Arsenal of Communism - A Soviet AoD AAR

[TheLoneGunman]

Arsenal of Communism

"Without revolutionary theory there can be no revolutionary movement." - Vladimir Lenin

Introduction

Brave Workers! Brave Peasants! Brave Soldiers! Your Motherland calls out to you! In this time of class struggle, only the Revolution can provide guidance. From Russia, to the ends of the Earth. From October until the end of time. The Soviet Union shall stand firm in her protection of the Proletariat. Comrade Lenin has shown us the plan for a worker's paradise. With your help and support it will come to pass. The tyranny of capitalism shall come crashing down thanks to you.

Table of Contents
Prologue - Plight of the People
Chapter 1 - The Second Five Year Plan
Chapter 2 - Revolution Knows No Bounds

​

 

[TheLoneGunman]

Prologue - Plight of the People

"It is impossible to predict the time and progress of revolution. It is governed by its own more or less mysterious laws." - Vladimir Lenin

September 2nd, 1919

Glints of sunlight slowly crept through the windows of the houses on the outskirts of the small Ukranian town of Fastov as Tuesday morning came. When the light reached young Abram's face it stirred him into a state of consciousness. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in his bed, outside of his window he could hear the birds singing songs to one another as they too awoke from their slumber. After a deep breath of fresh air, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sprung up ready to greet the day on his feet. When Abram made his way out of his room, he found his mother busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast. "Good morning mother," he told her as she scrambled to and fro gathering ingredients for the meal. "Good morning my dear," she responded without a single delay in her activity, "Would you please put on your boots and walk to town? We are out of bread and I want breakfast to be ready when your father gets up. There's some money on the counter." Abram had always been amazed at his mother's powers of concentration, she always seemed to know what was going on in the house or where everything was, to him it was truly quite magical. He smiled and told her, "Of course mother, and I promise I'll pick the finest loaf of bread they have!" Returning to his room, Abram quickly got dressed and prepared to set out into town.

The walk to town was around 3 kilometers or so, but one should never underestimate the speed and stamina of an energenic 9-year-old boy. Abram made haste because he did not want to disappoint his mother and have his father awaken for breakfast only to find that there was no bread. When Abram was smaller, he remembered that his father would always be the first one up in the house and seemed so much happier. When he went off to fight in the war and came back, he wasn't the same father that Abram remembered though. Something terrible had hurt his father and made him very sad during that time. He slept more than he used to, he shook when he walked or when he tried to grab things, and he was always short of breath at the slightest bit of physical labor. Being a curious boy, Abram had asked his father once what had happened when he was away. He would never forget his father's reaction. With all of his strength, his father had grabbed him by his shoulders, shaking furiously at the effort. Abram had looked into his father's eyes and saw them glaze over, and his father told him, "Son, never ask me that question ever again!" His father's warning wasn't what had scared him though, it was the tears that streamed down his face after that had shook poor Abram to his very core. He had never seen his father cry before or since. As he drifted through these memories Fastov slowly came into view, when he got closer still he realized, something was terribly wrong.

Flames were dancing across the rooftops of smouldering houses throughout the town. Abram froze in confused horror on the road as he watched men, women, and children running out of the burning buildings. He saw men in uniform rounding up those who made it out of the houses. For several minutes he watched the soldiers gather up the people into a long line and march them just outside of the town. Once they had been assembled into a neat formation, the soldiers raised their rifles and the crackle of gunfire rang out through the countryside and into Abram's ears. Where the townsfolk had been standing just moments before was now a cluttered mess of bodies laying motionless. He saw a group of soldiers look in his direction, gesturing at him and starting to march toward him. Abram tried to turn and run, but terror had gripped his body and it refused to obey. The wind had changed direction and the smoke that was now choking the town filled his nostrils. He gasped as it entered his lungs and he began to choke. The choking broke the hold that had been placed upon him though and he stumbled backwards several steps before turning and running back towards his home at full speed. He had to warn his family before it was too late.

