7 Kilometers east of Mersin
May 16, 1936
Kuznetsov sat heavily down and wiped the sweat off his brow, watching as his command staff set up the last of the headquarters equipment at its new location. He sat in the relative cool of the interior of the house that had been commandeered, just staring blankly outside. He had seen heat waves rising from the ground, due to the savagely warm Mediterranean summer, even in the south Turkish mountains. He had abandoned his greatcoat long ago, it was packed away somewhere in a truck. Fortunately it was evening and the sun was finally halting its daily offensive against his poor men, who were unused to such heat.
Fortunately for them, their own offensive against the Turks in Gazientep would begin at night. Kuznetsov was getting impatient; he could tell that the end was near. He could not foresee many more difficulties with either the Turkish remnants in the southeast or with the Greeks and Bulgarians around Istanbul. However, he still had cause to worry, as the Germans had begun an offensive through Bulgaria on the 13th. However, to his bewilderment, they seemed to be headed toward Sofia rather than Istanbul, having attacked and defeated Bulgarian forces in Pleven. He could not understand this, given the obvious importance of Istanbul.
However, after his panic attack on 5th, Kuznetsov had become more relaxed, somehow. He had become resigned to the future. He didn’t know what it would hold but he knew that his subordinates were doing their best, without his prompting, to bring the campaign to a successful close. He could only do the same, doing justice to their best efforts with similar efforts of his own and maybe, just maybe, all the strategic objectives set forth would be attained. Kuznetsov took a deep breath and sighed determinedly. The Turks had to be pushed out of Gazientep. He knew, however, that it would be a difficult battle.
He had returned Marchenkov’s corps to Berman for utilization in that area some time earlier; Berman had placed him at Izmir to prevent the five Greek divisions from moving onto the Anatolian peninsula from the Dardanelles. Two days earlier, Marchenkov had actually been inserted into Istanbul, supported by naval gunfire by Panteleiev’s ships, but his three divisions, badly controlled by a divisional headquarters, were outnumbered by eight Bulgarian divisions. This, however, had the unwanted side effect of leaving Izmir unguarded. Thus, Kuznetsov had sent Saladze marching back to guard Izmir, and also to serve as an emergency reserve for use at Istanbul, much as Marchenkov had been.
Thus, he was quite satisfied that Berman would, despite the handicap of not having a large enough staff, handle the situation well enough, even if only through weight of numbers rather than tactical finesse. The real challenge, Kuznetsov believed, would be at Gazientep. At the moment, he had under his command two quite tired mountain divisions against an estimated one infantry division, but with a heavy artillery brigade attached. He knew that this would be quite a challenge and did not expect that they would actually make any headway. He wondered why he was actually attacking, then.
Thinking about it, he realized that it was slightly futile. They would make no headway and served only to remind the enemy of their presence and perhaps keep them pinned, which was perhaps slightly counterproductive, given that he had no additional force to flank around and hit them from the side or rear. Standing up quickly, he could already hear the thunder of the artillery begin. It was too late for him to halt it before it began; the mountaineers were already moving forward.
The attack on Gazientep by Kuznetsov’s two divisions.
Kuznetsov vacillated. He didn’t know whether to send out runners to break off the attack or let it peter out by itself, given that his mountaineers were not ready for a real battle. He stared at the map that had just been tacked up to the wall by two orderlies, biting his lip. The Turks had one division at Gazientep and another at Elazig, which was apparently advancing on Kayseri. It seemed that the Turks were keen on outflanking Kuznetsov and perhaps even attempting to inflict a major defeat on his corps. Staring harder at the map, he frowned. Was the Turkish division at Gazientep marching north toward Kayseri as well? Looking closer, the map indicated that it was.
Kuznetsov quickly sucked in breath between his teeth. His mountaineers might be interfering with a redeployment that would leave Gazientep undefended. He threw himself off the chair and ran into the next room, where his staff had finally finished setting up the last of their sensitive equipment and were relaxing, chatting idly with each other. Surprised by his hasty entrance, they all jumped up as he called out to them as a group. “I want runners to the frontlines, now! Pull the attack back! No, don’t question me! The enemy’s making a mistake and I don’t want to make him change his mind! Pull it back, as quickly as you can!”
His staff had begun scurrying about even before he was finished talking despite a handful of questioning faces cast his way, many rushing to radios or out the door. Satisfied, he leaned against the door frame with a slight smile on his face. If he was lucky, the Turks would make their mistake. With luck, they would abandon Gazientep and then he could march in without a fight. Granted, such a tactic would prolong the campaign but it would lead to a less bloody end. Kuznetsov had already exceeded STAVKA’s timetable by month or so, he knew that another month would not hurt. Not as long as Berman accomplished his mission and secured Istanbul, at least. Kuznetsov had the luxury of waiting in front of Gazientep, but he had to rush events at Istanbul. This was why he returned Marchenkov’s and Saladze’s corps to the area after all; Berman would appreciate them much more than he would another telephone call.
If your imaginary planes can drop troops into Switzerland they can drop supplies too. And the best part is, if the Germans want to shoot them down they'll have to build an imaginary air force of their own.
