9 Kilometers northeast of Bakhtara
April 7, 1936
Vacietis rubbed his temples with his fingers. Organizing logistics for the invasion of Iraq from bases in Persia while Persia remained futilely defiant was challenging, as the locals were uncooperative. They were not hostile as they felt no particular loyalty to their king, but they had no reason to actively aid the invaders. Vacietis smiled thinly, they had no reason
yet. He was going to make sure to that the news of Persia's final surrender would almost overload Persia's poor infrastructure in an attempt to spread the news to every corner of the dead empire. The Persians had recently done it themselves, after all. Even in the remotest corner of Persia, Tabriz, rumors were spreading that the Soviets were defeated.
Vacietis had to laugh, though it was dark and with little mirth. While Bochenkov and Chernyak had busied themselves with the irregular soldiers in Hamadan, Persian cavalry had ridden into Teheran and evacuated the Persian royal court from Hamadan back to the capital. The Persians made sure to squeeze as muc propaganda use out of this pseudo-victory as possible, using the Siemens facilities in the city to transmit the news to every corner of Persia. This news had immediately turned all Persian villagers from being relatively amicable, if not entirely cooperative, to simply stone-walling all attempts by the Soviets do requisition anything because of their belief that soon the Soviets would be driven from their country. Vacietis understood the sentiment, no one wanted to be branded a traitor when, presumably, the Persians would march back in to reclaim all their lost territory.
However, Vacietis knew more than the villagers did. He knew of the power of the Soviet Union, he knew the strength of his Front. The irregulars in Hamadan had been defeated and dispersed and Vacietis immediately orderd that Bochenkov and Chernyak reclaim Teheran. Both their divisions were in relatively good shape, especially compared to the state of the Persian cavalry, which had not received any supplies between the encirclement of Hamadan and their recent relief of Teheran. As such, the cavalry was barely a force worth considering and Vacietis had the utmost confidence that they would easily defeat the Persians. Two well supplied and well organized divisions assaulting the positions of a tired and weakened cavalry division could only end one way.
Bochenkov's and Chernyak's attack toward Teheran, with the aim of reclaiming the capital.
Vacietis was actually pleased, at this stage of the campaign. It was obvious that the Persian resistance in Teheran would crumble in a mere hour or two and the infantry of his eastern thrust would
finally enter the city, only more than three months after they set out from Baku. However, Petrushevskij was on the verge of claiming Babolsar and promised to turn eastwards and claim Bandar Abbas as well, all within the next two weeks. Given such a concrete deadline, Vacietis knew that the end of the campaign was finally in sight. Knowing this, he had summoned the representative of the underground Persian Communist Party, Ja'fer Pishevari, who he had last seen when he had torn Pishevari's hopes of a conditonal peace to shreads.
It was at that moment that Pishevari was shown into Vacietis' impromptu office. The man did not look too pleased, Vacietis could easily see, at being summoned by a general—even if the general
was a field marshal, a Front commander
and a theater commander with full political powers. Vacietis smiled to himself as he absently offered Pishevari a seat, perhaps it was that last part that was the source of Pishevari's ire. As the man seated himself, Vacietis leaned back and simply watched him with some amusement, which he hoped wasn't
too blatant. Pishevari carried himself somewhat stiffly, which was further contrasted by Vacietis' ease. Having seated himself, Pishevari simply looked at Vacietis expectantly, though Vacietis also detected apprehension in his eyes; the man wasn't as confident and collected as he affected. He remembered their previous meeting as well as Vacietis did.
Vacietis smiled slightly wolfishly, he knew that the conversation to follow would be interesting. Returning his body to an upright position, he began without any sort of preamble. “How quickly will the Persian Communists be able to put a government together?”
Pishevari was taken off guard by the direct question. Vacietis noticed his eyes widen and saw him gulp and lick his lips before he answered. “Ah...we have all the, ahh, the apparati of government established already. We merely need the power to govern and—”
Vacietis nodded. “Good, good. So the Communists are ready to take up power immediately if necessary?”
Becoming slightly unsure of himself, Pishevari hesitated. “Uh, yes. Yes, we are. Again, we just need the power—”
Vacietis waved him to silence, understanding that his constant interruptions were going to irritate the man, if they had not begun doing so already. “Good. Persia will be yours within two weeks.”
Pishevari was totally dumbfounded by this. “W-what? But, the Royalists hold Teheran! No government established outside Teheran would be taken seriously by the people! I don't see—”
Smirking, Vacietis waved his mouth shut again. “Do you believe everything the so-called Royalists throw out as propaganda? I am beginning to doubt your Communist credentials.”
Pishevari's face grew red and his mouth worked, but no words left it. Vacietis could tell that he was furious and humiliated. “Babolsar and Bandar Abbas will fall within two weeks. Teheran is in no danger of a permanent Royalist occupation. In two weeks, thus, Persia will be entirely ours. Not yours and mine, just mine. Soviet Persia. We will hold every single strategically important spot in the country. However, it will not be annexed. Persia will remain nominally independent, so long as the government takes its foreign policy from Moscow. The question is this: will you so-called Persian Communists be a part of this new Persia, lead this new Persia in taking its orders from Moscow, or will you be removed alongside the Royalists?”
“That...that is no choice!” Pishevari was angry and flaggergasted.
Vacietis smiled sweetly at his furious face. “On the contrary, one choice leads to subjugation and the other leads to defeat and either death or permanent exile. I will ask one last time. Will you be subjugated, or will you be defeated?”
Pishevari, who had been sitting stiffer and stiffer as the conversation went on, slumped in his chair. Vacietis had broken him and they both knew it. “We will be subjugated.”
Vacietis beamed. “Good!”