while doing it from memory, is actually one Buddenij threw for his officers. IIRC though, this was at the time of the Civil War or a bit afterward. And yes, Voroshilov has quite a way with words
Comment day again!
grayghost: Yeah, I missed the Japanese declaring war too, I didn't have a screenshot. So I just slipped it in like that
coz1: They haven't been doing anything in China. Not only has their territory on the mainland (Korea, southern Manchuria) been given to Equatorial Africa but without events (which have been disabled bar ai events, random events and secret weapon events) there's nothing to drive them to war. The screenshot in the update shows that they've not done anything, though you can also see a hint of a Guangxi-Nationalist war, with the Guangxi Clique seemingly on the offensive.
Deus Eversor: Yes, destiny, of course
4th Dimension: That party I described, while doing it from memory, is actually one Buddenij threw for his officers. IIRC though, this was at the time of the Civil War or a bit afterward. And yes, Voroshilov has quite a way with words
Comment day again!
Vladivostok
December 4, 1936
Voroshilov lay in his warm bed, doing his very best to ignore the campaign going on in Manchuria. He knew that he could come up with a thousand reasons not to do so, considering his political and military rank in the Soviet Union, but for the moment all the reasons he needed to avoid distressful thoughts such as campaigning and fighting could be summed up by the words ‘warmth’ and ‘bed.’ He smiled sleepily to himself and he tried to push himself deeper into the extravagant feather mattress that he had saved from the philistines of the early Revolution, back in 1917. He had been in what was then known as Petrograd, its name changed from St. Petersburg due to the flourishing of the hatred of all things German, and managed to save the mattress from being destroyed by the proletariat who were raging through the Winter Palace, who were so ignorant of the truly good things in life.
Getting tired from his efforts to snuggle deeper into the bed and the blankets, Voroshilov gave up and simply lie contented in the semi-darkness of the room, which was lit by the diminishing luminosity of the withdrawing moon. He had no idea what time it was, but he knew that it was night, perhaps some time in early morning, and that any sane man would be asleep at this time. However, hearing the sharp footsteps of booted feet down the corridor, he knew that military men inhabited a mental state that was nowhere near sane. A second set of footsteps introduced itself as well, almost as if it was an echo of the first person’s strides. They both stopped near the door to Voroshilov’s chamber, or so he estimated. His curiosity piqued, he listened in as best he could through the thick wooden door at the conversation that followed.
“Greetings, Comrade. What does Voroshilov think of the recent developments in the campaign?”
Hearing his name made in connection with the campaign, Voroshilov pricked his ears and listened even more intently as the other person responded. “Oh, you know Voroshilov as well as I, Comrade. He doesn’t really think, not about military matters at least. Those he leaves to others as he attempts to put the best spin on the little he does, and takes the credit for everything else. Everything good, at least—the bad is automatically ascribed to us.”
Voroshilov was shocked, how dare they speak that way of him, of one of Stalin’s most trusted field marshals? He was in half a mind to storm out of his chamber and have a word with them, but his old political acumen, sharpened by the years spent in Stalin’s cutthroat court in the Moscow Kremlin, argued that he should wait and gain all the information he could. This argument was aided by the promise of remaining in his warm bed, and Voroshilov realized his mind was made up; he did not move but continued straining his ears.
“True, very true, Comrade. What do you think of the campaign thus far?”
“It seems to be going relatively well. As you know, the battles along the border ended with our success and we pushed into Manchuria. The Manchurian field marshal Zhang Haipeng, who you know is a defensive mastermind, attempted to stop us at Xinjing with cavalry.”
The battle of Xinjing, the Manchurians commanded by their foremost field marshal and the Soviets ostensibly by theirs.
“Yes, I recall. Nothing much resulted from that attempt, right?”
“Correct, Comrade. Under the competent direction of the Front headquarters staff and the corps commanders, the Manchurians were pushed back. Voroshilov then made one of his rare military decisions and decided to have his division remain in Jilin to keep the supply line to Vladivostok open.”
“Yes. It reduced our thrust forward but on the whole, I think that it is largely a sensible decision.”
“Yes, that is true. One of his few, really. That Manchurian division at Mudanjiang poses a threat to our supplies lines.”
“So Voroshilov’s decision was quite wise, as now the supply line is safe!”
“No. There is still a danger.”
“You will have to explain that to me later, Comrade. Continue your narrative of the campaign.”
“Very well. The battle for Xinjing was on the 25th of November. On the 3rd of December, the three divisions still driving into Manchuria met the enemy again, at Mukden. Again, it was cavalry, though this time supported by a brigade of heavy artillery. They were, however, essentially leaderless and thus easily brushed aside.”
The battle for Mukden, another victory for the Soviet Union.
“Yes, I remember. That was barely mentioned in the dispatches, was it not? It barely amounted to a fight worthy of mentioning, I believe.”
“More or less correct, from what I’ve seen.”
“And now today’s events.”
