Boris & Brian - A Bulgaria Road to 56 AAR

[jak7139]

Author: Hey everyone! Sorry this took a little longer to post. And also sorry that it is super long (over 3000 words according to my Word doc). I just had to make sure everything was wrapped up in a nice way, which I hope is enough of an excuse for the length. Hope you all enjoy this last chapter!

Chapter Thirteen: Adieu, Auf Wiedersehen, Gesundheit, Farewell​

Boris, Brian, and Filov rushed out of the room. As they slid into the seats of the Tsar’s royal automobile, Boris quickly barked an order at a secretary to contact the rest of the cabinet. The palace’s staff watched in confusion as the three men entered the vehicle and, not even waiting for the Tsar’s chauffeur, had Brian drive them away. The tire tracks left their skid marks freshly visible on the pavement as Bulgaria’s citizens looked on. Boris’ heart and mind were both racing as fast as the car he sat in.

Minister Kyoseivanov was the first to receive the call, seeing how he was in his office working. This also meat that he arrived much earlier than the others, which gave him ample time to grumble about Filov’s “over-exaggerations” of urgency, as well as utter other unkind and flippant remarks about his coworkers, Brian, the Tsar (you get the point).

Hadzipetkov received the call second. He was, in fact, on his lunch break at a small bistro on the other side of the city. His reasons for having lunch so far away from his office were, firstly, to clear his mind of the humdrum of administrative government work. But, secondly, and arguably more important, was that this side of Sofia was away from prying eyes and ears. Hadzipetkov stood up, called for the check from the waiter, paid his bill, and, as he was tipping the waiter, made a slight spasm with his hands. This spasm was so small that, to a casual observer, they would think Hadzipetkov were merely stretching his joints after a long meal. But it wasn’t so. The waiter saw the spasm and knew its true meaning. In response he twitched his head, which, to anybody not familiar with the signal, simply looked like a brisk nod. But again, it was not so. Hadzipetkov recognized the gesture and, having done his work, made his way to the government offices. There was more work to be done yet.

The waiter picked up the bill and his tip and began to spread the word among his comrades who also worked at the restaurant. Through a nod here and a gesture there the city was mobilized. Then from the city to the countryside, from there to the Army’s encampments at the border of Soviet-controlled Romania and Yugoslavia, and from there to the NKVD agents stationed with Soviet forces. The Revolution was coming.

Vulkov was the third person to receive the call. He had, incidentally, just arrived at his office just a few minutes before due to an errand he’d run. When an assistant told him of the Tsar’s summons, Vulkov straitened his hat, grabbed the four tickets he’d purchased at the train station that morning, and headed for the conference room to await the Tsar’s arrival.

Lukov was the last person to receive the call. He had decided to use his lunch break that day to get a shave and a cut at his barber’s. As his barber made the finishing touches to Lukov’s stubble, the shop received the call from Lukov’s secretary. When his barber handed him the phone, Lukov’s face went from calm, to, briefly, panic, to, finally, a cold rage simmering beneath the surface. He ordered his barber to: “Finish the job quick, he had places to be”. The man complied, then walked over and closed the blinds on the shop’s windows saying: “the Sun was disturbing his light”. Lukov nodded impatiently and relaxed a little in his chair. The barber walked up behind Lukov, wielded his razor in the quick, effortless fashion gained by years of practice, and slid his knife across Lukov’s throat. And that was the end for Minister Lukov.

. . .​

As Hadzipetkov walked up the steps of the government building he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the Tsar’s vehicle come screeching down a sharp turn and abruptly halt at the foot of the steps. So, this is where it will end. He thought. Hadzipetkov shrugged, entered the building, and went straight for the conference room.

Filov was the first out of the vehicle and fumbled with the latch on the door as he tried to hold it open for the Tsar. As Filov struggled with that, Boris sat slumped in his seat and was rubbing his chest. Brian, seeing Boris’ discomfort, was beside him in an instant.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What isn’t?” Boris sighed, then grunted as he adjusted his position. He was still rubbing his heart.

“I’m not talking about the war,” Brian clarified. “I’m talking about here,” he pointed at his own heart.

“It’s…nothing…” Boris struggled.

“We need to get you to a doctor. Now!” Brian exclaimed.

“No…No!” Boris commanded. “There’s no time. Bulgaria needs their monarch to lead them through this crisis.”

“But—”

“That’s an order Brian! We’ll talk about this later…”

With that, Boris pushed past his aide, opened the door Filov had been struggling with from the inside, and walked up the steps of the building without missing a beat. Filov stood agape at the Tsar’s brusqueness and breach of protocol. Brian stood looking on at his lifelong friend and liege. There was a mix of admiration and worry in his eyes.

