(Author's Note: what can ruin worlds faster than nuclear weapons? Mod packs, of course!)
Vovchanchyn hadn't joined the navy with the expectation of ending up face down in the mud outside of Leningrad, hiding from fascist bullets, to say nothing of errant communist bullets. "Join the navy, see foreign lands," he muttered as gunfire whistled past his head, prompting him to push himself deeper into the slimy mud of the crude trench.
The world had changed irrevocably five years earlier, and now ripples of the change were threatening to drown people like Vovchanchyn. Five years ago saw the arrival of new, undreamed of units. Before 1876 there had only been two types of tanks, and one type of infantry. It was as if someone had somehow broken into the "rules" of the world and made sweeping, capricious changes, just to see what would happen. Now Germans called themselves "Fascists." Panther and Tiger tanks stalked the Russian steppes, rapidly overruning Kiev and Smolensk. The Russians were hard pressed to counter. Beloved Catherine had simply vanished one day, replaced with a man named "Stalin." He didn't seem as well animated as Catherine, but that was hardly Russia's top concern.
The patter of gunfire fell silent, allowing the cries of the dying to be heard clearly. "There's one thing that hasn't changed," muttered Vovchanchyn.
Vovchanchyn drew a breath and peaked above the lip of the trench. Corpses of men and horses covered the wounded earth like a horrific carpeting. "Cossacks." Vovchanchyn remembered their boasts. "We'll turn back the infantry! If we start losing we can just retreat and reform!" Arrogance, impotent arrogance. For some reason the tactical retreats had failed, for the first time in the storied history of the Cossack Cavalry.
Nightfall signaled the end of another day of killing and dying. "Ivan Aronovich! I didn't think any naval soliders were still alive!" Vovchanchyn was greeted by his patronym by an erstwhile cossack, Boris Daronkov. Boris, like Igor, had been reassigned to the infantry when his previous role proved unnecessary. The two were behind the lines, taking a well deserved break from the madness of war.
"What a world," muttered Igor, taking a cigarette from his friend. "What a world."
Boris laughed. "God must be laughing at us. Those fascists have the same government we have, I mean when you get past the rhetoric, but they are twice as productive. Who's minding things anyway?"
"Governments. I'm not worried about Governments these days. I'm worried that more new German units are going to show up overnight again."
Boris allowed a thin smile. "You need to think globally! We are citizens of the world, you know." The two men laughed bitterly, their cigarettes glowing like fireflies in the darkness.
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Zhukov usually imagined himself as having roughly a 90% chance of surviving a meeting with Stalin. Today, he figured his odds were perhaps even.
"What news do you have of the Heroic War, Georgi Mikhailovich?"
Stalin demanded in his Georgian accent.
Zhukov collected himself from the floor where he had been prostrating himself. "Grim news, comrade leader. Fascist artillery has completely destroyed two infantry units at Kaluga. Moscow is in very real danger." Zhukov prepared for the expolsion.
The explosion occured. "Artillery! Killed a unit! That can't happen! Talk sense man!" Stalin's face flushed red with rage.
Zhukov swallowed a sigh. "Our experts believed that to be true based on the history of past wars. It's just things have changed so much in the last five years."
"I don't need you to tell me that! Idiot!"
Zhukov set his jaw. It was a good thing he hadn't mentioned the Battleship sunk by a German bomber near Sevastopol. At least the bomber had somehow crashed after finishing the job.
"Imbecile! The only reason you leave here alive is because I'm a wise and genorous man!"
Zhukov missed Catherine, even if the memory of her attempts to seduce him caused involuntary wincing to this day. He was not unambitious, but there were some things he wouldn't do, and she was one of them.
"You will lead the armies at Kaluga. If you fail, I'll assign you to rushing a wonder so fast..."
Zhukov cringed. He knew that was a death sentence for even a great leader, let alone a mere two-star general.
"Thank you, comrade leader. You are too good to me." Zhukov prostated himself.
"Get out of my sight. If I see you again with bad news..." Stalin let the sentence hang in the air. There was no doubt he'd let Zhukov hang that way too, should he fail. Zuhkov hurried out of the office, the weight of his new tasks bearing down on him. How could he win a war when everything he thought was right was now wrong?"
