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Ahh the naval engagement . Excellently portrayed especially with the elegance of those shots . Well done , Mr. Myth !
The returning telegram should read "6 of the 10 flotillas have been sunk. Unfortunately, the remaining 4 managed to escape, though not without casualties."
Berrrie: yeah, I thought that was the best part of the update 
General Jac: not really...
canonized: thanks!
Discomb: precisely
comment day again, which means I'll try to write another update today! though that'd be a fairly small possibility since I'm going to be working intensively on an essay for the next couple of days, but I'll do my best to squeeze in an update as well
General Jac: not really...
canonized: thanks!
Discomb: precisely
comment day again, which means I'll try to write another update today! though that'd be a fairly small possibility since I'm going to be working intensively on an essay for the next couple of days, but I'll do my best to squeeze in an update as well
Nice to know Kutzenov gives his orders before drinking. Poor Russian Admiral. Didn't sink a single ship of the Turkish Navy.
grayghost: yeah, a bit of damage got inflicted but nothing major. oh well...
update coming up!
update coming up!
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.
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.
I like Berman. Guy has a good head on his shoulders. Hope Kutzenov survives the Vodka shortage.
Good update. I liked the part where the woman got raped in the alley by the thief's friend. It was very graphic and believable. Keep up the good work.
Discomb said:Good update. I liked the part where the woman got raped in the alley by the thief's friend. It was very graphic and believable. Keep up the good work.
:rofl: You a funny guy.
the soviets are almost in Constantinople! what the russians could never accomplish, you did.
what the russians could never accomplish, you did.
rcduggan said:the soviets are almost in Constantinople!
His weapons are slightly more deadly though
.
Hmm that are is starting to heat up . Still waiting for that breakthrough but it is getting interesting with the Greeks getting involved directly now .
There's not much in Greece besides mountains and olive trees (and of course Greeks). Not sure if there would be much point to conquering it except to not let the Germans do the same.
grayghost: yeah, Berman is a good general. and Kuznetsov should survive, more or less...
Discomb: damn, you're good. you read between the lines to find precisely what I was actually writing about
grayghost: he is
rcduggan: well of course, that's no surprise
General Jac: only a bit...
canonized: I can say that they'll be involved a bit even more directly later on...
VILenin: yeah...well, it does have Athens, a major port which would be useful to use as a springboard to landing in a possibly German-controlled Italy...
comment day again!
Discomb: damn, you're good. you read between the lines to find precisely what I was actually writing about
grayghost: he is
rcduggan: well of course, that's no surprise
General Jac: only a bit...
canonized: I can say that they'll be involved a bit even more directly later on...
VILenin: yeah...well, it does have Athens, a major port which would be useful to use as a springboard to landing in a possibly German-controlled Italy...
comment day again!
coz1: very pesky turks...
but I'm sure that Kuznetsov would appreciate that vodka
update coming up!
update coming up!
9 Kilometers northeast of Bakhtara
April 1, 1936
Vacietis looked out of the window and into a dusty little town in western Persia. He was in his new Front headquarters, preparing for the invasion of Iraq. Or rather, he had been preparing for it. At the moment he was trying to assuage a headache with cold water and idly watching the local Persians going about their daily routine as best they could despite the presence of a large number of heavily armed Soviet guards. Vacietis was also listening to the very distant rumble of artillery, which was sweeping down from the Zagros Mountains. To the untrained ears of the Persian peasants, the sound heralded thunder, signifying a storm that they must prepare for. He knew better, however. While it was indeed a storm, it was not one that would touch them; this storm was limited to the mountains around Hamadan, where the Persian court was still residing. Yet again.
A Persian man styling himself Major General Afkhami M. had armed and was leading a fair-sized band of irregular soldiers in prosecuting a guerrilla campaign in those damned mountains. Vacietis' own troops were not partaking in the battle as the previous two battles for Hamadan had excessively worn away at their combat worth; they were now resting in the Persian province of Bakhtara and preparing for the invasion of Iraq. Thus, to prevent the rebels from becoming a threat to his Front's rear by taking the important junction at Tabriz, Vacietis had detailed Bochenkov and Chernyak to clear the mountains once and for all, even if Teheran fell to the approaching Persian cavalry. Teheran would be easy to retake, whereas Tabriz would most certainly not be.
Vacietis shook his head and sighed. His western force had accomplished all its objectives long ago; Tabriz was taken and Abadan was occupied and the four divisions were preparing for the invasion of Iraq, which should be a quick war by any account if he was able to implement his nascent operational plan. His eastern force, however, did not have the leadership to accomplish comparable success in a similar period of time. Though Teheran and Esfahan had indeed fallen, Babolsar and Bandar Abbas remained unconquered. He knew that the terrain was rougher than what his western force has to deal with, but that's what he had given them cavalry for, to race ahead! He sighed again, to be absolutely fair Petrushevskij certainly was racing ahead; his two cavalry divisions were advancing on Babolsar while Bochenkov and Cherynak were still in Rasht—operating into Hamadan—and Teheran lay undefended and about to fall to the Persians.
