Permanently Operating Factors - A Soviet LAN AAR

grayghost: yup, I have been. once I post today's update though, I'll still have 10 more until I run out

update coming up in a bit!

3 Kilometers south of Sevastopol
March 12, 1936

Rear Admiral Panteleiev stood on the rolling deck of his flagship, the ancient Gangut-class battleship Parishskaya Kommuna, looking back toward the shadow that was Sevastopol harbor as the last of his fleet steamed out. It was 0100 in the morning and he was the commander of the Cernoje Flote, which was supposed to be the strongest armada in the Black Sea. He had some doubts about this, as the Cernoje Flote was quite weak. The greater part of its firepower was concentrated in only two ships, the Parishskaya Kommuna and the Krasnyi Kavkaz-class heavy cruiser Kransi Kavkaz. Additionally, to screen these venerable capital ships were the equally old Profintern-class light cruisers Profintern, Pamiat Merkuriya and Chernovaya Ukraina, as well as the brace of Norvik-class destroyers provided by the 5. Flotiliya Esmintsev. This was his entire command, and lieutenant General Kuznetsov was relying on him to clear the sea of Turkish war vessels.

Kuznetsov, however, could not provide any real intelligence on the Turkish fleet save that it had guns of a large enough caliber to fire inland and has, in fact, affected battles at Samsun between the 2nd Mountain Corps and the Turkish defenders, tilting the tide in favor of the steadfast Turks. Panteleiev sighed and shook his head. He was one of the up-and-coming officers of the Soviet fleet and already had the reputation of being one of the finest tacticians in the entire fleet, perhaps second only to Kuznetsov. Panteleiev smiled, a different Kuznetsov, of course; he was thinking of Nikolai Kuznetsov, Vice Admiral and commander of the Baltic Fleet, the CCCP Baltijskoje Flote. Nikolai Kuznetsov was influential enough to be the one man who determined the Soviet naval policy, in many ways overshadowing his supposed superior, the Chief of Naval Staff Vladimir Orlov. Panteleiev rubbed his hands together briskly; he was indeed the up-and-coming naval officer and his ambition was to become as powerful as Kuznetsov. Such ambitions, however, required success to come to fruition and thus the lack of intelligence on the Turkish fleet worried him.

Panteleiev grinned, not that he was a cold-hearted fellow bent only on his own promotion, of course. As obsolete as the ships of his fleet were, he had grown somewhat attached to them and would feel the loss of even a single one of them keenly. He doubted that such a thing would happen, though; he had been the naval attaché to Ankara for several years in the early 1930s and had met all of the Turkish naval officers. He had not been greatly impressed with their skill and did not expect that his impression should have changed in the meanwhile. With a gesture, Panteleiev ordered the bridge crew to turn his flagship ninety degrees southward, the last of the ships had finally left Sevastopol harbor and he could begin prowling the Black Sea for the Turkish armada. His grin turned wolfish as his destroyers raced ahead, illuminating the darkness with their searchlights, and the light cruisers took up positions around the Parishskaya Kommuna and the Krasni Kavkaz. It was time to hunt.


The Cernoje Flote sallied out of Sevastopol to crush the Turkish fleet.

Striding to the bridge, Panteleiev gathered up his intelligence officer and, upon reaching the bridge, sat him down question him. He had many inquiries, but the officer had few answers. He had few leads: one was that they had already detected a Romanian submarine squadron in the eastern Black Sea, but Panteleiev was not interested in the Romanians. They were not the enemy, the Turks were. However, the man also mentioned that it seemed that the Turkish fleet was currently ensconced in the small Istanbul harbor. Abandoning his intelligence officer, Panteleiev caught his navigator and ordered him to set a course for the southern Black Sea and, grabbing a hold of the captain, ordered him to transmit these instructions to the rest of the fleet. He didn't know where the Turkish ships were, so he knew that the logical course of action was to guard the bottleneck. His ships would steam back and forth in front of the Bosporus until the Turkish ships sally out to give battle to him.

