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grayghost: Yeah, I'm getting there :D

But now, for something completely different! ;)
 
7 kilometers west of Bobraisk
May 1, 1937


Nikifor grunted as he grabbed the sack by its neck and heaved, straining to pick it up. Slowly, he straightened his knees and, with a burst of effort, threw the sack onto his shoulder so that it would bear the majority of the weight even though it felt as if it was about to fall off. Precariously balancing the sack on his shoulder with both his hands, he slowly walked toward the fields. He took small, gentle steps, not wishing to upset the tenuous balancing act that the sack was performing with some aid. He finally reached the fields, though it was only tens of meters away the journey felt like an eternity. With a sigh half of relief and half of pain for his bruised shoulder, he dropped the sack to the ground and stood back away from it. He wiped his sweating forehead with his hand and wiped it on his filthy trousers as he watched as Arsenij and Vadim took over for him, picking it up between them with difficulty to bring it further into the fields.

Standing and watching for a moment, Nikifor reflected on it all. With the constant influx of peasants from the countryside to the cities, looking for better lives as the proletariat rather than as the despised farmers, there was a constant shortage of hands on the collectives. This is where the Soviet Army came in, twice every year dozens or even scores of divisions were directed across the countryside to aid the overburdened farmers. Where there was a lack of technology, of tractors, the Soviet Army would send whole brigades of soldiers to sow the seed by hand. That was in the spring. In the late summer and autumn, they would return to take in the harvest. Nikifor knew that this was also a matter of trust, or lack thereof, as the peasants were wily enough to hide away some of the harvest. Thus, the army collected it and made sure the peasants were left only with what they needed; the rest of it was sent to the cities or to foreign lands in exchange for money. Nikifor assumed the money was invested into technology such as tractors, or tanks, and to improve the lifestyle of people across the entire country.

Nikifor jolted as the harsh shouting finally reached into his mind, Suvorin was swearing at him and screaming that he had to keep working. With a weary salute in Suvorin’s general direction, Nikifor half stumbled back to the troop transport truck that had brought the heavy sacks of seed to the collective. With relief, Nikifor saw that there was only one left. Soon they would be done for the day, or so he hoped. With a groan as his muscles screamed, Nikifor stretched his arms and grabbed at the sack, tugging it until it was at the end of the truck; he did not have the energy to clamber up into it any more. With one final pull, Nikifor jumped away as the sack slammed into the dry earth and sent up a cloud of dust. He looked at it with futile loathing before grabbing it by the neck and straining to pull it up. Finally, he managed to set it upon his shoulder and began gently stumbling back to the fields.

Through his sweat-stung eyes he saw Arsenij and Vadim waiting for him already and he took a deep breath, knowing that each painful step brought him closer and closer to finishing. Finally, he stood before them and dropped the sack at their feet before collapsing onto his knees. Arsenij touched him lightly on the shoulder, the one that was not bruised and throbbing with pain, before he and Vadim grasped at that last sack and lugged it deeper into the fields. His throat dry, Nikifor coughed and attempted to wet his mouth with his tongue so that he could spit, but could not find the moisture. Nikifor slowly fought his way upwards until he was standing again, then tiredly began staggering toward Suvorin, who was overseeing everything.

Suvorin quickly saw Nikifor approaching and nodded, understanding that there were no more sacks to be transported. He picked up a canteen of water and took a few steps toward Nikifor, holding it out. With a greed bordering on lust blatant in his eyes, Nikifor took the canteen and drank. He knew that it was probably turning the insides of his stomach into mud, and his mouth as well, but it was wet and even still slightly cold after having been pulled up from the well in the early afternoon. With gasps of near pleasure, Nikifor quickly emptied the canteen. Suvorin took it from him and directed him toward the pond where, if he was feeling strong enough, he could strip and quickly wash off all the dust of the day before dinner.

Despite his exhaustion, Nikifor needed no encouragement and even managed to break into a pathetic trot for a few seconds until he was out of Suvorin’s sight, at which time he halted and coughed some more before finally spitting into the bushes. Nikifor then slowly approached the pond and took off his filthy trousers and undergarments. Naked, he waded into the cold water and shivered before he felt his legs give way beneath him. He fell backwards, landing with a splash mostly in the water, his head hitting the ground. Nikifor blacked out.