His legs ached as he ran, his heart racing to pump enough blood to keep his muscles moving. Abram dared not look back, for fear of what he might see. In his mind he assured himself that so long as he did not look back there was no way that the soldiers could catch up to him. He had been running for what seemed like an eternity when he came upon his house. To his shock, a group of soldiers stood at the entrance of his home guarding the door. He quickly darted into the bushes and made his way to the rear of the house where he listened through the window. He could hear voices shouting from inside, and quickly recognized one of them as his father. "Lieutenant Orest Rabinovich," one of the stranger's voices said, "You are under arrest for the following crimes: Treason to the Tsar. Abandoning your military post. Being a member of the Jewish-Bolshevik Movement. Have you any words of regret?" Abram strained forward, closer to the window to hear his father's retort. "My God! Mischa, we served together! Bled together against the Germans! You were there when they attacked us with gas, you saw what it did to most of us. You saw what it did to me." He could hear his father pause and wheeze deeply searching desperately for more air to fill his lungs. "How dare you come to my house and accuse me of such things. I want you out, out of my house this instant!" "I'm afraid it's not that simple Orest," he heard the stranger's voice say. "These lands have been seized by General Denikin, and we have strict orders to find any and all Jewish traitors as well as those who refuse to fight on behalf of the Tsar-" "The Tsar is dead Mischa! He's been dead!" His father interrupted in the loudest shout he could muster. One of the other men in the room then spoke up, "The words of a traitor! I told you this Jew was a traitor sir!" The voice his father had called Mischa then spoke once more, "Quiet, the decision has already been made. In accordance with the will of the Tsar and the Church as represented by the noble Volunteer Army, you have been found guilty of all charges and are sentenced to death. May god have mercy on your soul." Before another word could be uttered, the loud crack of a rifle blast made its way out of the house and out into the countryside. Abram heard his mother scream, and then another gunshot and the screaming stopped. Tears welled up in his eyes and he clenched his fists tight, and a lone sob escaped his lips. He could hear one of the men inside say, "Did you hear that? I heard something outside, sounds like a child!" Terrified, Abram took off running once more, heading as far away from Fastov and his home as he could. Everything he knew, everyone he loved, his entire world was gone, shattered in the time it took to fire two bullets.

September 8th, 1919

After days of wandering lost, lonely, and hungry, Abram came upon a caravan of equally weary people. When they noticed poor Abram he tried to speak to them, but collapsed in a heap on the road in front of them. It turned out that they were refugees fleeing the Ukraine to escape the White Russians and make their way into the Bolshevik-held territory to the north in Orel. The leader of the expedition was Igorek Lebedev, a young Bolshevik that had lost his wife and children in Kharkov when the Whites had plundered the city. Seeing the young boy laying motionless on the road, he dismounted his horse, picked Abram up over his shoulder and then placed him inside one of the wagons and asked that someone bring the boy some water and food. They had encountered several refugees in their trek, but this was the first time he had seen a boy so small and fragile make his way to their caravan alone. As he climbed back upon his horse, he could not help but be reminded of his own sons. He would repay their sacrifice one day he swore, but for now, he must save these poor people. Rumor had it that the Whites were on the march north once again, looking for loot and plunder no doubt, and Igorek was determined to reach Orel before Denikin's forces could. From there, he would find a way to continue to help the people. Or he would die trying.

