1931-1933 – Let Them Tremble
Vozhd Boris Makarov alongside Field Marshall Sergei Baranova
After the troubles of the late 1920s, faith in the direction of Russia under Boris Makarov’s leadership had been badly shaken. Within the regime, the conservative elements that had buttressed the Radicals since 1914 were unhappy and seeking alternatives. These malcontents grouped themselves around the figure of Field Marshall Sergei Baranova. A veteran of the Great War, the civil war and countless campaigns against Tatar rebellions and insurgencies, Baranova was one of the most senior figures in the Russian army and had significant governmental influence in Kiev. Like many of the military old guard, he was, in his heart, a traditionalist who might have preferred a right wing nationalist Tsarist regime over the futurist dystopia of the Radical movement. By the beginning of 1931 the Baranova faction was building strength and laying the ground for an attempted seizure of power that would place Russia under the control of a conservative military dictatorship.
As the plot grew in strength, one of its members lost heart and tipped off the secret police. MGB agents made arrests raided the homes and offices of several members of the Baranova faction and soon uncovered a shocking conspiracy of high profile members of the Russian elite against the Vozhd and his regime. While Baranova and those most clearly involved were quickly executed, there were fears that rebel sentiment was far more widespread that the old Field Marshall and his confidantes. With so many conservatives implicated, traditionalists were quickly purged from positions of power and influence in government, the military, state administration and society. Makarov himself placed heavy pressure on the MGB to root out any and every hint of disloyalty and conspiracy.
For this task, the Vozhd appointed a new head of the MGB – the firebrand Radical Feodor Golikov. Having risen through the ranks of the Radical Republican Party from the status of a blackshirt street thug in the 1910s, to take on a major organisational role in the Felaket in Muscovy, Golikov was seen as ideologically reliable, utterly ruthless and extremely effective. Under his direction, the secret police would massively expand their operation – conducting arbitrary arrests in the hope of uncovering evidence of plotting and pressuring prisoners into forced confessions. Unsurprisingly, the army was particularly badly hit – almost the entire general staff and the majority of officers of ranks being purged from its numbers over the course of the terror that followed. Golikov’s suspicions were not solely directed at conservatives, but also looked to the Radical Party itself, where it was feared that traitors and opportunists had embedded themselves.
As a wider climate of fear took hold, it quickly became apparent the best way to avoid implicating yourself was to point the finger at another, while others also saw opportunities to settle old scores. With the smallest hint of suspicion enough to guarantee arrest, and possibly execution, terror ran through the Russian elite as the scope of MGB operations escalated beyond all reason. Soon, the whole of Russian society was under suspicion, with common people in their millions taking part in the same insane logic of hurling fatal accusations at their neighbours and friends in a desperate effort to save themselves.
Through the purges of 1931 and 1932, it is estimated hundreds of thousands lost their lives and perhaps as many as two million forfeited their freedom to the MGB’s sprawling empire of prisons. The most famous victim of the purges of all was none other than one Radoslav Zvenislava – the deposed former Tsar who had spent that previous decade and a half living a quiet life at his ancestral seat in Prussia. Despite having virtually no communication with the outside world, the former sovereign was seen as a potential focal point for opposition and faced Golikov’s firing squads alongside his entire family. Only his young grandson, Yaroslav, was able to escape – reaching the safety of the Danish border with the aid of sympathisers.
By late 1932, the purges were starting to come to an end. Having pleased the Vozhd, Golikov himself had received a major promotion for his fine work – rising the control a wider Ministry for Home Affairs, while retaining his control over the MGB. This drew one of the major catalytic forces behind the terror away from the heat of the action. More importantly, the crippling effects they were having on the Republic had convinced many in the leadership that the time had come to wind them down. The military in particular was in a chaotic state. With its leadership and officer core utterly decimated, the Radical Party had instituted a strict vetting process that demanded ideological commitment from new officers and generals – effectively giving former blackshirt street leaders and Party toadies the most effect route to leadership. The economy and state administration had likewise been badly hit by the loss of key personnel whose skills could not be so easily replaces, while the horrors inflicted on wider society had left the people of the Republic exhausted with fear. The dictatorship had stamped out all hints of dissent, but at incredible cost.
While the eyes of the Russian state had been fixed upon its own people, troubling was brewing on its south eastern frontier. The Mongol Khanate had been a close dependency of the Polish state since the mid-nineteenth century, and had grown immensely in size under Kiev’s protection. However, since the 1920s an increasingly assertive Chinese regime in the south had been cultivating a strong anti-Russian current within the state – making effective use of its links to the economically important Chinese populations living around Mongol-ruled Beijing. When ruling Khagan Baraq III died in February 1932, the Beijing faction found its chance to strike as the pro-Chinese second son of the Khagan, Gegeen, seized power in Ulanbaatar and moved to remove Russian advisors, achieving a more independent position. Gegeen’s assumption of power did not go unchallenge, as his older brother Toghan fled to the western city of Urumqi and rose the banner of revolt among the Uighur tribes of the region – beginning the Mongol civil war.
