P.S.Almost forgot, considering that you are interested in this time frame are you aware of new movie "Rīgas Sargi" ? Today is premiere, I can't wait to see it, after all this is Latvian biggest project of all time
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P.S.Almost forgot, considering that you are interested in this time frame are you aware of new movie "Rīgas Sargi" ? Today is premiere, I can't wait to see it, after all this is Latvian biggest project of all time
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You are reading my 263rd post! Click here to download your free printer!
You are reading my 263rd post! Click here to download your free printer!
He's got a little OCD there, doesn't he?
I am reminded of that old saw - "Never start a land war in Asia." Better make that the Middle East.
I am reminded of that old saw - "Never start a land war in Asia." Better make that the Middle East.
Why is he drinking water for his headache when everyone knows that vodka is the best cure (don't believe me? just ask Kuznetzov!). Is the shortage of divisions due to a preponderant deployment on the long western front with Europe? Otherwise it seems that STAVKA has sort of arsed things up by not deploying enough divisions. Securing the oil of the Middle East is a good idea, though, both for your own use and to deprive the enemy of it.
And I liked the little jab at the Germans at the end.
And I liked the little jab at the Germans at the end.
I doubt Germany will be in awe of the current Soviet army that seems to be struggling even when facing such poor quality forces as the armies of the middle east . Numbers will make up for it in most cases though, but in your case Myth I guess skill will also .
Edit: Post 2200 wohooo!
. Numbers will make up for it in most cases though, but in your case Myth I guess skill will also .Edit: Post 2200 wohooo!
grayghost: Vacietis' Persian Front consists of eight divisions, the Persian army of two or three. its the bad roads rather than anything else, damn Germans and that "bag of shit" comment is actually historically accurate as well
Edzako: that's a big gun as for Rigas Sargi, yeah. dunno when I'll actually get a chance to see it, but I'd love to some time.
Discomb: see, you should've waited like I had suggested. then at least it would've been clever commentary on the aar. but as it is now, it just stupid spam
Edzako money back for a free printer?
coz1: I think actually that historically the British learned that in the Interwar period, which is why they gave Iraq nominal independence. the Middle East has always been a difficult theater of operations, mostly because the infrastructure is terrible, which is largely what's plaguing the Soviets in Persia
VILenin: he doesn't have any vodka though, can you imagine! and the shortage of divisions is mostly due to my role-playing during the game. each Front had a unique corps numbers but since empty corps die immediately, I had to put a division into each of them to make sure they stayed. so that's why my forces are stretched thin. not to mention, most of my generals there (and in Turkey) are major generals and can command only one division anyway. and yes, a nice little jab at the Germans
General Jac: the Soviet Army has some problems. hopefully they'll be solved in time to beat the Germans. I don't quite remember
comment day again! I'm beginning to write more often again, to build up a stockpile of updates. I wrote yesterday and I'll try to write today as well.
and that "bag of shit" comment is actually historically accurate as well Edzako: that's a big gun
as for Rigas Sargi, yeah. dunno when I'll actually get a chance to see it, but I'd love to some time.Discomb: see, you should've waited like I had suggested. then at least it would've been clever commentary on the aar. but as it is now, it just stupid spam
Edzako money back for a free printer?
coz1: I think actually that historically the British learned that in the Interwar period, which is why they gave Iraq nominal independence. the Middle East has always been a difficult theater of operations, mostly because the infrastructure is terrible, which is largely what's plaguing the Soviets in Persia
VILenin: he doesn't have any vodka though, can you imagine!
and the shortage of divisions is mostly due to my role-playing during the game. each Front had a unique corps numbers but since empty corps die immediately, I had to put a division into each of them to make sure they stayed. so that's why my forces are stretched thin. not to mention, most of my generals there (and in Turkey) are major generals and can command only one division anyway. and yes, a nice little jab at the Germans General Jac: the Soviet Army has some problems. hopefully they'll be solved in time to beat the Germans. I don't quite remember
comment day again! I'm beginning to write more often again, to build up a stockpile of updates. I wrote yesterday and I'll try to write today as well.