September 13th, 1919

Abram awoke in a strange room. He felt dizzy and confused, but for the first time in days he managed to stay awake and somewhat coherent. He heard footsteps outside of his door and a voice say, "Igorek, quick! The boy is finally coming to!" His vision blurred, Abram could scarcely make out the figure that emerged from the door to the room. The voice of the man seemed eerily familiar though he could not for the world of him understand why. "Ah, good morning young Comrade. I was beginning to worry you would never wake up for more than a few minutes at a time. It was quite difficult trying to keep you from dying of hunger or thirst." Abram could recall what seemed like dreams, brief shadowy glimpses of the ceiling and the man's words travelling through his mind. "Who are you?" Abram asked, still confused. "I am Igorek, and you happened upon our caravan while we were on our way to the city of Orel. Now, what is your name young Comrade?" Abram's vision began to clear gradually as his eyes adjusted to the light of day, "My name is Abram, and why do you keep calling me Comrade?" "All in good time Abram," Igorek responded, patting the boy on the head, "Now, I need to know, do you have any family?" Abram shook his head and said, "No, I have no family." Igorek let out a deep wounded sigh and looking down at Abram said, "I once thought like you, but I know now that I do indeed have a family, and that family includes you and many others. This you will come to see, and that is why I call you Comrade." Another man entered the room and whispered into Igorek's ear. When the man was done, Igorek looked back down at Abram again and said, "Now, I have some business to attend to, I want you to remain in bed, someone will bring you food and water. I will return when I have finished, then I can help teach you everything you need to know about your true family and our struggle." For Abram, a young boy who for days had thought himself the only person left in the world, these words helped soothe the deep wounds in his sould, and left him curious to learn more.

 

[Hastatii]

so far awesome! cant wait for more

 

[TheLoneGunman]

Chapter 1 - The Second Five Year Plan

"We are 100 years behind the advanced countries. We must make good this lag in ten years. Either we do it, or they crush us!" - Joseph Stalin

January 1st, 1936

Factories, as far as the eye could see. The industrial might of the Soviet Union had grown slowly out of the embers of World War and Revolution. The Five Year Plan, Stalin's goal to dramatically increase industrial output and resource production in the span of five years or less had been a relatively great success, all propaganda aside. "Comrade Cherevin, they're ready for your speech." Viktor shook himself from his gaze across Moscow's massive industrial complex and back to ground level. He approached the podium and shuffled his notes carefully. When he looked out, he saw hundreds if not thousands of people all standing, waiting for his every word. "Mighty workers of the Soviet Union! Brave students of Comrade Lenin! Loyal believers in the guidance of Comrade Stalin! Today we celebrate the laying of a new foundation for our glorious capital. We celebrate the start of construction on the newest and largest factory complex the world has yet seen. We have poured our blood into our efforts, and they are paying off. Even now, the capitalists stand by jealously watching our progress, attempting to compete with the will of united workers. An attempt that can only result in absolute failure on their part. All they can manage is to break the backs of their poor, suffering citizens. Comrade Stalin expects this factory complex to be completed by the end of his brilliant Second Five Year Plan in 1937, but I have already promised our generous leader that this will not be necessary, for we shall have this factory complex finished by the end of this year!" The crowd erupted into jubilant cheers as he continued, "We have already seen coal and metal production increase greatly from the previous plan, and we have accomplished much since the beginning of the Second Five Year Plan, but with these factories, we shall have met and exceeded the quotas that have been given to us, and we shall show the world that it is workers who will shape our destiny." Viktor went on for another several minutes, going over the various details of previous successes and how they would reach their goals ahead of time. The crowd was enthusiastically applauding when he finished, and as he left the podium a young man in an NKVD uniform walked up and began to recite to the rally the names of traitors that had confessed to crimes against the people for attempting to sabotage construction of various projects and had been executed, much to the crowd's morbid delight. Viktor got into a waiting car and slumped down in the passenger seat, looking at the driver he said, "Take me back to the office, I still have much work to do."

