5 Kilometers south of Konya
March 21, 1936
Kuznetsov shook his head. Even though it was already four days old, he had a difficult time believing the nonsensical nature of the proposal put forth by Berman's command staff for the conquest of Istanbul. It simply made no sense from any perspective other than that of a madman. Thankfully that had been the only piece of madness to reveal itself in the past days, as Kuznetsov did not have the vodka to fortify him; Turkish partisans in the mountains of Trebizond had ambushed a convoy of replacement for casualties and supplies. It had been nearly entirely wiped out, only a quarter of the barely trained soldiers managed to escape and they had lost most of their supplies, which included a precious few cases of vodka for the theater commander—Kuznetsov. He sighed in relief, at least the first moves that would lead to the completion of the campaign in the Anatolian peninsula had been taken. As an orderly walked in, he looked up and nodded before the man could say anything.
The orderly scurried away and soon Berman entered the spartan room. Standing up, he and Berman exchanged salutes before he sat down again and offered Berman the chair in front of the makeshift desk he had. “Berman, you know why you are here, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So can you explain just why your staff came up with such a ludicrous plan? And, perhaps more importantly, why you seemed to attempt it?”
“Yes, sir. My staff simply worked out the fastest alternate route to Istanbul, given the fact that the Turkish fleet has been jealously guarding the straits.”
And the fastest alternate route leads across the Aegean and through Greece?”
“Taking politics into consideration, yes sir. While a Front could push through Romania and Bulgaria and take the city from the north, we are not at war with Romania. We are, however, at war with Greece. Thus from a political perspective, it makes sense to go through Greece if we cannot go straight across the Bosporus.”
“Damnit Berman, you are a corps commander, your staff is that of a corps. I'm supposed to take politics into consideration, not you.”
“It must be admitted sir, that this thinking is correct.”
Kuznetsov blinked in surprise. He had always taken Berman for a typical mindless general, with little in the way of ideas and less in the way of fire when it came to arguing against superiors. Perhaps the campaign, during which he had enjoyed considerable freedom due to the nature of his corps, had matured him in some way. Kuznetsov smiled, mystifying Berman. “Yes, that is true. Nevertheless, from a logistical perspective it would be a nightmare.”
“Yes. From Bursa to the Dardanelles, to the Cyclades, through Athens, Larissa, Salonika and Kavala to Istanbul. Honestly, it would be impossible to pull off without a whole front undertaking the operation and assuming the Greek fleet would not interfere. Nevertheless, I believed it would be prudent to test the Greek defenses on the Dardanelles anyway, if only to establish what the threat to my flank was.”
“What did you discover?”
“Three Greek divisions, well supported by additional artillery, under the command of Colonel General Kondylis. I think it is instructive of Greek intentions that they placed an aggressive commander in charge of those forces, even if he is part of the old guard.”
Berman's probing of the Dardanelles.
“They have not made any sort of move yet, have they?”
“No, sir.”
“All right. And when you probed them, you released Saladze and Marchenkov to sweep through southwestern Turkey.”
“That's right, sir. You said you might need them, so I figured a sweep to destroy the Turkish forces in the southwest and end up bottling the Turks in Mersin and Gazientep would be best.”
“Fair enough. How has their progress been?”
“With Saladze's corps leading, they attacked a hurt Turkish cavalry division north of Izmir and forced it to withdraw toward Afyonkarahisar.”
Saladze and Marchenkov attacking Izmir at Berman's orders.
“Well I hope their sweep comes quickly, I attempted to attack Mersin again yesterday but poor weather and a stern defense is wreaking havoc my assault, making it difficult to build up momentum. I need at least one more corps to break their positions.”
“They know that they need to hurry, sir.”
Kuznetsov's second failed assault on Mersin.
Berman continued. “In fact, Saladze decided to take a more direct route to Konya, going through Afyonkarahisar though this move was as much to finally secure Afyonkarahisar as to reinforce your corps.”
“Oh right, you said that the Turkish cavalry was retreating in that direction?”
“Yes, indeed. They even began advancing on Ankara before Saladze made contact with them this morning and easily scattered their forces. They shouldn't be any more trouble, I don't think.”
Another fight around Afyonkarahisar.
“All right Berman, that's all. Thank you for coming.” Kuznetsov stood up, closely followed by Berman, and they saluted each other before Berman left. Turning around, Kuznetsov looked out the window toward Mersin, where the mountains and the rain were as much obstacles to his progress as the Turks themselves. He wondered when Saladze would reach Konya, and when Marchenkov would clear Antalya. Most importantly, he wondered when Panteleiev would actually neutralize the Turkish fleet so that Berman would occupy Istanbul. He turned around and made toward the door so that he could find a radio operator, Deev might be needed near Istanbul. Kuznetsov wished he had some vodka, but supposed that it would be better for his health if he stopped drinking. He wondered when his next shipment of vodka would come.