The Kremlin
April 2, 1936
Maksim Litvinov sat at his desk, holding his head in his hands and staring at the piece of paper in front of him. He could not for the life of him make out what he thought of it. Scratching his head, he shifted his gaze to a map that lay beside the slip of paper. It was full of arrows. Two arrows originating from Moscow led to Ankara and Tehran, respectively; these were to show that the Soviet Union had declared war on Turkey and Persia. Three arrows originated from Berlin toward Copenhagen, Prague and Bucharest of which two were scribbled out; Denmark and Czechoslovakia had fallen, leaving the war with Romania as Germany's only standing declaration of war. There was also a line connecting London to Berlin, signifying the pact of alliance between the United Kingdom and Germany.
None of those was the line that was bothering him. He closed his eyes for a moment before studying the map some more. Lines from Rome, Athens and Sofia pointed toward Moscow, revealing that Italy, Greece and Bulgaria had declared war on the Soviet Union. A line pointed from Athens to Berlin, signifying that Greece was also at war with Germany and Great Britain. His eyes then slid to the very last line, only drawn in an hour before. He sucked in his breath and exhaled forcefully, concentrating on the logic behind that line so much that the knock on the door took him by surprise and made him jump in his chair. Placing a hand over his rapidly beating heart, he called out. “Andrey, is that you? Come in, Andrey!”
Andrey Vyshinskij scurried inside, throwing a quick look behind him before closing the door and wincing at the light. “Really, must it be so bright in here?”
Litvinov looked hard at Vyshinskij. “Of course, you know that my eyes are bad and I need light to read.”
As Vyshinskij sighed and, in the face of Litvinov's expectant stare, tossed his cloak onto the awaiting stand and hid his dagger away. Litvinov's face melted from a stoney glare into a more pleasant visage as Vyshinskij sat down at the desk. “Why did you look behind you as you entered, Andrey?”
“You know how I am.”
Litvinov sighed. “All too well, yes. Do you know why I called you in?”
Vyshinskij almost leapt to his feet. “I didn't stab anyone, I swear it!”
He calmed down when Litvinov put his hands up and made gestures to placate him. “No no, I didn't call you in to chastise you though, seeing how you've suddenly become paranoid, I hope I do not have to later. We have something else to discuss.”
“What is it?” Vyshinkij was intrigued, something important must have occurred.
“Take a look at this map, Andrey. Do you see the new line that I've added?”
“N—yes, yes I do. Why? What has happened?”
“Well, I think that Pierre Etienne Flandin seems to be something of a crusader and we all know that Albert Lebrun is like a dog, he loves to bark loudly but is too much of a buffoon to bite.”
“I don't fully understand. How did this happen? How could they attract French ire like this?”
“It may have something to do with the fact that Lebrun wants to drum up more support for his government, and that political specialist of his, Joseph Paganon, has said that a good patriotic war defending Europe is the best way to do this.”
“But what did they do?”
“Well, let's just say that Georgios II is pretty insignificant when it comes to actual policy decisions. He's but wet clay in the hands of his amazingly optimistic prime minister, Constantinos Demertzis. Who, as it turns out, also happens to be the foreign minister. He seems to be somewhat biased in his appreciation of events, and he isn't helped by the fact that Georgios Mantzavinos, being only an entrepeneur of all things military, has no idea what he's talking about. This dangerous combination isn't nearly offset enough by Georgios Logothetis' dismal warnings.”
“So, what you're saying is that France is attempting to police Europe.”
“Yes, by attacking the most dangerous and aggressive European power there is.”
Vyshinskij sat silently, his incredulous gaze toggling back and forth between the map and Litvinov's face. He uttered one word, which trailed off, “Greece.”
“Yes. Well, they're certainly not aiding the stability of Europe, are they? They've declared war on us long ago, they declared war on Germany some time in the past month or so. They have extensive claims on their poor, defenseless northern neighbor Albania and on the islands in the Aegean and Mediterranean controlled by Equatorial Africa. Given their record, who knows when they'll go after those? They're simply dangerous.”
Oh, those Greeks, getting themselves into one hell of a mess.
“So France has gotten herself into a war she cannot fight but which will gain her government popularity amongst the population, which has been uneasy because of recent territorial gains made by both ourselves and Germany, for doing something that would ostensibly return Europe to some slightly greater modicum of stability at virtually no cost to herself, and because she cannot hope to challenge either Germany or the Soviet Union. Clever.” Vyshinskij sat in thought, mulling over this deduction. He was feeling quite clever himself for explaining it to Litvinov.