“Is he always like that?” Filov asked.

“Only when he’s determined,” Brian replied, smiling to himself.

Boris stopped in his stride and called back: “Let’s go, gentlemen!”

“Coming, my Tsar!” Brian replied, who quickly climbed the steps and entered the building with Boris, leaving Filov in the dust.

The Minister stood shocked for a moment before he entered the building, trailing behind the others.

. . .​

Vulkov stood outside the conference room, waiting. As Ministers and other government staff filed past him into the room, he said nothing to any of them. He was waiting, waiting for someone specific. Eventually Hadzipetkov rounded the corner, strutting confidently up to the entrance to the room. He was followed a few moments later by Boris and Brian, and, eventually, Filov. Vulkov’s head perked up and he moved to the middle of the hallway.

Hadzipetkov, seeing his colleague, assumed this would be yet another plea for him to ‘change his ways’. Hadzipetkov rolled his eyes, he’d play Vulkov’s little game. But Hadzipetkov was mistaken. He made as if to avoid Vulkov’s path, but then faltered in his stride as Vulkov completely ignored him, walked past him, and made his way towards the Tsar.

Fine. Hadzipetkov thought. At least, if nothing else, he’s finally accepted my choice. Hadzipetkov then re-donned his smile and confidently strode into the conference room.

Filov, despite being in last place, quickly surpassed the Tsar and entered the conference room alone. It was his duty as the most senior Minister, after all, to ensure order. He thought.

This just left Boris, Brian, and Vulkov alone in the hallway. The sounds of their shoes as they walked up to each other echoed off the dark marble floors.

“Minister.” Boris acknowledged Vulkov with a nod of his head and started to move towards the room.

But Vulkov, sensing his chance, shot out his arm and gripped the Tsar’s shoulder, stopping his gait.

“My Tsar, wait!” he said.

Vulkov had surprised Boris, making him falter in his stride and fall down on one knee. Brian, who had been just behind Boris, quickly tried to help his friend up. Vulkov was initially shocked by the Tsar’s frailty and released his grip on Boris’ shoulder. He did not know how to react. Only once Brian began to move, did he also try to help Boris up. Together, Brian and Vulkov acted as crutches for the Tsar and brought him to a seating area just outside the conference room.

“You can’t go on like this,” Brian said, “We need to postpone the meeting.”

“No…We can’t. Can’t let them see weakness…” Boris strained.

“I don’t care! The Ministers certainly don’t either, not if it costs your life! The war can wait. Right Vulkov?”

Vulkov was awkwardly standing a few feet away from the others. Whether this was out of respect for the Tsar, or because of his own idiosyncrasies, none could say. His still, looming figure could have almost been mistaken for one of the Corinthian-style columns used as accents throughout the building. He shuffled forward slowly, not wanting to appear hasty or disturbed in what he was about to say. He had delayed too long. The hour was coming when it would be too late, and indeed perhaps it was already here. But regardless, Vulkov began to speak:

“We need to leave.”

Brian nodded, turning back to Boris. “See? Vulkov agrees. We need to get you—”

“I gave you an order Brian...I’m fine!” Boris snapped back.

“We need to leave. Now.” Vulkov repeated.

“Don’t you start,” Boris said. “This is between me and Brian.”

“You can’t just sit here!” an incredulous Brian replied.

“I don’t plan on ‘just sitting here’. I plan on attending a very important meeting which is being delayed because of this foolishness.” Boris tried to get up but slumped back into the reception chair. “Help me up.”

Neither Brian nor Vulkov moved.

“Fine. It seems we’re at an impasse. Well, I hope you two are happy defying your Tsar. My father never would have stood for his subordinates humiliating him like this. He would’ve…He would’ve…He…”

Boris hunched over in his seat and wept.

“I’ve failed him.” He said softly.

Brian reached out a hand and patted Boris’ shoulder to comfort him. It did nothing to console Boris. He continued to cry. Vulkov, once again stood awkwardly. That is until he remembered the four tickets he’d purchased that morning. He pulled them out gingerly and placed one of the tickets on Boris’ knee. Brian took his hand away from Boris’ shoulder and picked up the ticket. Boris didn’t react and continued to cry.

“What’s this?” Brian asked.

“An escape.” Vulkov said.

“Escape from what?” Brian replied.

“Bulgaria.”

Brian looked confused, “Bulgaria? What do you mean?”