When he came to, he heard voices nearby, and coming closer, and figured that the rest of the battalion was being released to the pond squad by squad to wash up. Tilting his head back, he saw Arsenij and Vadim emerging from the trees, as well as Afonka, Dima and Irinei. As others came behind them, Nikifor rolled over onto his stomach and tried to stand up, but found that he lacked the strength to do more than push himself onto his knees. As he wobbled back and forth dangerously, Vadim realized his predicament and grasped his hand. Arsenij grasped the other, and together they pulled him to his feet. Nikifor smiled in gratitude as Vadim tossed him his clothes and then the new arrivals got undressed and began splashing around in the water. Feeling lightheaded, however, Nikifor did not join them but instead donned his clothes before sitting back down with his back to a tree and watched them. They were his squadmates.
 
That was really interesting. I was a nice break from the constant conflict, and an good look at what it took to keep the collectives going as well as some insight into the mind of the individual soldier. Well done.
 
Back-breaking work - almost literally it seems. Nice description. I truly felt Nikifor's hardship and struggle to simply keep moving. It must be hell to not only stand on the lines and be shot at but then have to toil the fields as well. Ah...the Soviet system. :wacko:

Great post. :cool:
 
Myth said:
Vasilevskij had only one hope for the predetermined future war with Germany; that Equatorial Africa remained benevolently neutral

I just wanted to say that I loved this line. :D Goes to show the crazy things that can happen when you mod games.
 
Well written Myth! :) I really like the way you are able to portray individuals, you do not only write about the war, but also the people who took part in it. You go quite quickly from the macro level to the micro, reminds me in a way of my favorite author Antony Beevor. :D
 
VILenin: Oh yes, a lot can happen when you mod games :D

General Jac: Thanks! And being kind of compared to Antony Beevor, holy crap! :eek:

Second comment day.
 
18 kilometers southeast of Heihe
May 16, 1937


Zhukov’s stomach grumbled loudly, proclaiming to the best of its ability its dissatisfaction with Zhukov’s present policies, namely those concerning the timings of meals. Pain wrangled its way through his innards, attempting to divert Zhukov’s attention to more immediate, if likely not more important, matters. Zhukov frowned, partially at his stomach’s intrusion into the world of strategy and partially at the same world of strategy. Specifically, Zhukov was attempting to fathom Japan’s strategy; they had finally made their opening moves vis-à-vis land warfare. First, they had conquered the northern half of Sakhalin Island and then they landed on the southern half of the Kamchatka peninsula. It puzzled Zhukov, he could understand the seizure of the rest of Sakhalin; it was adjacent to their own territory and had a bit of oil besides.

He, however, could not figure out why the Japanese were wasting their strength attacking where the Soviets were not. He understood the concept of indirect approach and knew it could be useful at times, but he did not see how occupying the southern half of a barren peninsula far away from anything that even vaguely resembled civilized life could possibly be helpful to their war effort, unless they thought that sheer territorial losses would case the Soviet Union to buckle. After all, the land they seized on the peninsula was nearly as large as the entire expanse of land of their home islands. Zhukov shook his head at the thought; the Japanese had little real understanding of strategy. Not that he blamed them, of course, or at least, not only them. The Japanese were an opportunistic people, their navy they had based on Britain’s Royal Navy. Their army they based on the German Wehrmacht, leading to a similar focus on battlefield and operational tactics at the expense of understanding strategy.

Now, if they reformed their army on the Soviet model, he knew that they would be fairly efficient at strategy even if, though Zhukov was loathe to admit it, they lost some efficacy on the battlefield and operational levels of warfare as the elongated campaigns of Turkey and Persia proved. And Manchuria too, while under Voroshilov’s inept stewardship. As his wandering mind, still fleeing his stomach, snapped back to the subject of Manchuria, Zhukov automatically picked up a piece of paper. It was a missive from the Manchurian government, which had finally seen the writing on the wall and wished to arrange a white peace.