Once the two fleets collided, he was confident that despite any potential superior firepower the Turks could plausibly have, his ships would have the advantage of superior tactics. The victory would be a Soviet one and once the Turkish fleet was eradicated, Lieutenant General Kuznetsov would be able to take Istanbul and end the campaign. The prospect pleased Panteleiev because the successful conclusion to the land campaign would finally achieve one of Russia's longest standing strategic aim. The Bosporus would be open at last, and the Black Sea Fleet would be able to project its power into the Mediterranean. Panteleiev smiled as he looked out the windows, southwestward toward the prize that awaited him. To be the admiral in charge of the fleet that aided in securing the Bosporus, to be the admiral in charge of the fleet that actually sailed out into the Aegean, would be a great boon to any future ambitions.

Panteleiev's mind drifted as he wondered what award Stalin would personally give him for attaining such an accomplishment. Nothing would stand in the way of his ambitions, least of all the Turkish fleet. Panteleiev's mind was already filled with the sights and sounds of thunderous naval naval battle as his ships steamed ahead to their destiny. Overhead, the stars looked as apathetically onto him as he did onto them.

grayghost: he might be...

coz1: yes indeed. the Turkish fleet is dangerous and must be hunted down and destroyed!

General Jac: yes, it should be fun

VILenin: perhaps

comment day again, so blah blah blah you know the drill

12 kilometers north of Bursa
March 14, 1936

Kuznetsov stood with Berman again on the coast of the Sea of Marmara; unlike the previous time, however, Izmit had finally been firmly secured and Bursa had been taken. In fact, the two stood further west than they had three weeks earlier: at Bursa, not Izmit. The two were watching as soldiers began boarding the varied boats and barges that had been stockpiled specifically for the coming task, the assault on Istanbul. Long-range Soviet artillery was already pummeling the northern shore in an attempt to prevent the Turks from interfering with the boarding. Lowering his binoculars from his eyes, Berman turned to Kuznetsov.

“I assume that, given your presence here, the threat to our supplies has been removed.”

Kuznetsov nodded. “Yes. It was only a single infantry division commanded by Lieutenant General Arikan. Eight hour battle two days ago, nothing special. Though his infantry broke and ran, Arikan himself ended up surrendering as his headquarters was overrun. Though his forces were advancing on Ankara, his aim wasn't as much to cut your lines as to throw my attention off from Karabekir's forces moving toward Gazientep.”


Another battle for Afyonkarahisar, made to save the supply lines of the one cavalry and two mountain corps present around Bursa and Izmit.

“Your two divisions wouldn't have been able to take his three anyway.”

“No, I'll probably be taking Saladze away from here some time after this attack so that I can mass sufficient force to smash Karabekir.”

“Provided we're victorious here.”

“No, provided the battle ends. Don't worry, Deev's corps will replace his if necessary. Oh, and I might take Marchenkov as well.”

Grumbling under his breath, Berman kicked at a stone, sending it skipping down the rocky shore and into the water. “Fine. Don't forget the Bulgarians though, they could be any sort of trouble. The Greeks too; both have borders at Istanbtul. We may take Istanbul only lose it to the Bulgarians. And you know what a disaster it would be if the Germans take advantage of this to blitz through Bulgaria and take Istanbul before we can recover it again. According to STAVKA...”

Kuznetsov waves his hand. “Yes, yes. According to STAVKA, they're trying to push through Romania's northern defenses already. I don't suppose they'll make much progress for a while yet, though.”

Berman seemed impressed with such a brazen prediction, given the German successes in Denmark and Czechoslovakia. “Oh? Why not?”

“STAVKA has already reported that the Germans are relying primarily on armor. They are invading Romania from the north, straight through the Carpathian Mountains. Even under the best circumstances, that's not the easiest course to take.”

Berman scratched the back of his head. “That's certainly true.”

Kuznetsov nodded. “Yes. Given that STAVKA seems to be, on the whole, realistic enough and since they seem to think that they'll have a chance at taking Bessarabia from Romania in a swift campaign, I would assume that they've taken long campaigns in Turkey and Persia into account, along with the probable German performance. We'll have Istanbul, don't worry.”

Putting his binoculars to his eyes again, Berman stared northward. “The first boats are hitting the other shore now.”

