94. Stalin Acts
Meeting Chambers of the Presidium
Grand Kremlin Palace
Moscow, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
7 May 1944
Normally, meetings of the Soviet Union's legislative body were sparsely attended at best; deputies with real power were always elsewhere exercising it. Today, there could be no mistaking Stalin's will. The chamber was filled to capacity and beyond, Pravda reporters and photographers crammed in every space not occupied by a somber-suited deputy or a brown-coated soldier. The soldiers' presence after what felt like thirty years of professional exile raised more than a few eyebrows; just five years ago, many of these men would only have appeared in this chamber if on trial for their lives. Some of them had in fact done so. Their continued survival was nothing short of miraculous, yet most of those men looked troubled rather than relieved.
Mikhail Ivanovich Kalinin mounted the rostrum in quick, decisive steps, masking the shaking of his hands. Kalinin was an increasingly elderly man with a wise-looking, grandfatherly face that concealed a complete irresolution and a lack of any thoughts greater than what had to be done to survive Stalin's whims. He adjusted his glasses and glanced down at the speech which had been prepared for him, wondering still at Stalin's choice of him to deliver it. Normally he would have used Vyacheslav Mikhailovich for something like this, especially since Molotov was Commissar for Foreign Affairs. Did this perhaps mean a rise in his own star in Stalin's eyes? He coughed, covering his mouth and glancing around to see if anyone noticed the momentary imperfection; they were too busy in their own conversations. "Comrades!" the sergeant-at-arms boomed with lungs apparently re-purposed from a smith's bellows. "The Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet!"
Kalinin adjusted his glasses once more, glancing upward at the deputies. "Comrades. We have watched events to the west with great concern. We have seen the reactionary German regime first suppress the workers and people of that country, then work against the flow of history and call for a return of their precious Kaiser. These imperialists, not satisfied with oppressing their own people, chose to impose their will on the people of Poland, through no greater provocation than that a Pole chose to attempt to release the German people from their reactionary shackles! After this imposition, of course the imperialist-reactionary kleptocrats in Berlin have installed as their chosen puppet a German as so-called 'king' of Poland.
"To this, we respond: Never! Never shall we sit idly by while a nation is oppressed beneath a corrupt, German-imposed regime of imperialism and repression! Never shall we stand while our neighbors are plunderde for the benefit of a foreign occupier! Never, never, never!" Kalinin's fist struck the podium on each 'never,' and the delegates began to applaud. He gave a small, prim smile, adjusting his glasses once more before he continued. "Therefore, effective immediately, the Workers and People of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics are at war with the counterrevolutionary-reactionist German puppet government of Poland."
Stunned silence greeted this last statement. It had been expected that Kalinin would make some sort of speech in reaction to ongoing German provocations; just the week prior, Stalin had given him an order to arrest every priest and monk remaining free in the Soviet Union. He had signed, and even as he spoke, he was quite certain that the Chekists were doing their duty in protecting the people from the dangerous counterrevolutionary saboteurs in robes and miters. That was all well and good, but this business of agressive war against the reactionaries was borderline Trotskyism! Comrade Stalin had long ago decreed that the Soviet Union must become a workers' paradise before the revolution could be exported, and Comrade Lenin before him.
Perhaps most stunned of all was Friedrich Werner Graf von der Schulenburg. Schulenburg had spent a decade in Moscow, continuously working to keep German-Soviet relations friendly despite the Kaiser's distaste for the Bolsheviks. He had thought that the rhetoric on the German side had become a trifle heated, even if he privately agreed with the Crown Prince regarding Stalin's treatment of religion in general. To have the entire thing blow up in his face, and to have the blow delivered by Kalinin of all people, was simply crushing. "What have we done to deserve this?" he whispered as he listened to the speech on the radio; he could hear the Chekist sirens already approaching the embassy, and the Foot Guards detachment burst into the room with weapons drawn to hustle him to a car. With any luck they could make the airport and escape Russia before word reached them; being an enemy alien in Stalin's hands would be a nightmare indeed, especially for a former officer of the Georgian Legion.