Back at his office, Viktor looked over the latest estimates for all of the projects he had been assigned by the State Committee for Planning. There were infrastructure projects all over the Soviet Union that he was responsible for, and the majority of them were not on schedule. It was not good, the deadlines Stalin has decided upon were far too short, and there was not enough current industrial output in the entire country to complete them all at maximum efficiency. Priority would of course be put on Moscow, but the factory complex he had just gave a speech about was supposed to have broken ground last year, and yet with all of the work on Moscow's infrastructure he could not devote enough workers and resources to speed up the process. He reached under his desk to a small cabinet that he had installed secretly. From within this cabinet he procured a bottle and poured the clear liquid into the mug on his desk, quickly placing the bottle back into its secret hiding place. If word ever got out that he had black market vodka in his office, he shuddered to think of the potential consequences. A few gulps from his mug though, and he was finally resolved to concentrate on the matters at hand. The Red Army had been requesting that a number of able-bodied workers be transferred into service for newly created infantry divisions. This was of course unacceptable and would put progress on the factories back by months, luckily Viktor knew one of the men on the army general staff, an old veteran of the Revolution that he might be able to deal with. Perhaps with some arm twisting and the promise of a few hundred new tanks once the factories were finished, he could convince his friend to hold off on the demands for more troops. He could not write to his friend, to put such a deal in writing was career suicide, since anything that was written down could and would be used against you if the NKVD caught wind of it, no matter how trivial. No, he would have to see his friend in person for this request. Another swig of vodka finished his thoughts on the matter and he turned his attention to the oil fields of Baku, which Stalin had demanded increase output by a minimum of 5% compared to the previous year.

As night fell, the crowds gathered for the rally in the industrial heart of Moscow began to clear. The NKVD agent that had been speaking earlier was making his way to the bus stop for his long ride home. Truly, he despised having to make appearances at these rallies, they wasted time he could be using to hunt down traitors, but the Moscow Office had decided publically condemning these criminals after they were caught was good for the morale of the people, and the workers seemed to enjoy hearing about the latest bout of public executions. The crimes were various, but the majority lately had been related to Secretary Stalin's economic policies. The push to industrialize the nation had been made the single objective of the people, and there were those who purposefully worked slow, went to work late, or criticized procedure. This was of course sabotage, and had to be dealt with. For months, he'd been gathering evidence in factories, observing time sheets, resource allocation, productivity reports, even working undercover as a factory worker to root out all of the poisonous elements that sought to destroy the hard work of the people. He'd personally interrogated the majority of offenders, determined to expose potential underground organizations. The questioning rarely turned up such evidence, but under his fine touch many had openly turned in friends and family that were known to have committed crimes against the state and the people. He was determined to defend the interests of the people, for in his mind, the people were his family, they were his very reason for existence, and he would protect them as a shepherd would protect his flock. As he sat waiting for the bus to arrive, a small group of NKVD agents approached him, one of them took a final drag from his cigarette and said, "Excellent report. Commissar Yezhov was pleased to hear of it." The agent at the bus stop replied, "The work of a loyal party member is never finished Major Korskii." The Major produced another cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it before saying, "Yes, this much is true. Still, I will be watching you Comrade Rabinovich. I may have need for you on my specialized team. When the time comes, I will contact you further." Then, as quickly as the agents had made their presence known to him, he was alone yet again at the bus stop waiting for his ride home.

 

[TheLoneGunman]

Hastatii - Thanks for the reply! This is my second attempt at an HOI AAR, hopefully I do much better this time. This will also be my first full game of AoD. I plan on trying to include much more in-game pics as the game progresses, but I've found so many awesome propaganda posters that it's gonna be hard not to try and include them as well.

 

[Amallric]

Twenty-seven IC for infrastructure???

BTW nice propaganda posters

 

[von Sachsen]

So that's where the 2+2-5 came from. And excellent writing, subscribed.

 

[Hastatii]

very interesting reading I must say, I havent read so much about pre war Soviet Union so everything here is fresh and new

so the little jewish boy from the prologue have become an NKVD agent? :O

 

[Mortu]

The propaganda dazzles me

I am curious, why 1939 start and not 1936? ^_^

 

[TheLoneGunman]

Mortu - Whoops! It was supposed to be 1936, that's a typo on my end!