“The times have changed. I see it in every day that passes as this war drags on. I hear it in his voice at every meeting. I feel it in my bones.”

Brian still looked confused, “Times have changed, that’s true. But whose voice Vulkov? Why do we have to leave now?”

“Because of his plan. Into this plan he has poured all his ambition, all his cunning, and all his allegiance. None of his former self remains.”

“But who?!” Brian pressed.

“Hello there.” A voice said.

Vulkov and Brian turned around, startled by the voice. Boris snapped his head up before quickly wiping his tears on his sleeve.

Hadzipetkov stood there, leaning against a pillar, “The Ministers are wondering what’s keeping you. They sent me to investigate.”

“Yes, sorry Minister. Vulkov cornered us with a question. We’ll be along any moment now.” Brian said.

“Really?” Hadzipetkov’s eyes flashed. “And what, pray tell, was this question, if I may ask? Vulkov?” He turned his eyes, like miniature spotlights, upon the Minister.

Vulkov stood, because he had kneeled to keep his voice low before, and although he towered over Hadzipetkov, Vulkov looked sheepish in front of Hadzipetkov’s searching eyes. After a minute or so Hadzipetkov cleared his throat and said:

“Yes. Well, we’d better be getting on with the meeting. Even if Lukov hasn’t arrived yet.”

“What’s that?” Boris asked.

“Ah yes. We’d only been waiting for you so long because Minister Lukov hasn’t shown up yet. But we can’t wait for him, or you, my Tsar, if you’ll forgive me, all day.”

“Yes, your right,” Boris said as Brian helped him out of his seat. “It’s not like Lukov, I wonder what could be keeping him?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, my Tsar. Now, if you’ll follow me.” Hadzipetkov replied.

Hadzipetkov led the procession towards the doors of the conference room. Boris and Brian were second, with Brian trying to, subtly so Hadzipetkov wouldn’t notice, act as Boris’ crutch. Vulkov trailed in the procession. And although, outwardly, he maintained his cowed demeanor towards Hadzipetkov and the others, inside his mind was racing.

Hadzipetkov held open the door and ushered the others inside. The first thing Boris, Brian, and Vulkov noticed was how bright the light was when compared to the light outside the conference room. Because of this, it took them a few moments to adjust their eyes. By the time they did, however, it was too late. There was no one else in the room. No one. Instead, there was only the Tsar, his aide, Vulkov, and Hadzipetkov. Hadzipetkov entered the room last, and, as they were still adjusting to the light, clicked the lock on the door shut and pulled out his pistol. He pointed it at Boris.

“Hadzipetkov…What’s the meaning of this?!” Boris challenged.

“Not another word,” Hadzipetkov said, “unless I allow you to speak. That is, unless you want your aide to pay the price?” He aimed his gun at Brian.

Vulkov, Boris, and Brian made no sounds.

Hadzipetkov smiled, “Good. Wouldn’t want any messes now, would we? I just have to keep you here for a few hours before the NKVD takes you off my hands.”

Boris’ and Brian’s eyes widened with shock and then, increasingly, horror. Vulkov stared dully at Hadzipetkov, his hands by his sides.

Hadzipetkov relished their reactions, most of all Vulkov’s, since he thought he had broken him. “I hear Siberia’s nice this time of year. That is, of course, if you’re lucky. Some never get the chance to see the Soviet countryside. Or anything, for that matter, ever again.”

Boris’ eyes widened some more, and he began to shiver. Hadzipetkov assumed it was simply fear.

“Yes. It’ll probably be Siberia for you two.” He pointed his gun at Vulkov, then back at Brian. “Boris I’m afraid you won’t get such a vacation…” He pointed his gun back at the Tsar.

Boris’ shivering turned to shaking. His hand moved to his heart. The only thing that prevented him from falling over was Brian’s support from acting as a crutch. Hadzipetkov’s eyes widened in recognition of Boris’ hand movement, “Let him go.” Hadzipetkov said, pointing his gun at Brian.

Brian didn’t move.

Hadzipetkov cocked his gun, “I said ‘drop him.’”

Brian shook his head ‘no’.

Hadzipetkov grew angry, “Do it! Now!” He was shaking with rage just as much as Boris was shaking with pain.

Brian shook his head once more, “No.” he said.

Hadzipetkov sighed, “I suppose I could just say he tried to run away,” He muttered. Then he pulled the trigger. The gun went off. A loud bang was heard.

