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Aug 26, 2004
The ruthless Tsarist soldiers march down a seemingly endless flight of stairs in a rhythmic, machine-like fashion, slaughtering a crowd of innocents as they attempt to flee down the stairs before the soldiers reach them. These were the Odessa Steps, the Battleship Potemkin had revolted against its officers, and now the army was coming to regain control.

Feofan Karpov, Viktor Kraminov, and Kliment Pavlyuchenko sat in awe watching the spectacle unfold across the screen. Feofan was amazed at the sights and music surronding him, his dark eyes, and even darker hair blending into the darkness of the theater. Viktor sat his arms folded across his chest blonde haired and blue eyed making him more German then Russian. Kliment ate a small bag of nuts, licking the salt from his fingers, except for his large pointed nose he was a close match to Feofan. The three boys sat side by side in the Steel Workers Palace of Culture. Like most clubs the Palace had rooms for every sport or hobby possible, this one had a cinema. The boys had never seen a movie and the first one they saw was The Battleship Potemkin.

When it as over the three walked out of the theater, “That was amazing! I swear I could touch those people.” Viktor said balancing himself on the cobblestone side walk. Feofan and Kliment followed behind enjoying the nice weather of June 1927.
“ I hear a new film will come around every week.” Feofan said taking his top coat off, preferring to walk in the thin cotton shirt instead. The three boys were seventeen and almost done with secondary school. Each one was lucky for their parents were full party members, which ensured none of them had to get a job. No education was important, but where to go for it was the farthest thing from their minds. The Soviet Union was improving from what little they remember of Russia. The streets were clean, party banners, and posters covers every wall giving it much needed color. The arts and culture flourished under Communism, and Stalin’s five years plans improved everything from the factory conditions, to the amount of jobs.

Of course this is Soviet Russia through the eyes of two NKVD men and a Moscow Militia commander’s sons. Food was always on the table, they lived in houses that had electricity, and no one would ever knock down their doors.

Around sundown the boys found themselves in a street café. The Red Flag was were many of their classmates went, and it served good food. Many suspected the owner dabbled in the black market but no one seemed to care.

“My father wants to know my scores for the examinations for the end of the term.” Feofan said sullenly.

“ I know the feeling Comrade. My mother beats me about the head every time she sees my math skills. ‘Any boy of mine should do better. After all the good your brother and sister did for the Young Pioneers’ That gets old so fast,” Kliment said taking a sip of the harsh liquid that passed for coffee.

“Father wants me to get into the Militia like him. Why would anyone want to work on roads all?” Feofan pulled out a cigarette lighting it up with a smile. His father while in the Moscow Militia was in charge of road maintenance. An important job but hardly glamorous to a seventeen year old.

“Why not go for the army?” Viktor said.

“What?” Feofan and Kliment said in unison.

“Think about it. We sign up now, get to skip the rest of the school term and pass might I add. We get our conscription out of the way, get those nice little Young Pioneer citizenship medals, and our families get to brag at how responsible we are.” Viktor grinned, he was allows a rogue but every so often he had the most amazing ideas.

The trio got up sliding a few kopeks down, and walking around the edge of Moscow. With a smile they located a recruiting station. The Soviet Union was always willing for anyone who wanted to volunteer. Not many did it, in Feofan’s mind he never understood why. Got service out of the way, looks good on your record, and you get a nice stipend for doing it. After a brief conversation, and proof of identification the three boys stepped back. A portly Russian with a thick Georgian accent stood up, “Do you swear that the information you have supplied is accurate? To serve the Soviet Union to the best of your abilities? To spread the Revolution when the need arises?”
“I swear to serve the Soviet Union.” the three boys said. Each received a paper with instructions, and a date to appear for training. At home Feofan told his father what he had done. He looked down, and held his hand out, “I am proud of you son.”

“Thank you father.” Feofan felt a slight sliver of pride as he shook his fathers hand, for the first time he realized he was man.
Nice start! Looking forward to this one.
Great start, shaping up to be very interesting.
The summer of 1928 was cheery in Leningrad compound. Located just twenty kilometers from the city of Leningrad it would have been the perfect place to spend long lazy days, but Feofan Karpov was in the army now. No time for such leisure. He was barely eighteen but he kept up with the other new recruits as they went through the seemingly endless drills, marches, and conditioning. The one thing drilled into each Soviet soldier was to obey, the officers knew what they were doing, and would tell you so as often as they could.

Perhaps the only stroke of luck Feofan had was that he was under going basic training with his friends Viktor Kraminov, and Kliment Pavlyuchenko. Feofan always had someone to watch his back, and his friends could say the same. Being the youngest men in the camp they assumed they would be picked on, but in fact they were given a small amount of respect. Giving up easy lives in Moscow and joining up for the sheer fact of serving the nation? Hell, some looked at them in awe. Of course the three teenagers were only in the army so they could get out of the final few months of secondary school, but no one needed to know that.