“Yes, all very true. Except for one slight problem.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“France, for all her dreams, is still a democracy and the people didn't vote on this war. Regardless of how much of a paper tiger their gesture is, it has alienated a segment of her population and now they've gone and increased the dissent against the government.”
“Ah hah. So France loses.”
“Yes. For all their own conceit, the Greeks could only hurt the French significantly in one way, and they certainly did: they've managed to get some portion of the French electorate angry at the government.”
Vyshinskij leaned back in his chair, biting his lip lightly. He felt that Litvinov had something more say and decided to try to preclude him. “I promise, I didn't stab anyone recently! The French ambassador's been strangely missing for a while! You know the NKVD is thorough, they only found foreign weapons of Greek origin in his home, which had been broken into!”
Litvinov blinked at Vyshinskij. “You stabbed the French ambassador too, and framed the Greeks?! Andrey!”
Vyshinskij stared at Litvinov before groaning. “No, I swear it wasn't me this time!”
Litvinov sighed. “Andrey, Andrey, Andrey. I don't know what I'm going to do with you. At least you didn't get another nation at war with us.”
When this provoked a slight reaction from Vyshinskij, Litvinov was forced to sigh again. “What di—no, I don't want to know. Not now. I'll call you in again when we get the declaration of war.”
Seeing Vyshinskij about to speak, Litvinov forestalled him with a gesture. “No, no hints. I want it to be a surprise, like all the others. I'm sure Stalin will appreciate it as well. Right now, I suggest you go. Skulk along the shadows like you usually do, but please refrain from stabbing any more ambassadors, all right?”
Looking somewhat guilty, Vyshinskij stood up, retrieved his cloak and left the well lit room as he throw his cloak around him. Litvinos simply sighed and shook his head as Vyshinskij closed the door behind him.
April 2, 1936
Maksim Litvinov sat at his desk, holding his head in his hands and staring at the piece of paper in front of him. He could not for the life of him make out what he thought of it. Scratching his head, he shifted his gaze to a map that lay beside the slip of paper. It was full of arrows. Two arrows originating from Moscow led to Ankara and Tehran, respectively; these were to show that the Soviet Union had declared war on Turkey and Persia. Three arrows originated from Berlin toward Copenhagen, Prague and Bucharest of which two were scribbled out; Denmark and Czechoslovakia had fallen, leaving the war with Romania as Germany's only standing declaration of war. There was also a line connecting London to Berlin, signifying the pact of alliance between the United Kingdom and Germany.
None of those was the line that was bothering him. He closed his eyes for a moment before studying the map some more. Lines from Rome, Athens and Sofia pointed toward Moscow, revealing that Italy, Greece and Bulgaria had declared war on the Soviet Union. A line pointed from Athens to Berlin, signifying that Greece was also at war with Germany and Great Britain. His eyes then slid to the very last line, only drawn in an hour before. He sucked in his breath and exhaled forcefully, concentrating on the logic behind that line so much that the knock on the door took him by surprise and made him jump in his chair. Placing a hand over his rapidly beating heart, he called out. “Andrey, is that you? Come in, Andrey!”
Andrey Vyshinskij scurried inside, throwing a quick look behind him before closing the door and wincing at the light. “Really, must it be so bright in here?”
Litvinov looked hard at Vyshinskij. “Of course, you know that my eyes are bad and I need light to read.”
As Vyshinskij sighed and, in the face of Litvinov's expectant stare, tossed his cloak onto the awaiting stand and hid his dagger away. Litvinov's face melted from a stoney glare into a more pleasant visage as Vyshinskij sat down at the desk. “Why did you look behind you as you entered, Andrey?”
“You know how I am.”
Litvinov sighed. “All too well, yes. Do you know why I called you in?”
Vyshinskij almost leapt to his feet. “I didn't stab anyone, I swear it!”
He calmed down when Litvinov put his hands up and made gestures to placate him. “No no, I didn't call you in to chastise you though, seeing how you've suddenly become paranoid, I hope I do not have to later. We have something else to discuss.”
“What is it?” Vyshinkij was intrigued, something important must have occurred.
“Take a look at this map, Andrey. Do you see the new line that I've added?”
“N—yes, yes I do. Why? What has happened?”
“Well, I think that Pierre Etienne Flandin seems to be something of a crusader and we all know that Albert Lebrun is like a dog, he loves to bark loudly but is too much of a buffoon to bite.”