Boris shoved Brian out of the way. The bullet hit him in the chest, directly across from his heart. Vulkov lunged at Hadzipetkov, tackling him. The gun flew wildly, landing near the back of the room. Vulkov and Hadzipetkov were wrestling on the floor in an epic duel, ensuring neither of them was able to go for the gun. Brian had ripped off his jacket and was trying to stem the blood flowing from Boris’ chest, a near equal amount of liquid was also pouring from Brian’s eyes. With one hand he was holding the jacket onto Boris’ wound and with his other he was clutching the hand of his dear friend as he felt the life leaving him. Boris was smiling sadly at his friend and was repeatedly whispering:

“It’s all right…It’s all right…”

Brian was trying to hold the tears back, to no avail. As he felt Boris’ hand start to go limp, he couldn’t stem them anymore. Brian wept for many things in that moment. He wept for his liege, he wept for his friend, he wept for Bulgaria, he wept for the war, the dead, the fallen, the forgotten, the veterans, he wept for the past, he wept for Boris’ father who wasn’t there to mourn his son, he wept for himself, and for his failed promise to protect Boris with his life, and he wept, most of all, for the future. A future without Tsar Boris III of Bulgaria.

As Boris slipped away into history Vulkov was still wrestling with Hadzipetkov on the ground. The two men were evenly matched: both of them had their military training, Hadzipetkov had what he’d learned from the NKVD, but Vulkov had the larger body. They struggled, pushed, pulled, and fought there, on the floor of the conference room, for the fate of Bulgaria. Eventually, Vulkov maneuvered himself on top of Hadzipetkov and, with a blow from his knuckles, knocked him out.

It had been a near thing, Vulkov tore his aching, exhausted body away from the Minister and stooped to pick up the gun in the corner. He looked at it, then at Hadzipetkov, unconscious on the floor, with contempt. Then he slowly walked over to Brian, crouched next to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“He was a good man.” Vulkov said.

Brian said nothing. His tears had run out, and now the whole room was silent.

Vulkov said nothing for a minute more, then spoke:

“I know it’s hard, but we have to leave him. Otherwise, we’ll be next, and there will be no one to carry on his memory.”

Brian nodded sullenly, “I know.”

Vulkov nodded and stood. He looked around the room and rested his eyes on Hadzipetkov. Vulkov weighed the gun in his hand, but quickly discarded the idea. Instead, he walked over to the Minister and stuffed something into his breast pocket. Vulkov looked back at Brian, who had stood.

“You ready?” Vulkov said.

Brian looked down at Boris one last time and nodded. “Let’s go. We have a train to catch.”

Vulkov holstered the gun, opened the doors, and stepped out into the wider world.

. . .​

By the time Hadzipetkov woke up they were long gone. The train had taken them to Istanbul across the border (though he didn’t know that). All he knew was that his prey had slipped through his fingers. Hi superiors were not as angry as he’d thought though. They had praised him for his swift coup. The capture of most of the government’s Ministers and the sudden death of the Tsar had killed any resistance. And although two may have escaped, what was that when compared to the whole of Bulgaria: the last member of the Axis still standing. The war was at an end and Communism reigned supreme.

Hadzipetkov opened the door to his new bedroom, the room of the former Tsar. It had been a long day, and not everything had worked like he’d hoped, now he was ready for a good night’s rest. A draft was coming from an open window in the suite. Hadzipetkov quickly closed it and began to undress. As he took of his jacket, a crumbling sound from one of the pockets intrigued him. He laid the jacket on the bed and went through each of the pockets, finally coming to the one that held what he sought. He couldn’t see what it was in the dark, so he turned on a lamp near the nightstand.

Hadzipetkov eyed it critically: It was a ticket. A train ticket. Dated for today: October 6, 1942. Direct to Istanbul. Turkey? When had he gotten a ticket to Turkey? Why was it in his pocket? Unless…

A light went off in Hadzipetkov’s mind. It had clicked. Clicked? No. Something had clicked, behind him. Hadzipetkov turned…

He never got the chance to turn fully. The assassin was too quick with the trigger. And so ended the life of Colonel Nikola Nikolov Hadzipetkov. So ends all who fail the NKVD. And so ends this story.

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Author: That's a wrap! I hope you've all enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! I probably won't do another AAR for a few months since the new semester is coming. But who knows? If I get enough of a break from school/feel in the mood I might post something.

The next one will either be the CK2 beginning of a megacampaign I've been playing or an EU4 AAR that's similar in style to this.

Hope you've all enjoyed! Thanks for reading!

 

[jak7139]

Note: After this chapter I plan to have one more finale chapter and then (maybe) an epilogue. It depends on how the finale goes/if I feel I've left it in a good spot.
Also I hope those of you who celebrate the 4th had a relaxing/fun three day holiday.