Every Thursday from 0800 to 1100 hrs the trio and their squad would go into the large building at the center of the compound. Inside they would be given instruction on the communist manifesto, and how the dialect was to guide every principle in their military and civilian lives. The instructor was a nice looking man who smiled every chance he got, his name was Andrey Ivanov. He was one of the NKVD officals attached to teach and what over new soldiers.
“Now as we can see from this the world is in turmoil. The capitalists spread their influence to every possible person. Only the Soviet Union has the strength to resist such reactionary tactics. What you need to understand comrades is that all we must do is wait for the time of revolution and then these people too will be free.” Feofan sat listening, as did Viktor. Kliment raised his hand, “Comrade Commissar?”

“Yes private Pavlyuchenko?”

“ You speak of waiting. Could it not be said, that if the Russian people waited according to the dialect then the October Revolution would not have occurred?” The room went silent, the NKVD man wrote something on the roll sheet.

“Please explain yourself Comrade Pavlyuchenko.” Ivanov said his face looking like a stone.

“From a Marxist perspective, the actually-existing basic classes in today's advanced economies are the capitalist class, the new middle classes who engage in both labor and managerial responsibilities, self-employed proprietors, the working class and a lower "lumpenised" stratum. Marxism teaches us that the Revolution shall occur on its own from this working class, the upper class will fight it, and the lumpenised shall delay it. The actions of the October Revolution proved this to be misleading.” Kliment said in a matter of fact manner.

Ivanov leaned forward, Feofan and Viktor sat back silent unsure were their friend was going. Feofan watched as Ivanov moved his pencil over a piece of paper writing faster as Kliment spoke. Kliment cleared his throat, “The progression of society is to move from Feudalism, Capitalism, Imperialism, and similar to a system in Italy…. What it is called?”

“Fascism.” Feofan replied.

“Ahh thank you Comrade. Russia never made the full transition from Feudalism to Capitalism. This is due to the intervention of the Communist forces. Without whom the working class would have instead be persuaded by the promises of the bourgeoisie.”

Ivanov listened and nodded. “ So your interpretation is that intervention and forcing the Revolution is the better way to achieve the beliefs of Lenin, and Marx?”

“ Look to America. They are rich, but only on the backs of those who toil in the fields, and factories. Would we Russians be in a similar position if men like Lenin and Stalin where not there to push forward the dialect?” Feofan said with conviction, of course Stalin spent the October Revolution sipping tea in a pretty girls parlor, but he and most Soviets never knew that.

Viktor pointed to Feofan, “Good point, but could not also the argument be made that the lumpen proletariat, by definition, will be in the way of any attempt to encourage Revolution? So men should be present to push the ideals of Communism.”

Ivanov sat behind his desk his hands laced in front of him. “It is 1034 hrs I shall call it a day. You are free, and I understand you are not to report back for training till 1300 so enjoy yourselves Comrades.”
The soldiers all stood up smiling glad to have time to laze about. Ivanov stood by the door saying goodbye to each man when Feofan made it his hand set on the young mans shoulder, “Wait a moment Comrades.”
i wonder what Feofan wanted to talk to them about...a promotion? a trip to Lubyanka?
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The NKVD or People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs was a government department which handled a number of the Soviet Union's affairs of state. The Cheka was reorganized in 1922 as the State Political Directorate or GPU of the NKVD of the Russian SFSR. Upon the formation of the Soviet Union in 1923, the GPU was transformed into the OGPU (Joint State Political Directorate), under the Council of People's Commissars of the USSR. The NKVD of the RSFSR retained control of the militsiya, as well as various other responsibilities. Among which was the relocation and liquidation of dissenting elements in Soviet society.

Such thoughts came to mind to Kliment Pavlyuchenko, Viktor Kraminov, and Feofan Karpov. The Commissar stood with his hand on Feofan’s shoulder, “I wish to speak with each of you.”

“Yes Comrade Commissar.” Viktor said. The three eighteen years olds walked back into Andrey Ivanov’s office. It was rather large with four tables each with five chairs around facing his desk. Ivanov opened a drawer to his desk and closed it. The loud noise made Feofan wince.
“Relax Comrade Karpov. You are not in trouble.” Ivanov said a smile across his face. He like most NKVD officers received an almost morbid sense of pride from the fear of his title alone. Ivanov set a state issued copy of the Communist Manifesto on his desk. Looking at the men before him his hand rested on the book, “This is perhaps the greatest political writing in the history of literature. It sits proudly beside Plato’s Republic, The Prince, and to a lesser extent The Federalist Papers of the Americans. Now I must ask, and please feel free to speak the truth, what gives you the insight to comment on this writing?”

Ivanov looked to each boy, staring into their eyes. Viktor squirmed in his chair, “Well Comrade….”