Had it truly been 1939 we'd be on the Third Five Year Plan.

 

[TheLoneGunman]

Chapter 2 - Revolution Knows No Bounds

"History has now confronted us with an immediate task which is the most revolutionary of all the immediate tasks confronting the proletariat of any country. The fulfilment of this task, the destruction of the most powerful bulwark, not only of European, but it may now be said of Asiatic reaction, would make the Russian proletariat the vanguard of the international revolutionary proletariat." - Vladimir Lenin

July 17th, 1936

It was far too early in the morning. Pavel had been awake three hours earlier than usual in order to make it to the factory before everyone else arrived. It had been hard to get up, he had barely slept the night before as nervous as he was. Luckily, for once his wife had proven useful for rousing him from his slumber and getting him out of the door. The reason for Pavel's nervousness is that he had been promoted recently. By promoted, it meant that the man that held the position previously had been dragged kicking and screaming into the streets of Moscow by the NKVD, and by recently, it meant that it had happened yesterday. Pavel Zelichonok, once only a humble worker, had been deemed a worthy replacement and had been immediately given the position of coordinator for the entire Moscow cigarette factory. Though he was to be more like a manager or an overseer, the state had deemed these terms politically unacceptable and decided that coordinator sounded much better for worker morale.

He had good reason to try and arrive early, the previous coordinator had been removed under the pretense that he had been late to his post by five minutes, this much was true, although the real reason had been because he failed to meet quotas put forth by the State Planning Commission and still meet the personal quotas of the NKVD agents responsible for the Moscow Industrial District. It only took a few hours from that moment for the news to reach the local radio that the man apprehended by the NKVD had admitted to purposefully lacing cigarettes with rat poison, hording tobacco to sell to capitalists, and was plotting against Stalin and the Party. When Pavel reached the factory he was relieved to see no one else had arrived yet. Fumbling his newly acquired keys, he unlocked one of the side entrance doors and made his way to his "new" office. All of the previous coordinator's things were still in their places, and Pavel sifted through the various family photographs, letters, and documents to find the latest productivity report. Once he found it, began to read over it for a period of time. When he was finished, he was greatly dismayed, they were to receive half the shipment of tobacco that they had been given last month, but the amount of cigarettes demanded of the factory had been doubled. "This is madness!" He shouted to himself, "How am I supposed to make twice the cigarettes with only half of the tobacco?!" "Clearly Comrade Zelichonok, you must manage your resources with the utmost efficiency." Pavel had not expected an answer to his question. A cold chill went down his spine as he spun around to see a man in a thick jacket standing at the door holding an unlit cigarette in his hand. "How did you-" "Get in here?" The man asked and smiled, "You are not the only one with keys to this facility comrade." Pavel wiped the beads of cold sweat from his brow with the side of his arm and asked meekly, "Who are you?"

The man lit his cigarette and took a long drag before answering in a cloud of smoke, "Ah, now that is a very important question, since I already know who you are, and I have the ability to access this site whenever I wish. I am Major Korskii of the Main Directorate of State Security of the NKVD, and it is my job to ensure that you are a loyal and dedicated ally of the state." Nearly choking on his own saliva, Pavel extended a shakey hand to the major and said, "P-pleased to meet you Comrade Major." Leaving his cigarette in his mouth, the major lowered his hand and gripped Pavel's tightly and said in a low voice, "An officer will arrive at the end of every week expecting 1000 cartons be placed in the trunk of his vehicle. Do not disappoint me Comrade Zelichonok. When you let me down, you let the people down as well." He released Pavel's aching hand and as he turned and made his way out of the office he said in a much cheerier manner, "And good luck improving this factory's efficiency, I know we can count on you!"