Quickly picking up his own binoculars, Kuznetsov looked toward Istanbul as well. He could just make out silhouettes darting through the dust of the northward-bound artillery strike and the rising smokescreens laid down by the soldiers of the first boats, which were already returning to the southern shore. “Do you know who the Turkish commander is?”

Berman snorted. “Yeah, Artunkal. We had that scrap over Izmit, as you may recall. He may be skilled at the defense, but he was one division against our nine. He won't be able to stand up to it.”


The battle for Istanbul.

“He'd better not. You'd best break organized resistance quickly, before the Turkish navy understands what's happening and interdicts these boats here.”

“You know I'll do my best. Attacking across a minor sea like this is hardly the easiest thing to pull off.”

“Yeah, I know. But remember, this attack is as much to destroy Turkish defenses as lure out the Turkish fleet. We want Panteleiev to destroy it, after all, so that we can actually cross in force and take that damn city.”

Any further discussion that may have occurred was cut off as a messenger ran up to them, panting. After a moment to recover, he straightened up and saluted to the two generals. “General Kuznetsov, sir! The Turks are attacking Konya!”

Dropping his binoculars, which fortunately had a strap that was looped around his neck, Kuznetsov stared at the messenger. “What?!”

“About an hour ago, sir! I have the report here, sir!”

Snatching the report, Kuznetsov's eyes tore through it. “At first they seemed just to be local attacks, but quickly grew in strength. The headquarters estimate is two divisions, one of them apparently equipped with specialized equipment for mountain warfare. Enemy general unknown as of yet.”

Kuznetsov looked at Berman. “I must go. I leave this fight in your capable hands. Beat the Turks, lure the Turkish navy out of Istanbul harbor and into Panteleiev's waiting armada. Don't worry about the Greeks or the Bulgarians; that's my job. Goddamn, where's my vodka?!”

With that, he threw Berman a hasty salute and rushed off toward the local airfield where his personal transport aircraft awaited to take him back to Konya. He left a slightly bewildered Berman staring at his diminishing back.

Berrrie: it won't be too long, really

canonized: yes indeed, Kuznetsov seems to have highs and lows, though mostly lows

Discomb: yeah, you were just within them and trying desperately to push further south but without much success

VILenin: exactly

comment day again, so maybe I'll get off my butt and write another update tonight or sometime earlier than that

Discomb:

General Jac: well, he is. just not very much yet

canonized: I certainly will. I did indeed write another update yesterday, I'm trying to keep a solid 10 updates in front.

VILenin: discomb sure does love his innuendo

update coming up!

23 Kilometers north of Izmit, in the southern Black Sea
March 17, 1936

Panteleiev stood on the bridge of the Parishskaya Kommuna, staring toward the Bosporus and trying to imagine where the Turkish fleet was in the dark, early morning fog. Around his flagship awaited the other ships of his fleet; all were on stand by. Lieutenant General Kuznetsov had relayed a report by a subordinate of his, Berman, stating that the Turkish defenses of Istanbul had been broken just over twenty-four hours previously and that the Turkish fleet could be expected to intervene at any time to halt the Soviet advance onto the city. Panteleiev stared harder, his mind concentrating so furiously that he nearly imagined the shadows of the Turkish ships lurking and hiding deep in the fog. Intelligence reported that they were supposedly in Istanbul harbor and were thus close to the fighting had that gone on, it should be easy for them to intervene and halt the Soviet crossing.

After some minutes and becoming frustrated, Panteleiev slammed his palm down on the table he had unconsciously been leaning forward against and spun around. “Goddamn it, where are they?!”

Knowing that his query would get no response from the bridge crew, given that the nature of the question, which was not posed to anyone in particular, he continued. “Have the other ships found anything yet?”

Before any reply could have been forthcoming, a sentry began shouting though due to the distance it seemed like incoherent babble. Nevertheless, soon word reached the bridge: ships had been sighted in the fog, to the southeast. Even as he barked orders to turn the Cernoje Flote in that direction, Panteleiev frowned and wondered how the Turkish fleet had slipped past his blockade of the Bosporus. His destroyers raced ahead but enormous geysers of water quickly spouted about the first of them and forced both to take evasive action to starboard before fleeing to relative safety. Grasping his binoculars, Panteleiev studied the ships; they were flying the Turkish flag.