I'd love to hear comments, criticisms, etc.
Vovchanchyn hadn't joined the navy with the expectation of ending up face down in the mud outside of Leningrad, hiding from fascist bullets, to say nothing of errant communist bullets. "Join the navy, see foreign lands," he muttered as gunfire whistled past his head, prompting him to push himself deeper into the slimy mud of the crude trench.
The world had changed irrevocably five years earlier, and now ripples of the change were threatening to drown people like Vovchanchyn. Five years ago saw the arrival of new, undreamed of units. Before 1876 there had only been two types of tanks, and one type of infantry. It was as if someone had somehow broken into the "rules" of the world and made sweeping, capricious changes, just to see what would happen. Now Germans called themselves "Fascists." Panther and Tiger tanks stalked the Russian steppes, rapidly overruning Kiev and Smolensk. The Russians were hard pressed to counter. Beloved Catherine had simply vanished one day, replaced with a man named "Stalin." He didn't seem as well animated as Catherine, but that was hardly Russia's top concern.
The patter of gunfire fell silent, allowing the cries of the dying to be heard clearly. "There's one thing that hasn't changed," muttered Vovchanchyn.
Vovchanchyn drew a breath and peaked above the lip of the trench. Corpses of men and horses covered the wounded earth like a horrific carpeting. "Cossacks." Vovchanchyn remembered their boasts. "We'll turn back the infantry! If we start losing we can just retreat and reform!" Arrogance, impotent arrogance. For some reason the tactical retreats had failed, for the first time in the storied history of the Cossack Cavalry.
Nightfall signaled the end of another day of killing and dying. "Ivan Aronovich! I didn't think any naval soliders were still alive!" Vovchanchyn was greeted by his patronym by an erstwhile cossack, Boris Daronkov. Boris, like Igor, had been reassigned to the infantry when his previous role proved unnecessary. The two were behind the lines, taking a well deserved break from the madness of war.
"What a world," muttered Igor, taking a cigarette from his friend. "What a world."
Boris laughed. "God must be laughing at us. Those fascists have the same government we have, I mean when you get past the rhetoric, but they are twice as productive. Who's minding things anyway?"
"Governments. I'm not worried about Governments these days. I'm worried that more new German units are going to show up overnight again."
Boris allowed a thin smile. "You need to think globally! We are citizens of the world, you know." The two men laughed bitterly, their cigarettes glowing like fireflies in the darkness.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Zhukov usually imagined himself as having roughly a 90% chance of surviving a meeting with Stalin. Today, he figured his odds were perhaps even.
"What news do you have of the Heroic War, Georgi Mikhailovich?"
Stalin demanded in his Georgian accent.
Zhukov collected himself from the floor where he had been prostrating himself. "Grim news, comrade leader. Fascist artillery has completely destroyed two infantry units at Kaluga. Moscow is in very real danger." Zhukov prepared for the expolsion.
The explosion occured. "Artillery! Killed a unit! That can't happen! Talk sense man!" Stalin's face flushed red with rage.
Zhukov swallowed a sigh. "Our experts believed that to be true based on the history of past wars. It's just things have changed so much in the last five years."
"I don't need you to tell me that! Idiot!"
Zhukov set his jaw. It was a good thing he hadn't mentioned the Battleship sunk by a German bomber near Sevastopol. At least the bomber had somehow crashed after finishing the job.
"Imbecile! The only reason you leave here alive is because I'm a wise and genorous man!"
Zhukov missed Catherine, even if the memory of her attempts to seduce him caused involuntary wincing to this day. He was not unambitious, but there were some things he wouldn't do, and she was one of them.
"You will lead the armies at Kaluga. If you fail, I'll assign you to rushing a wonder so fast..."
Zhukov cringed. He knew that was a death sentence for even a great leader, let alone a mere two-star general.
"Thank you, comrade leader. You are too good to me." Zhukov prostated himself.
"Get out of my sight. If I see you again with bad news..." Stalin let the sentence hang in the air. There was no doubt he'd let Zhukov hang that way too, should he fail. Zuhkov hurried out of the office, the weight of his new tasks bearing down on him. How could he win a war when everything he thought was right was now wrong?"
I'd love to hear comments, criticisms, etc.
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