Leaning on the slightly crumbling window sill, Vacietis simply watched as people moved back and forth along the single well-beaten dirt track that served as the town's main street. The Persians were resisting more stoutly than STAVKA had supposed, but he knew that STAVKA was virtually clueless. Tukhachevskij wished to mechanize the entire Soviet Army given half the opportunity and was blind to much else; Voroshilov was so incompetent that the army gained absolutely nothing from having him as its chief of staff and, on top of it, he was as far as a Soviet general physically could be from the active theaters—he was commanding the Manchurian Front, whose headquarters were in Vladivostok. Vacietis sighed, if only Stalin had the same trust in him that Lenin and Troskij had; he could be the commander-in-chief of the Soviet Army instead of Voroshilov and it would be virtually guaranteed that the army would be in better shape than it currently was. Even he he had to work with Tukhachevskij.
Vacietis snorted, knowing that it was a fool's dream, and turned back to his desk where his operational plans for the invasion of Iraq lay, and Bochenkov's latest report on the fighting around Hamadan. Sent six hours into the battle, Bochenkov's words promised results and the apparent state of the Persian irregulars supported his optimism. Vacietis could only sigh and wait, he had faith in all his subordinates, to a greater or lesser extent, but he could not but dread that Bochenkov would fail; it would mean not only his head on a pike but possibly also Vacietis'. Such has been the words from Voroshilov transmitted to Vacietis' headquarters from Vladivostok halfway through the second battle for Hamadan; Vacietis could only hope that that vile scum of a man was speaking figuratively. He knew what most generals thought of the man, and agreed with it completely—he was the biggest bag of shit in the Soviet Army. But that was neither here nor there, what mattered was victory, and Bochenkov's report was promising.
Bochenkov's report read: “Irregulars only; few heavy weapons encountered and only a handful of very, very old artillery pieces. Resistance expected to end within the next few hours. Am certain of victory.”
Vacietis had to chuckle, Bochenkov was not known for being terribly wordy when it came to reports. Sliding the report aside to one corner of the table, and dedicating several seconds to making sure that the corner of the desk and the corner of the paper matched up as perfectly as his hands would allow, Vacietis went back to reviewing his operational plans. The actual assault plans had been worked out quite well, he thought, it was all very simple: Petrushevskij would take care of the north with his cavalry, Apanasenko and Efremov would assault Basrah and take the important port city and finally, Vacietis would command the rest of the Front in the major assault on Baghdad itself. That part was indeed quite simple, and he did not doubt that it would be effective; more complicated, however, was the logistics of the entire operation. Those arrangements had been bad enough for the invasion of Persia, but when he would have to rely on those same terrible Persian roads to support an invasion of another nation, he doubted that they would manage the strain.
Vacietis sighed. He subscribed to a doctrine of offensive, always pushing the enemy and retaining the initiative, but he was no logistician and the problem he faced now was one that only a fully-blown logistics wizard could solve. Vacietis sneered, Siemens had tried to improve the infrastructure of Persia during the 1920s and early 1930s but they had obviously failed; not that he was terribly surprised, the Germans would always remain incompetent.
April 1, 1936
Vacietis looked out of the window and into a dusty little town in western Persia. He was in his new Front headquarters, preparing for the invasion of Iraq. Or rather, he had been preparing for it. At the moment he was trying to assuage a headache with cold water and idly watching the local Persians going about their daily routine as best they could despite the presence of a large number of heavily armed Soviet guards. Vacietis was also listening to the very distant rumble of artillery, which was sweeping down from the Zagros Mountains. To the untrained ears of the Persian peasants, the sound heralded thunder, signifying a storm that they must prepare for. He knew better, however. While it was indeed a storm, it was not one that would touch them; this storm was limited to the mountains around Hamadan, where the Persian court was still residing. Yet again.
A Persian man styling himself Major General Afkhami M. had armed and was leading a fair-sized band of irregular soldiers in prosecuting a guerrilla campaign in those damned mountains. Vacietis' own troops were not partaking in the battle as the previous two battles for Hamadan had excessively worn away at their combat worth; they were now resting in the Persian province of Bakhtara and preparing for the invasion of Iraq. Thus, to prevent the rebels from becoming a threat to his Front's rear by taking the important junction at Tabriz, Vacietis had detailed Bochenkov and Chernyak to clear the mountains once and for all, even if Teheran fell to the approaching Persian cavalry. Teheran would be easy to retake, whereas Tabriz would most certainly not be.