Chapter Twelve: The Beginning of the End​

The invasion came in the Spring. It, at first, went well. The Soviets had not expected the Germans to attack so soon, given the recent addition of the Spanish and Hungarians into the Comintern. But Hitler’s appetite was insatiable, and he was sure of a swift victory. And, as they say, pride goes before fall. What had been envisioned as a quick drive through Ruthenia was instead ground to a halt, with heavy fighting occurring near the Pinsk Marshes. The Germans lost many men, men they could not afford to lose. With the Spanish making the invasion a two-front affair, and the awkwardly shaped dagger that was Hungary splitting most of the Balkans off from German assistance, it was no surprise that the Germans were soon on the defensive. By midsummer, any Axis gains had been swept aside by a, to German eyes, surprisingly well-equipped Red Army.

Hadzipetkov, of course, had warned his masters in Moscow of the invasion, negating much of Germany’s advantage. Romania soon fell, then the Axis positions in Yugoslavia and Poland, then Slovakia. Coupled with a successful Spanish breakthrough in the Pyrenees, it seemed Germany was doomed. Only one Axis member remained in any fighting shape: Bulgaria. Although this glimmer of hope was, in fact, Hadzipetkov’s doing as well. The Bulgarian people would resist long and hard against a Soviet occupation. But an internal coup would avoid any such sentiments. We go now to the Tsar’s quarters in his palace where he is deeply troubled…

Tsar Boris III of Bulgaria paced the floor of his room. He had been receiving hourly reports about the progress on the front, if one could even call it that. The Germans were fighting a panicked retreat back to Berlin, the Soviets were hot on their heels, and everyday Romanian refugees poured into Bulgaria’s borders. A front? No. Such a name implied stability, none of which could be found out there. What could be done? What could he do? He, the ultimate authority in all of Bulgaria, could do…nothing. The frustrated Tsar collapsed into a plush armchair and felt his heart. He was troubled, the Axis was in trouble, and his heart was now troubling him too. His mortality was upon him. Boris rubbed his chest and started to think:

I’m only forty-eight. Forty-eight? The 19th Century was so long ago. And now I’m the last of a dying breed. The age of the monarch, the age of kings, is over. Now all you have are ideologies and populism. Both of which try to do the job just as well as a king. They promise bright futures full of freedom and prosperity. But look at the world now: it is on fire again. It’s fitting in a way, the emperors of Europe had run the first war, and now the ideologues did so for the second one.

Is this how his father had felt in 1918? Was his father even still in Coburg, or had he fled west to the Rhine, to the Benelux, to France? Who could say? What did he think of his son making the same mistakes as him? Another German alliance, another war, another loss. Could it be that fate had pushed him towards this moment, with that dream so long ago? Was it a test to see what he’d do? Had he interpreted it all wrong? Whatever the case, he had done what he’d thought was best for his people and his nation. But that now seemed a poor excuse.

A shuffling of feet outside his door piqued his interest. Before the visitor had time to ask for permission to enter, Boris had already gotten up and with a few quick strides had opened the door. It was Brian, whose hand now hung, poised to knock, in the empty air where the door had been.

Brian startled back in surprise, “Oh! Forgive me for disturbing you, my Tsar!”

“It’s alright Brian. Come in. And, please, drop the courtier façade for today, will you?”

“Alright,” Brian said. “Are you all right Boris?”

Boris went and sat back down in his chair, “Yes…It’s just, do you ever wonder if you’ve made the right choices in life?”

Brian eyed Boris warily, “I suppose so. Everybody must feel that way at some point or another. It’s just a part of being human.”

Boris offered Brian the seat opposite him, “Yes, but what if your wrong decisions didn’t just affect you? What if there were millions of others counting on you, hoping for you, being affected by your one wrong move? Wouldn’t you feel trapped, like there was no way out, because no matter what way you choose, someone will lose?”

Brian sat down and stared deeply at his friend, “These aren’t rhetorical questions, are they Boris?”

Boris stared back at Brian for a long while. Then, he looked down at his lap and said, “No. you’re right, they’re not.”

Brian stared at Boris and waited for him to continue.

Boris looked back up, “I’ve been thinking about my father and what he did at a time like this, twenty-four years ago. He abdicated. He’d hoped I’d lead Bulgaria to a brighter future, and I’ve always tried to do that, but now…now…” he faltered.

“But now you’re thinking you’ve made the wrong choice,” Brian continued.

“Exactly.”