Far away from the streets of Moscow, the world was about to change. That morning on the radio, Felipe Mendoza heard the phrase that would change his live forever. "Over all of Spain, the sky is clear." He had thought nothing of it at the time on his way into Barcelona to work, but by midday the government of Spain was rapidly collapsing across the entire nation as local military commanders rose up in defiance of President Azaña. A loyal union member, Felipe had been actively involved in the UGT, known as the General Union of Workers. He had been at work for a little more than two hours when one of the union leaders had stormed into his building and informed everyone that the military was trying to seize power and that there were soldiers on their way to Barcelona as they spoke.

"What is the government doing?" Felipe asked the union leader, who only shook his head and said, "Nothing. Nothing at all. They are sitting back foolishly waiting for disaster." Felipe then leapt to his feet and looking at the men around him spoke up in a loud and pwoerful voice, "My friends, we cannot just sit here and wait for these soldiers to come and ruin our livelyhood. If the government won't protect us, then we must do it ourselves!" A flurry of agreement came from the majority, and it was decided after a quick vote, that they should go to the armory in the city and take the weapons there for themselves. By the time they had reached the armory, news of the imminent attack was all over the streets, and at least another hundred or so men had joined them. The dozen guards at the armory were powerless against the mob, and opened the doors themselves and began to distribute rifles and ammunition to the people, lest they be considered part of the coup. Rifle in hand, Felipe led his contingent of Spaniards towards the edge of town, when they spotted the rebellious soldiers marching defiantly down the city streets. The armed mob and the soldiers stared each other down only briefly before the mob opened fire and all hell broke loose. Bullets ripped into men to Felipe's right and left, and he fell to the ground and crawled into an alleyway. Slinging the rifle on his back, he climbed up one of the fire escapes in the alley and began to scale up the side of the building.

When he arrived at the rooftop he ran to the edge and ducking down as low as he could surveyed the carnage below him. Citizen and soldier alike lay dead and dying in the streets, but the soldiers were starting to fall back. Then Felipe saw the machine gunner, they were trying to fall back to a position that offered more cover and there was a soldier hoisting a machine gun over a concrete barrier attempting to set up to slaughter the workers. Taking aim, Felipe fired off a shot and missed, striking the concrete barrier. The gunner looked up and saw Felipe on the rooftop, quickly aimed the machine gun up. Felipe exhaled, sliding the bolt of his rifle back to clear the empty casing, and then pulling the bolt back to enter another round. Without yet taking a breath, he fired again and the gunner's head disappeared in a mist of blood. The soldiers remaining in the neighborhood began to retreat, as more citizens emerged from their homes and offices and began to overwhelm them. Barcelona would still be free, but Felipe knew that such good news would not be occuring everywhere in Spain. No, this would not end today, it was bound to be a bloody war, but the revolution in Spain had begun.

July 21st, 1936

It had been months since Viktor had been in the countryside. The beautiful green of the trees and the clear blue skies were a stark contrast to the dull gray of the buildings and black smoke of the factories back in Moscow. The train ride had been relaxing, and as he left the bustle of the city he could feel his problems grow ever so smaller, if only for the moment. Construction was picking up, but still nowhere near finished. He also had new roads and railways he was being placed in charge of in the city to increase the shipping capacity both into and out of Moscow. It was worse than a headache, his job had turned into a total nightmare. On top of this, the Red Army was now demanding that he cut his workforce down to 25%, this would not do. Luckily for Viktor, he knew just where to find an old friend of his.