Vacietis shook his head and sighed. His western force had accomplished all its objectives long ago; Tabriz was taken and Abadan was occupied and the four divisions were preparing for the invasion of Iraq, which should be a quick war by any account if he was able to implement his nascent operational plan. His eastern force, however, did not have the leadership to accomplish comparable success in a similar period of time. Though Teheran and Esfahan had indeed fallen, Babolsar and Bandar Abbas remained unconquered. He knew that the terrain was rougher than what his western force has to deal with, but that's what he had given them cavalry for, to race ahead! He sighed again, to be absolutely fair Petrushevskij certainly was racing ahead; his two cavalry divisions were advancing on Babolsar while Bochenkov and Cherynak were still in Rasht—operating into Hamadan—and Teheran lay undefended and about to fall to the Persians.
Leaning on the slightly crumbling window sill, Vacietis simply watched as people moved back and forth along the single well-beaten dirt track that served as the town's main street. The Persians were resisting more stoutly than STAVKA had supposed, but he knew that STAVKA was virtually clueless. Tukhachevskij wished to mechanize the entire Soviet Army given half the opportunity and was blind to much else; Voroshilov was so incompetent that the army gained absolutely nothing from having him as its chief of staff and, on top of it, he was as far as a Soviet general physically could be from the active theaters—he was commanding the Manchurian Front, whose headquarters were in Vladivostok. Vacietis sighed, if only Stalin had the same trust in him that Lenin and Troskij had; he could be the commander-in-chief of the Soviet Army instead of Voroshilov and it would be virtually guaranteed that the army would be in better shape than it currently was. Even he he had to work with Tukhachevskij.
Vacietis snorted, knowing that it was a fool's dream, and turned back to his desk where his operational plans for the invasion of Iraq lay, and Bochenkov's latest report on the fighting around Hamadan. Sent six hours into the battle, Bochenkov's words promised results and the apparent state of the Persian irregulars supported his optimism. Vacietis could only sigh and wait, he had faith in all his subordinates, to a greater or lesser extent, but he could not but dread that Bochenkov would fail; it would mean not only his head on a pike but possibly also Vacietis'. Such has been the words from Voroshilov transmitted to Vacietis' headquarters from Vladivostok halfway through the second battle for Hamadan; Vacietis could only hope that that vile scum of a man was speaking figuratively. He knew what most generals thought of the man, and agreed with it completely—he was the biggest bag of shit in the Soviet Army. But that was neither here nor there, what mattered was victory, and Bochenkov's report was promising.
Bochenkov's report read: “Irregulars only; few heavy weapons encountered and only a handful of very, very old artillery pieces. Resistance expected to end within the next few hours. Am certain of victory.”
Vacietis had to chuckle, Bochenkov was not known for being terribly wordy when it came to reports. Sliding the report aside to one corner of the table, and dedicating several seconds to making sure that the corner of the desk and the corner of the paper matched up as perfectly as his hands would allow, Vacietis went back to reviewing his operational plans. The actual assault plans had been worked out quite well, he thought, it was all very simple: Petrushevskij would take care of the north with his cavalry, Apanasenko and Efremov would assault Basrah and take the important port city and finally, Vacietis would command the rest of the Front in the major assault on Baghdad itself. That part was indeed quite simple, and he did not doubt that it would be effective; more complicated, however, was the logistics of the entire operation. Those arrangements had been bad enough for the invasion of Persia, but when he would have to rely on those same terrible Persian roads to support an invasion of another nation, he doubted that they would manage the strain.
Vacietis sighed. He subscribed to a doctrine of offensive, always pushing the enemy and retaining the initiative, but he was no logistician and the problem he faced now was one that only a fully-blown logistics wizard could solve. Vacietis sneered, Siemens had tried to improve the infrastructure of Persia during the 1920s and early 1930s but they had obviously failed; not that he was terribly surprised, the Germans would always remain incompetent.
Things still dragging out in Persia, man. How many divisions did STAVKA assign to the Persian campaign, and how many divisions did Persia have when you invaded. They usually only have anywhere from 3-5. 15 divisions should be adequate for it.
Okay, I'll stop back seat generalling.
Iraq next. That's right, no puppets so they are not aligned with Britian. Better army than Persia though, and an air force, though inferior with no TAC capabilities.
"Bag of shit" huh. Not a popular CIC there.
Okay, I'll stop back seat generalling.
Iraq next. That's right, no puppets so they are not aligned with Britian. Better army than Persia though, and an air force, though inferior with no TAC capabilities.
"Bag of shit" huh. Not a popular CIC there.