“Boris…” Brian started; he couldn’t find the words to speak.

He fingered one of the brass buttons on his aide-uniform, stood, and walked over to a desk with drawers in the room. Boris said nothing and watched his companion. Brian stood in front of the desk and studied each of the drawers. After looking over each one carefully, Brian finally opened one of the handles and pulled out a medal. He turned around and held it out for Boris to see.

“Do you remember the day they pinned this to our chests?” he said.

Boris carefully took the medal from Brian’s hand and looked at it.

“Yes, yes, I do” he replied, “It’s to remember our service in the Great War. Do you still have yours?”

“Right here.” Brian replied, pulling his own medal out of his jacket pocket. “Doesn’t it feel like an eternity ago?”

“Yes.” Boris agreed, “And the world forgot so quickly.”

“They did. But it was their choice to forget.”

“What do you mean?”

Brian eyed his medal, watching the light from a nearby window glint off its metal surface. He rubbed his thumb tenderly over the grooves in its design. He replied:

“They couldn’t handle the destruction, the upheaval. Some of us chose to cope by remembering, others chose to forget.”

“And you Brian, what did you choose?” Boris asked.

“I chose to carry on. To do what your father trusted me with in 1915, and what I’ve, hopefully, done ever since: To follow you and protect your life.” Brian looked up at his friend.

Boris got up out of his chair, “Even though I’ve made mistakes, even though I’m not a perfect Tsar, even though I may, in fact, have doomed this country, this dynasty, and the government to destruction!? Kyoseivanov was right, we should have never gone through with this.” He turned away from Brian in shame. A few silent tears rolled down his cheeks.

Brian pocketed his medal and walked slowly towards the Tsar. He came up behind Boris and gently gripped each of Boris’ shoulders with his hands and turned him around. Brian looked Boris straight in his eyes and said:

“Kyoseivanov may have been right about that, but he’s been wrong about plenty of other things too. But do you want to know why, I think, you’ve kept him around, despite his mistakes. It’s because, even if his decisions seem silly after the fact, he sticks to them. And he continues to try afterward, even if he’s usually wrong. It’s lonely at the top, for Ministers and especially for Tsars. Whatever choices you’ve made, you’ve made for a reason. And whatever end may come because of them, I’ll still be glad to be here by your side.”

Boris sniffed. “Thank you, Brian, I really mean that.”

“I know you do Boris. I—”

Brian was cut off by an urgent knocking at the door. Brian backed away from Boris and stood at attention while Boris sat back down in his chair, wiped the tears from his eyes, and adopted a nonchalant look.

“Come in.” Boris said.

The door opened and Minister Filov entered the room, he bowed slightly and shakily to the Tsar.

“Filov?” Boris said with surprise. “What is it?”

Filov twitched nervously and there was an obvious amount of sweat on his face.

“Did you run all the way here?” Brian asked.

Filov nodded and used his hands to wave any further questions aside, “My Tsar,” he croaked, “we need you to assemble the Cabinet right away…” Filov stopped and caught his breath.

“Filov?” Boris urged, slowly rising from his chair. “What happened?”

The Minister said only three words:

“Berlin has fallen.”

Spoiler: Germany Falling

 

[jak7139]

Chapter Eleven: Two Meetings​

Things were moving quickly. Throughout the rest of 1941, the Axis prepared for the task ahead: Russia would fall before the next year was out, Hitler was sure of it. Hadzipetkov and Vulkov had arrived back in Bulgaria near the beginning of Summer and were both busy preparing the Army for its role in Operation Barbarossa.

Although they saw much of each other, neither of them had the opportunity to discuss what was really on their minds: Vulkov’s suspicions and Hadzipetkov’s true identity. Hadzipetkov kept quiet for obvious reasons (he was a spy, after all), but why Vulkov told no one of his hunch, not even the Tsar, was a mystery.

Regardless, the world seemed to sense that something was up. Near the end of Fall, the Spanish and Hungarians officially announced their entries into the Comintern. And the Allies, though they had lost North Africa, were undoubtedly planning something thanks to the arrival of the American juggernaut. 1942 would be a year to remember, but for what reason remained to be seen. Someone would win, but who would it be?

Many of Germany’s generals asked the Fuhrer for more time, the Spanish alliance with the Soviets being of particular concern, but their pleas were brushed aside. He would not allow any further delays or opportunities for a Soviet first strike. Once Spring came, the Axis’ armies would be ready, Spain or not.

With these developments, plus one more we’ve yet to get to, Tsar Boris has called a meeting to consult with his Ministers. Bulgaria may have saved the Axis once, but can it do so again? And would the rewards be worth the cost?