067-01-ManchuriansOfferWhitePeace.png

Manchuria begging for a white peace.

At the time the note was sent, something approaching a sixth of Manchuria’s sovereign territory, in terms of sheer land expanse, had been taken already by Vasilevskij and events pointed to another half of Manchuria falling within a week or ten days. Granted, Manchuria still possessed, in principle, large tracts of territory they had nefariously stolen from the Soviet Union during the previous months. The strategic balance was swinging firmly against them, however; their best opportunity for attempting to negotiate a peace would have been when they had destroyed the majority of Voroshilov’s Manchurian Front, before Zhukov and Vasilevskij had arrived with reinforcements. Zhukov smiled thinly, Stalin would never have accepted, of course, and would probably have sent Voroshilov straight to the firing line to be executed for failing so miserably. The Manchurians, however, opted not to do the Soviet army such a service as they fell under the insidious influence of victory disease, and somehow thought they could get away with taking even more.

In the thirteen days since that note, Qiquhar and Heihe had fallen to Vasilevskij’s and Zhukov’s advancing forces, linking them up. It was none to soon, as well, as at some indeterminate date, due to a lack of intelligence, the Japanese had landed at Chumikan as well, finally placing their units somewhere remotely near the relevant theater of operations. In the process, they also happened to close one of Zhukov’s lines of communication and supply, though given that he had the sense to ensure several of them, it posed no difficulty for him.

Meanwhile, he had sent Lukin on a mission to clean up northern Manchuria, primarily by attacking the Manchurian cavalry division at Mohe. Despite the fact that the Manchurians were out of supply, under strength and somewhat disorganized, it seemed to Zhukov that Lukin could not capitalize on the situation and that his attack was running out of steam. He assumed that it was partially due to the Manchurian commander, who was skilled at defense and that some blame went to Lukin’s disorganized division. Nevertheless, Zhukov simply thought that Lukin was an incompetent commander and the only reason Zhukov did not relieve him was that Stalin would take it badly, as in Moscow the government received news only of victory after victory since Zhukov’s arrival.

067-02-DeepinManchuria.png

Lukin’s attack toward Mohe, the Qiquhar-Heihe line held by Vasilevskij and Zhukov and the Japanese forces, four divisions strong, beginning to expand outward from Chumikan.

Zhukov’s stomach broke out into a riot, grumbling so ferociously that it made Zhukov’s mind pause in its strategic machinations for a moment and cower in fear. With a sigh, Zhukov admitted defeat and stood up, eager to find some food to fuel his strategy.
 
Let's hope that's the only defeat he is forced to admit. Even if tactically odd, the Japanese seem to finally be moving closer which will make this enterprise more difficult than it already is. Still, you are nearer to victory but I am assuming you wish to annex or puppet rather than just take a little territory, yes? That may take longer.
 
Darn it seems like the Japanese found a way out eh? :p
 
Where the mighty Manchus have failed his stomach has succeeded, a very small respite indeed. Persecuting the war with the Japanese could be tricky since I'm guessing it would be nigh impossible to actually land on the Home Islands at this juncture. Maybe you could cede some useless territory in Siberia to get peace out of them?
 
coz1: Well, the Japanese might affect my plans for Manchuria a bit...:p

General Jac: Yep, those bastards :mad:

VILenin: Something like that, yeah ;)

First comment day :p
 
Zhukov is finally defeated!!!...by hunger. :( sigh. No chance of accepting the white peace? Thought not. sigh.
 
Discomb: Yes, definitely :D

grayghost: Who said anything about being defeated? It's just a minor setback! :p

Update coming up!
 
27 kilometers southeast of Heihe
June 2, 1937


Zhukov yawned, feeling somewhat tired. He had been getting enough sleep, but the sheer stress of having to oversee command such an active theater was getting to him. It had been more or less four months since he had arrived to take command, at Okhotsk back in early or mid February. Since then, one Soviet division had been destroyed, along both Zhukov’s and Vasilevskij’s axes of advance the Manchurians had been pushed back over one thousand kilometers and the Japanese had finally actively joined in the war even if their target acquisition bordered on the ludicrous. However, Zhukov could see the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, even if the Japanese were beginning to make a fair nuisance of themselves.