“Yes, today’s events. That Manchurian division in Mudanjiang, commanded by Lieutenant General Nakajima, still poses a threat. He is also a master of defense, interestingly. Again, the division is cavalry, though under strength. I wonder if every single Manchurian division arrayed against us is cavalry, really.”
“So we attack the Manchurians in the hope of driving them off from Mudanjiang. What threat do they still pose?”
“They are positioned to march on Vladivostok.”
“They want to come here?!”
“Yes.”
“I understand now, Comrade. We must prevent them from doing so!”
The attack on Mudanjiang by the division in Jilin.
“Yes and no, of course.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“I hope you did not forget, Comrade.”
“No, of course not.”
“Good. Of course, it would be helpful to prevent the Manchurians from conquering our base of supply. On the other hand, we were well paid to fail in the invasion of Manchuria. Given how well the thrust into Manchuria is going, we will be in a position to annex the state within two or so months unless the Manchurian Front suffers a serious reverse.”
“Such as losing Vladivostok.”
“And then the Manchurian Front will fall, and Voroshilov will be discredited.”
“Yes, and then someone else comes to restore the situation. Someone with great prestige and Civil War experience as well, such as Blücher. Or Buddenij.”
“Probably not Buddenij, though. He’s got command of the Reserve Front situated around Moscow.”
“True, but there are many others who would enjoy taking Voroshilov’s place and receiving the shower of prestige of restoring the dangerous situation in Manchuria. Blücher, as mentioned. Gamarnik too, and Fabricius. Kork, Bidemann, Stolbin or Smilga. The old guard of the Red Army. They know they are being sidelined by the younger, more energetic generals and each wants one final victory to crown their career. Gorodovikov and Egorov are safe, each are still valuable generals, though also part of the old guard, and are expected to actively command Fronts for a while yet.”
“Is Voroshilov part of the old guard?”
“Of course. That is why the others are trying to humble him.”
“Nevertheless, Vladivostok is in danger!”
“Come, we have talked here long enough. I hope we did not disturb Voroshilov’s sleep. We must oversee the attack on Mudanjiang.”
Two sets of footsteps came into being and faded away in one direction, allowing Voroshilov to collect his thoughts. As in his younger days when he was a true political mastermind, thoughts were whirling around his scheming mind. Someone was trying to get rid of him, perhaps multiple people! Vladivostok was in danger, and by extension so was he! Slowly, a plan formulated in his mind and a smile slowly evolved on his face. Contented by his thoughts, he dug deeper into his bed and went back to sleep.
December 4, 1936
Voroshilov lay in his warm bed, doing his very best to ignore the campaign going on in Manchuria. He knew that he could come up with a thousand reasons not to do so, considering his political and military rank in the Soviet Union, but for the moment all the reasons he needed to avoid distressful thoughts such as campaigning and fighting could be summed up by the words ‘warmth’ and ‘bed.’ He smiled sleepily to himself and he tried to push himself deeper into the extravagant feather mattress that he had saved from the philistines of the early Revolution, back in 1917. He had been in what was then known as Petrograd, its name changed from St. Petersburg due to the flourishing of the hatred of all things German, and managed to save the mattress from being destroyed by the proletariat who were raging through the Winter Palace, who were so ignorant of the truly good things in life.
Getting tired from his efforts to snuggle deeper into the bed and the blankets, Voroshilov gave up and simply lie contented in the semi-darkness of the room, which was lit by the diminishing luminosity of the withdrawing moon. He had no idea what time it was, but he knew that it was night, perhaps some time in early morning, and that any sane man would be asleep at this time. However, hearing the sharp footsteps of booted feet down the corridor, he knew that military men inhabited a mental state that was nowhere near sane. A second set of footsteps introduced itself as well, almost as if it was an echo of the first person’s strides. They both stopped near the door to Voroshilov’s chamber, or so he estimated. His curiosity piqued, he listened in as best he could through the thick wooden door at the conversation that followed.
“Greetings, Comrade. What does Voroshilov think of the recent developments in the campaign?”
Hearing his name made in connection with the campaign, Voroshilov pricked his ears and listened even more intently as the other person responded. “Oh, you know Voroshilov as well as I, Comrade. He doesn’t really think, not about military matters at least. Those he leaves to others as he attempts to put the best spin on the little he does, and takes the credit for everything else. Everything good, at least—the bad is automatically ascribed to us.”
Voroshilov was shocked, how dare they speak that way of him, of one of Stalin’s most trusted field marshals? He was in half a mind to storm out of his chamber and have a word with them, but his old political acumen, sharpened by the years spent in Stalin’s cutthroat court in the Moscow Kremlin, argued that he should wait and gain all the information he could. This argument was aided by the promise of remaining in his warm bed, and Voroshilov realized his mind was made up; he did not move but continued straining his ears.
“True, very true, Comrade. What do you think of the campaign thus far?”