With Kyoseivanov having returned from his vacation and Hadzipetkov and Vulkov back from the front, this marks the first time since the start of the war that all the Bulgarians have gathered together to brief the Tsar. For though much has changed in the world, some things have stayed the same. The strong governmental architecture, the stiffly pressed uniforms of the Tsar and his Military advisors, the authority of a monarch over his people; these have given Bulgaria security. And through that security, strength. And the Tsar has used that strength to lead his people. But what if the people refuse to accept his strength, his authority? That is the main question on everyone’s minds as Minister Filov brings up the latest development. The development that has sparked this meeting. One closer to home than the war has ever been before. Insurgency.

“What should we do?” Kyoseivanov asked, a slight nervousness to his voice.

“Crush the traitors!” Lukov declared, eyeing the other Ministers.

“But we don’t know where they operate—” Filov began.

“So? We’ll question every suspect. Search every household. They will be found.” Lukov continued.

“They’re guerilla fighters, Lukov,” Hadzipetkov said, standing from his chair. “They won’t be driven out through brute force.”

Lukov stood as well, “Subtlety’s for the weak! We have to act now, we have to act fast, and we have to act hard! These Communists and their ‘Fatherland Front’ will think twice about challenging the Tsar’s authority!”

“Well I think…” Kyoseivanov started.

“No! We should…” Filov argued.

The dozens of Ministers present argued, hissed, and spat at each other (the tension had everyone on edge). Their voices all overlapping like a zoo.

The only people who weren’t yelling were Vulkov, who was (characteristically) silent and was watching the proceedings from his position near the corner of the conference table, Boris, whose head was in his hands in frustration, and Brian, who stood by the Tsar’s side trying to console him.

Hadzipetkov escaped the arguments just long enough to look up and catch Vulkov’s eyes shining at him, but he ignored the Air Minister and allowed himself to be pulled back in. Vulkov sighed and slipped out of the room.

“Enough!” Boris finally yelled. “Sit down all of you!”

The Ministers each sheepishly obeyed.

The Tsar continued, “This is exactly what they want, for us to fight amongst ourselves while they spread like a virus. The timing of this is no accident. We’re on the eve of our invasion of Russia, the heartland of Communism. This group is clearly trying to distract and divide us. But will we let them?”
A few of the Minister let out a mumbled ‘No’.

“I said, ‘Will we’?” The Tsar repeated.

The Tsar was met with some stronger ‘Nos’.

“Will we?!”

The Ministers all shouted together: “No!”

“Now let’s civilly come up with a plan.”

As the Ministers began to ‘civilly’ discuss options with each other, the Tsar slumped in his chair and felt his beating heart, it was slightly fast.

Brian leaned down, “Are you all right?” he whispered.

“Yes…yes I’m fine.” Boris whispered back, rubbing his temples. “Just tired. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Brian hesitated but then said, “If you say so.”

The two men then turned their attention back to the discussion.

. . .​

Hadzipetkov left the meeting in good spirits: The Tsar had authorized his plan. The Army would stay in Bulgaria and deal with the Communist threat. The Germans would have to deal with the Comintern all on their own. The Germans would understand. They wouldn’t want any Communist insurgents behind their lines and Hitler would not budge on moving his timetable. Everything was perfect. Yes, and as he walked home in the cool night air he was, for the first time in a while, happy. The war would soon be over and he, Hadzipetkov would be rewarded for his efforts. Yes, he was happy. Yessiree. No conflicting feelings at all. None whatsoever—What was that? Something had scraped on the pavement behind him.

He turned to look and saw the unmistakably lanky form of Vulkov a few feet behind him. They each stared at each other for a few moments, but each second felt like an eternity. They were both alone. The meeting had gone late, and no one was out at this time of night. Their eyes were locked in combat with each other, each one waiting for the other to make the first move. Hadzipetkov blinked first.

He turned and began running as fast as he could, diving into back alleys and weaving in between side streets. It was raining and each step he took splashed loudly on the concrete. After a few blocks, Hadzipetkov turned around and leaned against a lamppost to catch his breath. He was soaked, both because of the rain and his sweat and his breath was shaky.

He didn’t know what Vulkov wanted, or, scratch that, he did know. Vulkov wanted to talk. But Hadzipetkov was done talking. He had made his choice, Vulkov was just going to have to accept it. The Soviets would win this war, the Germans would stand no chance. Ousting the government now was the only way to avoid the wrath of Stalin and the Red Army. Vulkov had to know that, he just had to. He (Hadzipetkov) was doing the right thing.