“I don't fully understand. How did this happen? How could they attract French ire like this?”
“It may have something to do with the fact that Lebrun wants to drum up more support for his government, and that political specialist of his, Joseph Paganon, has said that a good patriotic war defending Europe is the best way to do this.”
“But what did they do?”
“Well, let's just say that Georgios II is pretty insignificant when it comes to actual policy decisions. He's but wet clay in the hands of his amazingly optimistic prime minister, Constantinos Demertzis. Who, as it turns out, also happens to be the foreign minister. He seems to be somewhat biased in his appreciation of events, and he isn't helped by the fact that Georgios Mantzavinos, being only an entrepeneur of all things military, has no idea what he's talking about. This dangerous combination isn't nearly offset enough by Georgios Logothetis' dismal warnings.”
“So, what you're saying is that France is attempting to police Europe.”
“Yes, by attacking the most dangerous and aggressive European power there is.”
Vyshinskij sat silently, his incredulous gaze toggling back and forth between the map and Litvinov's face. He uttered one word, which trailed off, “Greece.”
“Yes. Well, they're certainly not aiding the stability of Europe, are they? They've declared war on us long ago, they declared war on Germany some time in the past month or so. They have extensive claims on their poor, defenseless northern neighbor Albania and on the islands in the Aegean and Mediterranean controlled by Equatorial Africa. Given their record, who knows when they'll go after those? They're simply dangerous.”
Oh, those Greeks, getting themselves into one hell of a mess.
“So France has gotten herself into a war she cannot fight but which will gain her government popularity amongst the population, which has been uneasy because of recent territorial gains made by both ourselves and Germany, for doing something that would ostensibly return Europe to some slightly greater modicum of stability at virtually no cost to herself, and because she cannot hope to challenge either Germany or the Soviet Union. Clever.” Vyshinskij sat in thought, mulling over this deduction. He was feeling quite clever himself for explaining it to Litvinov.
“Yes, all very true. Except for one slight problem.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“France, for all her dreams, is still a democracy and the people didn't vote on this war. Regardless of how much of a paper tiger their gesture is, it has alienated a segment of her population and now they've gone and increased the dissent against the government.”
“Ah hah. So France loses.”
“Yes. For all their own conceit, the Greeks could only hurt the French significantly in one way, and they certainly did: they've managed to get some portion of the French electorate angry at the government.”
Vyshinskij leaned back in his chair, biting his lip lightly. He felt that Litvinov had something more say and decided to try to preclude him. “I promise, I didn't stab anyone recently! The French ambassador's been strangely missing for a while! You know the NKVD is thorough, they only found foreign weapons of Greek origin in his home, which had been broken into!”
Litvinov blinked at Vyshinskij. “You stabbed the French ambassador too, and framed the Greeks?! Andrey!”
Vyshinskij stared at Litvinov before groaning. “No, I swear it wasn't me this time!”
Litvinov sighed. “Andrey, Andrey, Andrey. I don't know what I'm going to do with you. At least you didn't get another nation at war with us.”
When this provoked a slight reaction from Vyshinskij, Litvinov was forced to sigh again. “What di—no, I don't want to know. Not now. I'll call you in again when we get the declaration of war.”
Seeing Vyshinskij about to speak, Litvinov forestalled him with a gesture. “No, no hints. I want it to be a surprise, like all the others. I'm sure Stalin will appreciate it as well. Right now, I suggest you go. Skulk along the shadows like you usually do, but please refrain from stabbing any more ambassadors, all right?”
Looking somewhat guilty, Vyshinskij stood up, retrieved his cloak and left the well lit room as he throw his cloak around him. Litvinos simply sighed and shook his head as Vyshinskij closed the door behind him.
Myth said:
*searching for a good Sparta pun...*
Myth said:
Compulsive stabbing syndrome?
Berrrie said:Compulsive stabbing syndrome?
Hey! Some of us have to live with it! I'd appreciate it if you didn't point out other people's flaws.
:rofl:
:rofl: I think the Foreign Ministry is my favorite branch of the Soviet government.
Berrrie: sparta, huh? hadn't thought of one as for his compulsive stabbing syndrome, he's a cloak and dagger schemer, so...