Of greater world historical significance that events in Mongolia were changes underway in Europe. The Depression that began in 1929 had hit the region very hard, causing massive unemployment and social dislocation – leaving the elites, and indeed the existing forms of social organisation, badly discredited. Many looked towards alternatives, casting admiring eyes at Normandy, where a socialist regime had banished poverty and inequality while avoiding the economic woes being suffered across the rest of the continent. The ideals of revolutionary socialism had their strongest attraction among those peoples that still ached under the national humiliations of the Treaty of Lucca that ended the Great War three decades ago – the French, living under foreign domination, and the Germans, diminished and divided since their defeat. In both nations, the revolutionary left had unified under militant Socialist Workers Parties that were enjoying explosive growth with their promises of social change, national restoration and world revolution.
In the early 1930s the once stable societies of Central and Western Europe were showing signs of decay. Across the region, labour militancy spiralled out of control as ideologically motivated socialist union leaders whipped up vicious industrial conflict. In France, armed anti-imperialist groups swearing fealty to the red flag were growing more confident and aggressive in their attacks on the regimes ruling over the different corners of the nation. To the west in Germany, the social order was in disarray – on the left, militant socialists formed violent revolutionary groups who support industrial and political struggles, while in the right counter revolutionaries attempted to hold them down. The continent was heading for a reckoning.
That reckoning arrived in the autumn of 1932. Following a long summer of fierce strikes in coal country, in October the Ruhr, a territory under the control of the Archbishopric of Hesse, exploded into violent upheaval. After an ill-fated attempt to use the army to defend blackleg workers going to the pits, the Socialist Workers Party distributed arms among striking miners and party cadres alike. After handily defeated the weak armed forces of the Archbishopric, the revolutionary saw the power of the Hessian state melt away before their eyes. They therefore continued to push – occupying the mighty industrial cities of the region and expanding from there through the rest of the Rhineland and Hesse. As the mass uprising gathered steam it carried the air of a Jacquerie, as bands of revolutionary workers driven by red-hot class anger launched themselves at the church, bourgeoisie and state with all their fury – cutting a swathe of destruction in their wake and sweeping the old order before them. During these hectic weeks the Archbishop himself was killed by a mortar, ironically fired by one of his own soldiers, as he attempted to flee from his collapsing state.
By late October governmental authority in Hesse had completely collapsed and the insurrection was bleeding over into the Holy Roman Empire, with socialist militias rising up across the realm. As the crisis spiralled out of control, the Imperial government appeared powerless to act. Vienna had a clear lack of faith in the army – with reports of rank and file soldiers deserting and even attacking their officers and defecting to the revolution. Furthermore, the conservative elites in government, having a deep familiarity with the rise of Radicalism in Poland, had no stomach for close cooperation with the far right, whose militias were perhaps the most effective counter revolutionary force in the Empire by this stage.
On November 3rd, the Imperial elites’ decision was made for them as the Socialist Workers Party executed an expertly organised coup in Vienna under the command of their charismatic leader Ludwig Weidermann. After seizing control of key government buildings, strategic infrastructure and means of communication, Weidermann announced the proclamation of the Vereinigte Sozialistische Volksrepublik, the VSVR, on the steeps of the Imperial Parliament. With red revolutionaries sweeping across the country, this was the death knell for a millennium of German Imperial history, and the last surviving empire tracing its heritage back to the glories of ancient Rome. Yet it also marked the birth of a new world.
Just had been the case in the Rhineland, the socialist revolution across the German lands was accompanied by a brutal red terror. Uncontrolled violence and killings were targetted against the middle and upper classes, who fled the country in their hundreds of thousands, while in the countryside the socialists encouraged poor peasants to ransack manorial estates and even target wealthier independent farmers – dividing their lands and possessions among themselves. Yet even in the context of the anarchic state of open class warfare, the Party was already establishing its grip – rapidly creating the organs of a proletarian dictatorship and solidifying political power around a small clique of party loyalists around Weidermann himself.
While the world looked on, transfixed in awe and horror by events in Germany, revolutionaries around the world saw a shining beacon of hope. In France, this inspiration drove the anti-imperial resistance movement to rebellion, and by late November much of the country we in the midst of the largest national uprising in decades. The leaders of the VSVR saw socialist revolution in France as imperative not only to the security of their own nascent state, but as the next logical step towards the world revolution. They therefore sought to aggressively involve themselves in the rising – sending their armies over the border into Italian and Skottish ruled territories. Desperate to ensure success, and avoid being seen as another invader, they looked to legitimise their intervention by sending a delegation to Normandy – the small French socialist state on the Channel Coast. Pledging an independent French state, and ample assistance from the VSVR, the Germans secured the support of Caen and on December 16th Normandy declared war on France’s occupying powers and sent its armies into enemy territory. The Franco-German revolutionary axis was born.
By the end of December, VSVR troops were already pushing into the German-populated provinces of Skotland and Denmark along the Baltic and North Sea shorelines, and launching probing attacks into the Netherlands. By this stage, the Socialist International had opened hostilities against Skotland, Italy and Andalucia in France and Denmark and the Netherlands in the north. None of these states had traditionally been premier military powers, and there were concerns that the reds might well be able to overwhelm them without support. For this reason, His Holiness the Pope put himself forward as the man to lead Christian civilisation and the decency of the old order to victory against the Godless heathens of the International – declaring war on January 2nd, cajoling Sardinia and Algiers to join the fight shortly later, and sending her armies to the continent to fight. The Second World War, the Great Revolutionary War, had begun.