After a few days’ rest on the Qiqihar-Heihe line, Zhukov had directed Vasilevskij to attack toward Harbin, conceding to him the primary thrust into Manchuria’s heart. Vasilevkij’s corps was better placed to drive on to Harbin and beyond, not having a river getting in the way of an otherwise relatively easy attack against a purely cavalry force under the Manchurian field marshal, Zhang Haipeng. Zhukov smiled, easy was perhaps not the correct word. A few days of rest were not sufficient to undo the wear and tear of a headlong thousand kilometer advance and Vasilevskij’s men, like Zhukov’s own, were tired and their machines on the verge of breaking down. Nevertheless, Zhukov had faith in Vasilevskij.

068-01-VasilevskijAttackingHarbin.png

Vasilevskij attacking toward Harbin.

At the same time Vasilevskij was beginning his push toward Harbin, Zhukov aligned his corps for a thrust toward Vladivostok, aiming to liberate that city as Vasilevskij broke down Manchurian resistance in their heartlands, thus allowing for a clean annexation of the upstart warlord state. The main obstacle in his path was not the Manchurian resistance but rather the swamps around Jiamusi, which were slowing his advance down to a crawl. Just like in Latvia. Zhukov fumed slightly at that thought.

068-02-BattleforJiamusi.png

Zhukov’s attack at Jiamusi.

Those two attacks were launched on the evening of the 19th. Within ten days, Vasilevskij had reached Harbin and was assessing the options in front of him. Zhukov had broken the Manchurian resistance at Jiamusi, but because in swamps men could move faster than vehicles, the Manchurians had rushed an infantry division there that he was fighting. His advance seemed stymied by the awful swamp, which was plotting with the river and the Manchurians to prevent him from gaining a foothold on the opposite bank from which he could thrust southward. Zhukov ground his teeth, hoping that he could make a breakthrough against such resistance soon.

Additionally, the Japanese had been advancing into the vast areas left empty by both Soviet and Manchurian units and thus placed themselves just north of the Amur River, having thus shut down two of Zhukov’s three lines of communication and supply.

068-03-BattleforJiamusiII.png

The second battle for Jiamusi.

The very next day, Vasilevskij had announced to Zhukov that his subsequent operations would initially point his corps toward Ulan Hot to force the withdrawal of the Manchurian division in that area, which could plausibly threaten their remaining line of supply, and then he would attack southward toward Mukden and from thence eastward. Despite the mountainous terrain of Ulan Hot, the enemy was unprepared for battle and swiftly defeated, thus barely expending any of Vasilevskij’s strength. This comforted Zhukov because he had begun to face the unpleasant alternative that he might not be able to liberate Vladivostok by going the shortest route, through Jiamusi, and might have to delegate that duty to Vasilevskij instead.

068-04-BattleforUlanHot.png

The battle for Ulan Hot.

Thus, by the evening of the 2nd of June, Vasilevskij was driving toward the undefended industries of Mukden. His corps was in noticeably better shape than Zhukov’s corps, not having to deal with nearly as difficult armed resistance or terrain and by the time he reached Jilin he would be virtually adjacent to Vladivostok. With his lips tight, Zhuko determined that if he did not taken Jiamusi soon, he would abandon the effort and support Vasilevskij’s movements as much as he could, and take the opportunity to rest his corps and allow it to recover for the showdown with the Japanese.

068-05-CampaigninginManchuria.png

Campaign plans for the near future in Manchuria.

Zhukov sat back in his chair and sighed heavily, allowing his heavy limbs to hang lifelessly. His very bones felt tired. Satisfied with his thoughts concerning the campaign, Zhukov pushed himself to stand up and staggered off toward his bed, deciding that a half hour or hour-long nap would do him good.
 
I just realized you are fighting so many actual cavalry forces. That must drive you nuts that they are putting up such a fierce fight against your more modern weaponry. On the bright side, at least it's not winter...yet. ;)