Discomb: I've not seen you compulsively stabbing anything
VILenin: its quite an interesting organization, isn't it?
comment day again!
as for his compulsive stabbing syndrome, he's a cloak and dagger schemer, so...Discomb: I've not seen you compulsively stabbing anything
VILenin: its quite an interesting organization, isn't it?
comment day again!
I guess you weren't there that day. My brother, Ilkka, Caitie and Dax were chilling at my place, and I came home after only a few beverages, but decided to act needlessly drunk for comedic value. I pulled it off pretty well. Ended up taking one of the big knives from my kitchen and stabbing a brick of gorgonzola cheese while walking around the dinner table observing their game of Magic the Gathering curiously.
Discomb: yeah, I was never there for dax. though I do remember when you, andreas and johan stabbed each other with a big knife and that big thick cutting board
VILenin: well, it mostly ends up hanging on the hanger thingie in Litvinov's office...
update coming up!
VILenin: well, it mostly ends up hanging on the hanger thingie in Litvinov's office...
update coming up!
The Kremlin
April 6, 1936
Litvinov thanked the soldier who brought him a bundle of messages with a smile and a nod. The soldier saluted, twirled about and left the foreign ministry. He picked up the uppermost one, Costa Rica was interested in some sort of trade deal. Litvinov, a bit miffed, dropped it in a waste basket to the side of his desk and picked up the next message, which also quickly found its way into the basket. Three others joined their brethren, to be ignored in perpetuity, and Litvinov found the last message in his hands. It was thick enough to have been put in a large envelop and, taking a knife, Litvinov cut it open in one quick slice. He shook the contents out of the envelop and, picking up a mug of coffee, drank as he looked at them. He regretted this moments later as he nearly choked on the coffee and ended up spitting it out, some of it spattering across his desk.
He swiftly picked up his telephone, ordering the operator to connect him to Vyshinskij, who answered sleepily. “Yes, comrade? What is it?”
“Andrey! Come to my office immediately!” Litvinov was nearly screaming, though even he was hard-pressed to idenfity whether it was because he was angry or simply exasperated and aghast.
“B-but, Maksim, please. I was just in the middle of—”
“No buts, Andrey! And I don't want to know what you were doing either! I learned my lesson last year when I heard that woman, and someone sharpening knives, and—.” Litvinov stopped speaking and shuddered.
“But Maksim!”
“Damn you, Andrey! Get here now! I know it's only four in the morning but foreign policy waits for no man! And neither does death. That's a threat, if you weren't quite sure. Just get the hell over here, now.” Litvinov heard Vyshinskij talked to someone, who replied and whose voice was female. He sighed, loudly enough for Vyshinskij to hear, and massaged his temples slightly with his wrist.
“All right, Maksim. I'm coming.”
Litvinov put down the telephone and sat down in his chair, exaggerating his movements as sitting as lightly as he could as otherwise he was afraid he would simply collapse. The first of the three messages was not that terrible, really, but he wondered why the Persians were trying. Vacietis should have already made it clear to them that the Soviet Union was not quite interested in territorial expansion in that area—yet. Nevertheless, it added to the effect of the subsequent two messages, both of which had stunned him. Litvinov shook his head; Vyshinskij had a knack of making small or medium states with comparablely limited powers do utterly ridiculous things. Things that went against all theories of geopolitics; these actions by themselves disproved those Western ideas of Liberalism and also put a heavy strain on the logic of realpolitik. Simply put, Vyshinskij was some sort of magician.
Vyshinskij also arrived at Litvinov's office, at last. Vyshinskij automatically threw his cloak over the stand, but Litvinov noticed that he did not have his dagger with him and an involuntary shiver ran up his spine. As Vyshinskij sat down, Litvinov pushed across the messages to Vyshinskij without saying a word but simply looked expectantly. Vyshinskij took one look at them before being thrown into a violent coughing fit that turned his face red, due to lack of oxygen rather than shame.
“Andrey, tell me how you do it. I want to know because it is breaking every theory of international politics and foreign relations that has yet been created and whole new theories will have to be formulated simply to take such events into consideration.” Litvinov leaned forward, affecting an eagerness to know that wasn't wholly absent; Vyshinskij was talented.