When the train had reached its destination at Kiev, Viktor found himself only a few blocks away from the nearest bar. He swung the heavy door open and walked inside, the men within raised their hands to block the light of the day from their faces. When the door came to a close, the room was one again filled with a gloomy darkness and the talking around the tables resumed. Viktor quietly made his way to the back of the room, to a small corner table where four men in Red Army uniforms were gathered talking. "And that was when we knew we had Wrangel's armies on the run." He heard one of them say as he grabbed a chair and quietly sat himself at the end of the table. The old soldiers looked over at him and frowned at him for the intrusion, all but one. "Viktor!" He exclaimed, "How long has it been Comrade?! At least 4 years." Viktor nodded slowly as the man continued, "You look like shit boy, that job in Moscow has taken a toll on you I see." "Yes, well that would be an understatement. I'm here because I need a favor from you." The man stood up and looked at his companions, "If you don't mind gentlemen, I have some business to attend to, I shall return shortly." One of the other men retorted, "Well, don't expect us to sit here and save your seat for you Igorek. Just don't even think about skipping out on your tab, we know where to find you!" The two then left the laughter of the table and made their way to an empty part of the bar where they found a pair of empty seats.

"So tell me Viktor, what brings you all the way to Kiev to interrupt an old soldier regaling tales of past glory with his fellows?" Viktor smiled, "What story was it today? When you saved those villagers from Denikin's army?" Igorek shook his head, "No no no. Today it was when I fought alongside Trotsky." No sooner had the words left the old man's mouth then Viktor's head swiveled nearly off of his neck to look behind him. In a loud whisper he said to Igorek, "Watch what you say! You know that if someone hears you say 'his' name they could take you in." Igorek smiled and replied calmly, "Come now Viktor, you think anyone is worried about this old man? My days of glory are behind me, and I have never desired power. Besides, it was with Trotsky's army that I served with your father. Never have I known a braver soldier, one more devoted to the plight of the people." Viktor relaxed a bit, his father had always spoke highly of Igorek, and Igorek had been welcomed in their home as family when Viktor had been a boy. "Now what is this favor that you need of me Viktor?" Igorek asked him. Viktor looked around once more and then told him, "The Red Army is requesting 75% of my workforce. They want to enlist them for service. I have a deadline I have to meet, and if I don't, it will be my head." Igorek nodded, "I see," he said, "Well, I still know a few men in high enough places. I could talk them down to taking only 25% of your workforce, but no more than that. There's talk of sending men to Spain. They're fighting a war over there, it's just like the Revolution was over here." Viktor replied, "Yes, I'd heard about the fighting in Spain, but I didn't know we were going to get involved." "No one is supposed to know," Igorek told him, "And when we send our volunteers, we're going to need men to replace them here at home, that's why I can't talk my superiors completely out of leaving your workforce alone." He paused for a moment, a twinkle in his eye, "But we have to go Viktor. Don't you see? The Revolution isn't over. It won't end, not as long as there are oppressed workers in the world. The Revolution knows no bounds my friend. I just wish your father were still here, he would have jumped at the news." Viktor looked back at the bar and signaled for a round of drinks, "So do I." After a brief moment, two large cups of an undisclosed alcoholic beverage made their way to the table, and Viktor raised his cup to Igorek. "Now, you were telling a story about how you served with Trotsky."

​

 

[Sir_Robert]

love it this is the first i have read anything of pre-soviet union and i wish i could read russian. i didn't read everthing yet but i will come back to read it i need to get one of this wwII games.

 

[von Sachsen]

No update for us, Lonegunman?

 

[TheLoneGunman]

von Sachsen - Update is coming. It's a short update, but I suspect most of the pre-war updates won't be too long. I've got all but the last part written already.

 

[unmerged(58579)]

very fine style - I like the quality - if that means we wont have an update every day I dont mind - good things are worth waiting for.

 

[unmerged(184991)]

lol, he made so much factories, that he mad 2+2 = 5

 

[Cybvep]

I think "2 + 2 = 5" sums up communist ideology rather well.

 

[Deus Eversor]

subscribbed! you must liberate china first! china ssr ftw!

 

[unmerged(83496)]

If 10 million red army soldiers say 2+2=5, then it does.

 

[unmerged(59077)]

I love the posters, and the writing isn't bad at all either. And I love AARs about industry (and in this case, hthe kind of work it takes to get that industry running).