“It seems to be going relatively well. As you know, the battles along the border ended with our success and we pushed into Manchuria. The Manchurian field marshal Zhang Haipeng, who you know is a defensive mastermind, attempted to stop us at Xinjing with cavalry.”
The battle of Xinjing, the Manchurians commanded by their foremost field marshal and the Soviets ostensibly by theirs.
“Yes, I recall. Nothing much resulted from that attempt, right?”
“Correct, Comrade. Under the competent direction of the Front headquarters staff and the corps commanders, the Manchurians were pushed back. Voroshilov then made one of his rare military decisions and decided to have his division remain in Jilin to keep the supply line to Vladivostok open.”
“Yes. It reduced our thrust forward but on the whole, I think that it is largely a sensible decision.”
“Yes, that is true. One of his few, really. That Manchurian division at Mudanjiang poses a threat to our supplies lines.”
“So Voroshilov’s decision was quite wise, as now the supply line is safe!”
“No. There is still a danger.”
“You will have to explain that to me later, Comrade. Continue your narrative of the campaign.”
“Very well. The battle for Xinjing was on the 25th of November. On the 3rd of December, the three divisions still driving into Manchuria met the enemy again, at Mukden. Again, it was cavalry, though this time supported by a brigade of heavy artillery. They were, however, essentially leaderless and thus easily brushed aside.”
The battle for Mukden, another victory for the Soviet Union.
“Yes, I remember. That was barely mentioned in the dispatches, was it not? It barely amounted to a fight worthy of mentioning, I believe.”
“More or less correct, from what I’ve seen.”
“And now today’s events.”
“Yes, today’s events. That Manchurian division in Mudanjiang, commanded by Lieutenant General Nakajima, still poses a threat. He is also a master of defense, interestingly. Again, the division is cavalry, though under strength. I wonder if every single Manchurian division arrayed against us is cavalry, really.”
“So we attack the Manchurians in the hope of driving them off from Mudanjiang. What threat do they still pose?”
“They are positioned to march on Vladivostok.”
“They want to come here?!”
“Yes.”
“I understand now, Comrade. We must prevent them from doing so!”
The attack on Mudanjiang by the division in Jilin.
“Yes and no, of course.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“I hope you did not forget, Comrade.”
“No, of course not.”
“Good. Of course, it would be helpful to prevent the Manchurians from conquering our base of supply. On the other hand, we were well paid to fail in the invasion of Manchuria. Given how well the thrust into Manchuria is going, we will be in a position to annex the state within two or so months unless the Manchurian Front suffers a serious reverse.”
“Such as losing Vladivostok.”
“And then the Manchurian Front will fall, and Voroshilov will be discredited.”
“Yes, and then someone else comes to restore the situation. Someone with great prestige and Civil War experience as well, such as Blücher. Or Buddenij.”
“Probably not Buddenij, though. He’s got command of the Reserve Front situated around Moscow.”
“True, but there are many others who would enjoy taking Voroshilov’s place and receiving the shower of prestige of restoring the dangerous situation in Manchuria. Blücher, as mentioned. Gamarnik too, and Fabricius. Kork, Bidemann, Stolbin or Smilga. The old guard of the Red Army. They know they are being sidelined by the younger, more energetic generals and each wants one final victory to crown their career. Gorodovikov and Egorov are safe, each are still valuable generals, though also part of the old guard, and are expected to actively command Fronts for a while yet.”
“Is Voroshilov part of the old guard?”
“Of course. That is why the others are trying to humble him.”
“Nevertheless, Vladivostok is in danger!”
“Come, we have talked here long enough. I hope we did not disturb Voroshilov’s sleep. We must oversee the attack on Mudanjiang.”
Two sets of footsteps came into being and faded away in one direction, allowing Voroshilov to collect his thoughts. As in his younger days when he was a true political mastermind, thoughts were whirling around his scheming mind. Someone was trying to get rid of him, perhaps multiple people! Vladivostok was in danger, and by extension so was he! Slowly, a plan formulated in his mind and a smile slowly evolved on his face. Contented by his thoughts, he dug deeper into his bed and went back to sleep.
Why did he join the revolution?!?!
Cos' if comfines if the chairs was in question, the Tsar had the comfiest chairs known to man. Even King of England envied him
One must wonder why they chose there to stop and speak. Perhaps they want to let the old man know his problems. Either way, Voroshilov might want to think about getting out of bed to save his political hide, if not the military campaign (which seems to be going quite well, to his credit.)
Myth said:Lukas says: 1936 was a long year
Myth's grasp of the mechanics of time is clearly failing.
4th Dimension: He joined the revolution because he's clever politically and he realized the Imperial regime in Russia was going to topple
coz1: Perhaps...
Discomb: Pfff, where have you been for the past decade? This is the Digital Age! That means time has technicians, not mechanics!
Comment day again!
coz1: Perhaps...
Discomb: Pfff, where have you been for the past decade? This is the Digital Age! That means time has technicians, not mechanics!
Comment day again!