“Yes?” Ivanov turned to him with a thin smile. His eyes flashing like a serpents. Feofan leaned forward his hand half heartedly in the air, “May I speak Comrade Ivanov?”

“Of course. Do explain yourself.” Ivanov stood up and went closer pulling a chair out leaning against the back of it. Feofan felt his mind race at what to say. Before him and his friends was quite possibly a man willing to make him disappear to the East like so many others. “ We have grown up learning the ins and outs of Socialism, and the teachings of Marx. We in no way are saying these teachings are flawed. I believe with all my heart that Communism will let the workers of the world attain the freedom so many nations claim to have. At the same time I live in the Soviet Union. We are a military state, the government itself tells us every day that the Revolution shall spread to the rest of the world. Kliment was criticizing the examples of Marx, but pointing out a serious flaw in the almost religious belief that the Revolution will occur with no outside help.”

Ivanov held up his right hand and slowly began cracking each knuckle. His face showed nothing but his mind began taking in what was said, “Comrade Karpov you were the leader of a Young Pioneer group correct?”

“Yes Comrade Ivanov. Since I was fifteen.” Feofan let out a sigh his foot tapping the floor.

“Each of your personal files are very impressive. Average students, but you are involved in various activities outside of school. Comrade Pavlyuchenko has years in Moscow Secondary School 12’s study groups, Comrade Kraminov has a very long history with the local sport clubs, and you Comrade Karpov,” Ivanov pointed to Feofan, “you are just a very well behaved citizen.”
Ivanov went to his desk and picked up his copy of the Communist Manifesto, “Comrades you have very good insights into Marxism. I would like you to expand upon these thoughts.” He held the book to Karpov.

“How sir?” Viktor asked looking very relieved.

“By sitting down and writing your thoughts out, and expanding them till you cannot do such anymore.” Ivanov said with a smile, “You may keep that copy of the Manifesto.”

“Thank you Comrade Ivanov,” Kliment cleared his throat, “ Would this not interfere with our basic training?”

Ivanov sat down pulling out a sheet of paper, “True, but you will be promoted to corporal. Private….” He smiled, “Apologies, Corporal Karpov will be your two minute superior. He seems to express his thoughts with greater aptitude.”

The trio smiled brightly Karpov stood up and saluted, quickly followed by Viktor, and Kliment, “Thank you Comrade Commissar.”
It had been three weeks since Kliment Pavlyuchenko, Viktor Kraminov, and Feofan Karpov, were promoted. With a slight increase in wages for being NCOs, money that went straight to their families in Moscow, the trio was given less demands on physical skills, and more command skills. Of course the Leningrad compound was no place to learn these skills. Leningrad city itself had an academy for higher ranking soldiers.
“This is referred to as the point to point movement doctrine. Ideally a machine gun will lay down covering fire for a squad to move forward,” Colonel Nathan Brodsky spoke with a Moscow accent, much like the boys. “The lessons of the Revolution proved this an effective tactic against the White’s. Now some may wonder why you all need to know this, but as officers of the Red Army you are expected to take up the call if and when your superior is killed in action.” Brodsky glanced to the sergeants in the room, and then to the corporals assembled. Feofan felt him tap the pips on his collar. Viktor leaned in his chair listening; Kliment on the other hand had a small stack of papers beside him. He wrote down every word, “At what point would the machine gun be moved forward Comrade Colonel?”

Brodsky looked for who spoke then smiled seeing Kliment with his hand up, “Excellent question Comrade Pavlyuchenko. The machine gun is to be considered the corner stone of infantry movement. It moves up if, and only if, the infantry it supports can lay down acceptable covering fire.”

“How difficult is it to move the gun?” Feofan asked. The other soldiers let out a small laugh. A sergeant leaned forward, “The Maxim is either on a tripod which the loader and machine gunner move, or it is on two wheels which one person can push, while the other carries the ammunition.”

Feofan nodded in thanks. Brodsky cocked his head to the side, “Have you not practiced with the machinegun?”

The three looked at each other and then Viktor spoke up, “No Colonel Brodsky. We received training in rifle operations, and grenade practices. We were promoted before we witnessed and learned of Maxim operations.”

Brodsky nodded, “Very well. Please familiarize yourselves with it for next class, we will be seeing how it works with these tactics with the men.” With that class was over, everyone collected their things and left. Most of the others went to either drill, or be drilled. The three corporals on the other hand made their way from the two-story brick building to the larger building in the center of the quad. Before the Revolution the Tsars, and other exploiters used this academy for dinner parties in the summer. Feofan sneered at that fact every chance he could. Now it was serving a purpose, and the Soviet Union.

Besides housing the senior officers and NKVD officials, it also had an extensive library left over from the days of the Tsar, and expanded with more relevant books on Communism. The three boys took the back corner table as they had been doing for the past week. As Kliment and Viktor roamed the stacks for books ranging from History to Geography, Feofan went to the front desk.