Some of the delegates looked at each other uneasily, others cheered thunderously after a moment's hesitation. One of the leading voices in the cheers was Nikita Khruschev. This war promised an opportunity to unify the Ukraine, after all - take back Lviv and bring the entirety of the Ukrainian people under one flag for the first time in hundreds of years, under Comrade Stalin's glorious leadership! Among the doubters was a dour-faced, steel-jawed major-general. Konstantin Rokossovsky was literally steel-jawed; his teeth had been replaced with stainless steel after an arrest in the Purge. He too was tied to the Ukraine, commanding an armored division west of Kiev, and had come aboard the same train as Khruschev. If anyone here were to feel strongly about liberating Poland, it should be the man born Konstanti Ksawerowicz, but he had seen what Comrade Stalin had done to the Red Army... had, in fact, felt it in his bones, quite literally. He had no illusions about the soft-voiced man that all Russia viewed as a friendly uncle, down there behind Kalinin on the rostrum. Rokossovsky looked around, growling under his breath, "This will end badly," even as his hands chafed from the constant clapping.
On the rostrum behind Kalinin, the stoutly-built man who had orchestrated this entire affair nodded, raising a hand in acknowledgement of the applause and stroking his moustache. He had no doubt whatsoever that the valiant Red Army would steamroller to the west and be in Warsaw in weeks, Berlin before the harvest, and perhaps Paris before the new year. Josef Vissarionovich Stalin would show these Prussian lapdogs who would win in the great trial for the soul of Europe. Europe, and the world, would be remade - in his image, not the Kaiser's.
In Berlin, a messenger burst in upon the Kaiser as he enjoyed a lunch with Marshal Bock. White-faced, the messenger bowed and gasped out his report: "All-Highest, the Reds have declared war!" Wilhelm started, glancing around in apparent confusion. Bock, straight-backed as ever, raised his fork to his mouth before setting it down, daubing his mouth with a napkin, and, voice mildly amused, commenting, "Shall we celebrate the coronation from the Kremlin, Majesty?"
Meeting Chambers of the Presidium
Grand Kremlin Palace
Moscow, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
7 May 1944
Normally, meetings of the Soviet Union's legislative body were sparsely attended at best; deputies with real power were always elsewhere exercising it. Today, there could be no mistaking Stalin's will. The chamber was filled to capacity and beyond, Pravda reporters and photographers crammed in every space not occupied by a somber-suited deputy or a brown-coated soldier. The soldiers' presence after what felt like thirty years of professional exile raised more than a few eyebrows; just five years ago, many of these men would only have appeared in this chamber if on trial for their lives. Some of them had in fact done so. Their continued survival was nothing short of miraculous, yet most of those men looked troubled rather than relieved.
Mikhail Ivanovich Kalinin mounted the rostrum in quick, decisive steps, masking the shaking of his hands. Kalinin was an increasingly elderly man with a wise-looking, grandfatherly face that concealed a complete irresolution and a lack of any thoughts greater than what had to be done to survive Stalin's whims. He adjusted his glasses and glanced down at the speech which had been prepared for him, wondering still at Stalin's choice of him to deliver it. Normally he would have used Vyacheslav Mikhailovich for something like this, especially since Molotov was Commissar for Foreign Affairs. Did this perhaps mean a rise in his own star in Stalin's eyes? He coughed, covering his mouth and glancing around to see if anyone noticed the momentary imperfection; they were too busy in their own conversations. "Comrades!" the sergeant-at-arms boomed with lungs apparently re-purposed from a smith's bellows. "The Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet!"
Kalinin adjusted his glasses once more, glancing upward at the deputies. "Comrades. We have watched events to the west with great concern. We have seen the reactionary German regime first suppress the workers and people of that country, then work against the flow of history and call for a return of their precious Kaiser. These imperialists, not satisfied with oppressing their own people, chose to impose their will on the people of Poland, through no greater provocation than that a Pole chose to attempt to release the German people from their reactionary shackles! After this imposition, of course the imperialist-reactionary kleptocrats in Berlin have installed as their chosen puppet a German as so-called 'king' of Poland.