Taken aback for a moment, Vyshinskij looked like he would go into another round of coughing but managed to hold it back and smiled sweetly at Litvinov. “We each have our specialities, Maksim. Yours is analyzing events in a logical manner, applying your theories and giving Stalin rational advice. Me?” Vyshinskij waves his clenched hand around before realizing that he was not holding his dagger and dropped it in a slightly shame-faced manner. “I'm the one that actually makes things happen. You theorize, I sta—err, I execute, err...no, that doesn't work either. I, ah, I implement.”
“You implement a dagger, I take it. All right, I won't ask how you did it. But, could you explain just why?”
“Chaos in Europe only advances our plans.”
“And Germany's.”
“Yes, but a showdown with them is inevitable no matter what happens and, no matter what happens, we do expect Germany and Britain to take Western, Southern and Northern Europe anyway. That is what STAVKA has been basing all its wargames on.”
“Fair enough, I suppose. Still, what you've unleashed this time simply beggars imagination.”
WHAT?!
Litvinov continued. ”Who the hell is deciding policy in Turkey?!”
Vyshinskij shrugged. “It doesn't change anything, really. Hard feelings with France go back to that little spat with the Greeks and the Entente about the break up of the Ottoman Empire after the Great War. Seeing as Turkey is on the verge of the abyss anyway and staring into it with horror, that which is staring back has driven them insane. They obviously want an alliance with the Greeks, the fools.”
Litvinov stared at Vyshinskij as he explained it so easily before sighing and raising his eyebrows. “And Yugoslavia?”
“They have Greece and Bulgaria between them and us anyway. This is merely a way to show a fair amount of moral support for the Turks without being in danger of being overrun by our forces.”
“What about Germany? The Germans are sure to attack them.”
“They're too stupid to consider Germany. Milan Stojadinovic may be a clever man, but he's in many ways controlled by that absolutely corrupt kleptocrat Boguljub Jevtic. Yugoslavia won't consider Germany much of a threat until it's too late, whereas it could never attain a possible position as leader of the Balkans without showing some support for the Turks, regardless of the fact that not much more than twenty years earlier they were at the Ottoman's throats as part of a Balkan coalition.”
Litvinov was actually impressed with what he was hearing. “Andrey, I don't know what to say. You're actually making sense for once!”
Vyshinskij blinked. “Oh dear, am I? I'm sorry.” With that, he stood up, grabbed his cloak and swirled it around him before producing a dagger from the folds of his garments and waving it around in his clenched fist. He smirked at Litvinov. “What? I carry at least one dagger with me at all times!”
With that, he dashed out the door and left Litvinov staring slack-jawed as the door slowly closed.
April 6, 1936
Litvinov thanked the soldier who brought him a bundle of messages with a smile and a nod. The soldier saluted, twirled about and left the foreign ministry. He picked up the uppermost one, Costa Rica was interested in some sort of trade deal. Litvinov, a bit miffed, dropped it in a waste basket to the side of his desk and picked up the next message, which also quickly found its way into the basket. Three others joined their brethren, to be ignored in perpetuity, and Litvinov found the last message in his hands. It was thick enough to have been put in a large envelop and, taking a knife, Litvinov cut it open in one quick slice. He shook the contents out of the envelop and, picking up a mug of coffee, drank as he looked at them. He regretted this moments later as he nearly choked on the coffee and ended up spitting it out, some of it spattering across his desk.
He swiftly picked up his telephone, ordering the operator to connect him to Vyshinskij, who answered sleepily. “Yes, comrade? What is it?”
“Andrey! Come to my office immediately!” Litvinov was nearly screaming, though even he was hard-pressed to idenfity whether it was because he was angry or simply exasperated and aghast.
“B-but, Maksim, please. I was just in the middle of—”
“No buts, Andrey! And I don't want to know what you were doing either! I learned my lesson last year when I heard that woman, and someone sharpening knives, and—.” Litvinov stopped speaking and shuddered.
“But Maksim!”
“Damn you, Andrey! Get here now! I know it's only four in the morning but foreign policy waits for no man! And neither does death. That's a threat, if you weren't quite sure. Just get the hell over here, now.” Litvinov heard Vyshinskij talked to someone, who replied and whose voice was female. He sighed, loudly enough for Vyshinskij to hear, and massaged his temples slightly with his wrist.
“All right, Maksim. I'm coming.”