“Hello Comrade Kanulagiv.” Feofan said.

A slender man in a plain military tunic looked up from his stacks, “It is that time already Comrade?”

“Yes it is.” Karpov said with a smile. Kanulagiv got up and walked over hefting a typewriter onto the counter. “Ink ribbon is full, please return it when you are done.”

Feofan picked the clunky device up and went to the back table. Viktor flipped through page after page in a retrospective look upon Imperialistic Nations. Kliment reached into his satchel pulling out the twenty three-page papers the three Soldiers had been working on. Sitting down and cracking his knuckles Feofan got comfortable, “So where did we leave off last time?”

Kliment went to the last page, “We where discussing the transitional periods between Feudalistic, Capitalistic, and Imperialistic dogma’s.” Kliment reached into his page and pulled out his reading glasses.
“Ahh thank you.” The three then spent the next two hours writing researching and arguing over various points. When it was all over Karpov sat back rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I think we are done.” Viktor said with a smile.

“What do we call it?” Feofan asked, pulling the final sheet of paper from the Soviet typewriter.

“The Red Army Manifesto?” Kliment said.

“No. How about the Stalinist Doctrine?” Viktor grinned at his words.

“Trinity.” Feofan blurted out.

“What?” Kliment looked to his friend.

“Trinity. You, Viktor, and I that is a trinity.” Feofan answered.

“The Trinity Doctrine.” Viktor finally said. Feofan put a sheet of paper into the typewriter and wrote Trinity Doctrine: a critique of geopolitical politics and Marxism. With that the three eighteen-year-old corporals from Moscow had finished their task.
Before any comments can be made a purpose should be pointed out. We soldiers int he Red Army, and citzens of the Soviet Union have serious problems with the Marxist-Leninist doctrine so many Communists around the world cling to. We are Stalinist's, we believe the Soviet Union should be strong, and it should expand. While other European Communist states, Bavarian Socalist Republic of 1919, and the Hungary communist revolt ended, the sheer willpower and guiding hand of Stalin has allowed the Russian people to live in freedom.

As this is being written the world is experincing a time of change. Monarchies of old have crumbled, and new "free" nations have appeared in Western, and Eastern Europe even Asia. Yet each nation has small diffrences in capitalism, and pseudo-Socalism.

The differences in such systems do not even need to be looked at. After all the British, Russian, French, German, and to a lesser extent American histories are filled with the inherent problems with these systems. The British Empire is a prime example of the underhanded ways the Bourgeoisie exploit its citizens. In England the rich become richer, and the poor struggle to make a living. In her colonies the simple fact that the British have guns ensures they will exploit both African and Indian for their labor.

America is experiencing an unparalleled growth in industry, and its economy. They become rich by giving money to the Germans, which they in turn give to the British and French, who in turn buy American steel, coal, and grain. All of this is supposedly done thanks to an invisible hand guiding the Capitalist system.

History has shown us that the economy of these nations must eventually fall. When this occurs the time for Revolution will not be any better. If American cannot pay Germany, then Germany must pay France and England from its own pocket. Something they cannot do. France and England will then have no surplus of funds to buy from the Americans leaving the entire system of exploitation in shambles.

When this occurs the Soviet Union, and all like-minded Communists must act. First taking the Eastern nations. China and its Emperor have fallen, so the transition between Feudalism and Capitalism is in the process. If acting quickly the transition can go direct from Feudalism to Communism. After that spreading out into the Middle East, and Afghanistan. Japan will be taken out and Russia will achieve victory after the shameful Tsarist defeat of 1905.
Once Socialism flows through the rivers and valleys of the orient, the Red Army can move out into India. The resource rich region will be the first step in crippling England. With such a nation of resources and liberated people to help the Soviet Union can push into the Middle East, taking out the remaining Sultan inspired rulers, and English and French puppets.
A push through Poland, Germany, and France will then be needed. Russia with its large and willing population can easily make their way through the distraught Capitalist societies. All that then remains is to build up forces and either take America by force, or wait for the American people to liberate themselves.
Once this occurs Stalin shall take his place as the kind and benevolent leader of a global Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.

NKVD officer Pytor Ralipun looked over the thirty five page paper. He skimmed through each line with care. Nothing against the current state, but it was making a comment on the faulty logic of Marxist Doctrine. Of course it was not a comment on the doctrine, but the previous observations of Marxism.

He spent three hours looking over the paper again. Pulling out a pen he drew a line through the title Trinity Doctrine: a critique of geopolitical politics and Marxism , he then wrote down Trinity Doctrine: A Stalinist view of geopolitical politics. With a smile Ralipun stamped the word approved on the cover sheet.
This is very, very good. Onwards to WC!