"To this, we respond: Never! Never shall we sit idly by while a nation is oppressed beneath a corrupt, German-imposed regime of imperialism and repression! Never shall we stand while our neighbors are plunderde for the benefit of a foreign occupier! Never, never, never!" Kalinin's fist struck the podium on each 'never,' and the delegates began to applaud. He gave a small, prim smile, adjusting his glasses once more before he continued. "Therefore, effective immediately, the Workers and People of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics are at war with the counterrevolutionary-reactionist German puppet government of Poland."
Stunned silence greeted this last statement. It had been expected that Kalinin would make some sort of speech in reaction to ongoing German provocations; just the week prior, Stalin had given him an order to arrest every priest and monk remaining free in the Soviet Union. He had signed, and even as he spoke, he was quite certain that the Chekists were doing their duty in protecting the people from the dangerous counterrevolutionary saboteurs in robes and miters. That was all well and good, but this business of agressive war against the reactionaries was borderline Trotskyism! Comrade Stalin had long ago decreed that the Soviet Union must become a workers' paradise before the revolution could be exported, and Comrade Lenin before him.
Perhaps most stunned of all was Friedrich Werner Graf von der Schulenburg. Schulenburg had spent a decade in Moscow, continuously working to keep German-Soviet relations friendly despite the Kaiser's distaste for the Bolsheviks. He had thought that the rhetoric on the German side had become a trifle heated, even if he privately agreed with the Crown Prince regarding Stalin's treatment of religion in general. To have the entire thing blow up in his face, and to have the blow delivered by Kalinin of all people, was simply crushing. "What have we done to deserve this?" he whispered as he listened to the speech on the radio; he could hear the Chekist sirens already approaching the embassy, and the Foot Guards detachment burst into the room with weapons drawn to hustle him to a car. With any luck they could make the airport and escape Russia before word reached them; being an enemy alien in Stalin's hands would be a nightmare indeed, especially for a former officer of the Georgian Legion.
Some of the delegates looked at each other uneasily, others cheered thunderously after a moment's hesitation. One of the leading voices in the cheers was Nikita Khruschev. This war promised an opportunity to unify the Ukraine, after all - take back Lviv and bring the entirety of the Ukrainian people under one flag for the first time in hundreds of years, under Comrade Stalin's glorious leadership! Among the doubters was a dour-faced, steel-jawed major-general. Konstantin Rokossovsky was literally steel-jawed; his teeth had been replaced with stainless steel after an arrest in the Purge. He too was tied to the Ukraine, commanding an armored division west of Kiev, and had come aboard the same train as Khruschev. If anyone here were to feel strongly about liberating Poland, it should be the man born Konstanti Ksawerowicz, but he had seen what Comrade Stalin had done to the Red Army... had, in fact, felt it in his bones, quite literally. He had no illusions about the soft-voiced man that all Russia viewed as a friendly uncle, down there behind Kalinin on the rostrum. Rokossovsky looked around, growling under his breath, "This will end badly," even as his hands chafed from the constant clapping.
On the rostrum behind Kalinin, the stoutly-built man who had orchestrated this entire affair nodded, raising a hand in acknowledgement of the applause and stroking his moustache. He had no doubt whatsoever that the valiant Red Army would steamroller to the west and be in Warsaw in weeks, Berlin before the harvest, and perhaps Paris before the new year. Josef Vissarionovich Stalin would show these Prussian lapdogs who would win in the great trial for the soul of Europe. Europe, and the world, would be remade - in his image, not the Kaiser's.
In Berlin, a messenger burst in upon the Kaiser as he enjoyed a lunch with Marshal Bock. White-faced, the messenger bowed and gasped out his report: "All-Highest, the Reds have declared war!" Wilhelm started, glancing around in apparent confusion. Bock, straight-backed as ever, raised his fork to his mouth before setting it down, daubing his mouth with a napkin, and, voice mildly amused, commenting, "Shall we celebrate the coronation from the Kremlin, Majesty?"