Litvinov put down the telephone and sat down in his chair, exaggerating his movements as sitting as lightly as he could as otherwise he was afraid he would simply collapse. The first of the three messages was not that terrible, really, but he wondered why the Persians were trying. Vacietis should have already made it clear to them that the Soviet Union was not quite interested in territorial expansion in that area—yet. Nevertheless, it added to the effect of the subsequent two messages, both of which had stunned him. Litvinov shook his head; Vyshinskij had a knack of making small or medium states with comparablely limited powers do utterly ridiculous things. Things that went against all theories of geopolitics; these actions by themselves disproved those Western ideas of Liberalism and also put a heavy strain on the logic of realpolitik. Simply put, Vyshinskij was some sort of magician.
Vyshinskij also arrived at Litvinov's office, at last. Vyshinskij automatically threw his cloak over the stand, but Litvinov noticed that he did not have his dagger with him and an involuntary shiver ran up his spine. As Vyshinskij sat down, Litvinov pushed across the messages to Vyshinskij without saying a word but simply looked expectantly. Vyshinskij took one look at them before being thrown into a violent coughing fit that turned his face red, due to lack of oxygen rather than shame.
“Andrey, tell me how you do it. I want to know because it is breaking every theory of international politics and foreign relations that has yet been created and whole new theories will have to be formulated simply to take such events into consideration.” Litvinov leaned forward, affecting an eagerness to know that wasn't wholly absent; Vyshinskij was talented.
Taken aback for a moment, Vyshinskij looked like he would go into another round of coughing but managed to hold it back and smiled sweetly at Litvinov. “We each have our specialities, Maksim. Yours is analyzing events in a logical manner, applying your theories and giving Stalin rational advice. Me?” Vyshinskij waves his clenched hand around before realizing that he was not holding his dagger and dropped it in a slightly shame-faced manner. “I'm the one that actually makes things happen. You theorize, I sta—err, I execute, err...no, that doesn't work either. I, ah, I implement.”
“You implement a dagger, I take it. All right, I won't ask how you did it. But, could you explain just why?”
“Chaos in Europe only advances our plans.”
“And Germany's.”
“Yes, but a showdown with them is inevitable no matter what happens and, no matter what happens, we do expect Germany and Britain to take Western, Southern and Northern Europe anyway. That is what STAVKA has been basing all its wargames on.”
“Fair enough, I suppose. Still, what you've unleashed this time simply beggars imagination.”
WHAT?!
Litvinov continued. ”Who the hell is deciding policy in Turkey?!”
Vyshinskij shrugged. “It doesn't change anything, really. Hard feelings with France go back to that little spat with the Greeks and the Entente about the break up of the Ottoman Empire after the Great War. Seeing as Turkey is on the verge of the abyss anyway and staring into it with horror, that which is staring back has driven them insane. They obviously want an alliance with the Greeks, the fools.”
Litvinov stared at Vyshinskij as he explained it so easily before sighing and raising his eyebrows. “And Yugoslavia?”
“They have Greece and Bulgaria between them and us anyway. This is merely a way to show a fair amount of moral support for the Turks without being in danger of being overrun by our forces.”
“What about Germany? The Germans are sure to attack them.”
“They're too stupid to consider Germany. Milan Stojadinovic may be a clever man, but he's in many ways controlled by that absolutely corrupt kleptocrat Boguljub Jevtic. Yugoslavia won't consider Germany much of a threat until it's too late, whereas it could never attain a possible position as leader of the Balkans without showing some support for the Turks, regardless of the fact that not much more than twenty years earlier they were at the Ottoman's throats as part of a Balkan coalition.”
Litvinov was actually impressed with what he was hearing. “Andrey, I don't know what to say. You're actually making sense for once!”
Vyshinskij blinked. “Oh dear, am I? I'm sorry.” With that, he stood up, grabbed his cloak and swirled it around him before producing a dagger from the folds of his garments and waving it around in his clenched fist. He smirked at Litvinov. “What? I carry at least one dagger with me at all times!”
With that, he dashed out the door and left Litvinov staring slack-jawed as the door slowly closed.
That has to be the most amazing way to determine foriegn policy that I have ever seen. It boggles the imagination. :wacko:
So Turkey allied with greece against France? And Yugoslavia declared war on you? brain melting....
So Turkey allied with greece against France? And Yugoslavia declared war on you? brain melting....
"...Istanbul, not Constantinople..."rcduggan said:the soviets are almost in Constantinople!