A brilliant flash caught his eye and he dropped his binoculars momentarily to see that the Krasni Kavkaz had already fired off a salvo. Bringing his binoculars back up, he saw one shell smack the water dangerously close to one of a group of small ships that could only be destroyers. Once the geyser of water had cascaded down back to its home, the victim ship had disappeared, though into the sea or the fog Panteleiev could not tell. Panteleiev also spied a ship that appeared to be a light cruiser, and a shade of the most dangerous foe of all—a battlecruiser. Clapping the captain of the Parishskaya Kommuna on the shoulder, he ordered the battlecruiser singled out for destruction. Soon, his venerable flagship's weaponry was adding to the clamor as shells splashed down into the water all about the dangerous ship. His gunners, however, continually failed to actually hit the target.


The March 17th naval battle between the Cernoje Flote and the Turkish fleet.

Panteleiev could only stand and watch as, whenever he tried to close the distance, the Turkish ships withdrew further into the fog, which was steadily thinning as the sun continued rising. His attempts to send his light cruisers racing forward or around in attempts to get some firepower closer to the Turkish fleet or to head it off and bottle it in failed as the battlecruiser continually shifted fire from the long-range bombardment against the Parishskaya Kommuna and the Krasni Kavkaz to attempt to destroy the smaller ships or, as the case seemed to be instead given the accuracy of the Turkish gunnery, drive them off by putting up a wall of water between the opposing ships.

Panteleiev sighed harshly, it came out so rough that it was nearly a growl and he realized that he had not had a thing to drink since the beginning of the battle four hours earlier yet had been using his voice in a variety of volumes since the very beginning. He looked away from the Turkish ships to grab a glass of water that someone had left for him on the table and when his eyes returned to the ships he noticed a shell majestically arching toward the battlecruiser. For some reason, it seemed to catch his eye, gleaming as it did in the morning light, and he fumbled for his binoculars so that he could continue following it as it quickly approached the Turkish battlecruiser.

Panteleiev's breathing slowed down as it came to the top of its shallow parabola and whistled down toward its target. Splashes were already registering around the battlecruiser at various distances, signifying that the rest of the salvo had missed. This one shell, however, slammed right down into the stern of the powerful battlecruiser. Panteleiev's breath caught, awaiting a magnificent explosion that would tear the ship asunder and thus break the mainstay fighting power of the Turkish fleet.

The battlecruiser's final salvo splashed around the Krasni Kavkaz before it and its screens slipped away into the last fading patches of fog. Panteleiev's breath exploded outward and he slapped the table as hard as he could with his palm. The Turkish fleet had fled, through the Bosporus and into Istanbul harbor. He cast his eyes about the bridge in anger, glaring at the men that who had done their best to best the Turkish navy and destroy it. Groping blindly for a chair behind him, he pulled it up and collapsed into it with a sound that was half a groan, half a sigh. The adrenalin of combat was gone and, suddenly feeling very tired, he just stared at the floor just in front of him.

He heard a slight commotion to his left but remained apathetic, not taking any notice until a pair of uniformed legs invaded the floor space his eyes were absently studying. Looking up slowly, he saw the captain of his flagship, with a message in his hand. Saluting, the man intoned. “I have a message here from Major General Deev of the 2nd Mountain Corps, which is currently stationed in Karabük. Shall I read it to you, or do you wish to read it for yourself?”

With a tired gesture, Panteleiev stretched out his hand and grasped the slip of paper before waving the captain off. Once he had left, Panteleiev stared at the paper for a short amount of time before the letters cohered into words and words into sentences. It read: “Greeting Admiral Panteleiev! I and my men heard the thunder of your great battle this morning! We congratulate you on being in just the right place to intercept those Turkish ships as they left the harbor at Karabük and a great victory! My men would like to inquire how many Turkish ships have been sunk!”

Compressing his lips tightly together, until they formed a straight, hard line, Panteleiev's hands began shaking until he placed them on the table, palm down. Hidden underneath one of the palms was the message, which he was determined to steadfastly ignore.