A few splashes on the pavement drew Hadzipetkov’s attention as Vulkov had caught up with him and, again, stood a few feet away. Vulkov caught Hadzipetkov’s gaze and seemed to be pleading, but the Colonel shook his head. There would be no turning back. Vulkov looked to be about to say something but suddenly a loud clap of thunder startled them both. The thunder brough with it a fresh mist of rain, obscuring their vision. With his pursuer distracted, Hadzipetkov saw his chance and slipped away. But as he did so, Vulkov called out:

“Be careful, Hadzipetkov! Remember what happened to the Messenger!”

Hadzipetkov stopped for a moment. ‘The Messenger?’ The young man had been his contact in the Bulgarian Messenger Corps. A bright lad who’d let the pressure get to him. The last time Hadzipetkov had seen him the boy’s hair had grown slightly shaggy and there was a crazed look in his eyes. He had been muttering something about the apocalypse (their own private joke about the coming Bulgarian Revolution) and had been frustrated about the apparent lack of progress. Hadzipetkov had told him not to worry, that patience was needed. That was the week before he and Vulkov had left for France. It was also the last time they’d see each other ever again.

Partway through the Scandinavian campaign Hadzipetkov had learned from one of his other agents (a member of the palace’s security forces) of the man’s death. He had snapped and had tried to assassinate the Tsar. Thankfully, he had failed, but at the cost of his own life. If the Tsar had died, that would have meant increasing influence from the Germans and, with Hadzipetkov away, from Lukov and the rest of the Cabinet. They would have been difficult to deal with, but the Tsar was a trusting puppet. Under Boris’ watch, Hadzipetkov’s army had ensured the Axis’ survival, making them overconfident and weak, a perfect target for Soviet entry into the war. And the Tsar had been influenced slowly, imperceptibly into his own deposition.

Although the Messenger had died, the dream of the Revolution continued to live on. His sacrifice was a necessary one to ensure secrecy. How Vulkov knew mattered not, he had told no one so far and would, presumably, continue to do so as long as he (Vulkov) though that he (Hadzipetkov) could be brought back from the brink. But he (Hadzipetkov) had no inhibitions, no second thoughts. He had made his choice…Yes…Yes, he had.

Hadzipetkov sighed and slipped away into the darkness. Vulkov continued to stand for a while in the rain. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to an hour, then two. Finally, the Minister turned and went home, his feet dragging on the wet sidewalk.

 

[jak7139]

Chapter Ten: Ich Bin Ein Berliner​

Vulkov looked serenely out the window of his room at the Hotel Kaiserhof. He had arrived in Berlin with Hadzipetkov and the rest of the army a few days before, where they had received a warm welcome from Berlin’s citizens and Axis High Command. In addition to a military parade and celebration, the Bulgarian officers had also each been given a suite at the hotel during their stay. The hotel was a favorite of Nazi government officials and officers due to its location next to the Reich Chancellery, and so it only seemed natural that the Bulgarians would be given the same treatment. But Vulkov wasn’t so sure.

It was nice, he had to admit. They had been praised as the saviors of the Axis ever since their victory in France, but something just felt…off about the Germans’ gestures of friendship. He had tried, after the first day, to warn Hadzipetkov of his suspicions, but the Colonel had waved him off, saying:

“Relax, enjoy the sites, my friend. The sooner we figure out what the situation is with America, the sooner we can go home. You’re not the only one who’s homesick, you know?”

Vulkov had, in fact, been looking forward to arriving in Sofia before their change in orders. Because, though he knew the orders from the Tsar were urgent, he did really miss home. To see the slopes of the Vitosha. To dream of soaring over its peaks and through the clouds. To get away from it all: the army, the war, his suspicions about the war, the list went on.

He was interrupted in his musing by a knock at the door. Vulkov paused, but made no move to open the door. The knocker waited a few moments then, when they were met with silence, opened the door anyway. It was Hadzipetkov.

“The meeting starts soon. Hitler wants every officer to attend. Says its important.”

Vulkov continued to stare out the window. His eyes moved from the cars on the street below, to the throngs of people, to the bright blue sky high above. Still, he said nothing.

Hadzipetkov sighed, “Look, if you’re mad at me for ignoring you the other day, I’m sorry.”

Hadzipetkov looked for a sign of acknowledgement from his comrade, Vulkov continued to stare out the window.

He raised his voice slightly, “Why’d you even come on this campaign if you were just going to sit there most of the time?”

Vulkov, his back still turned and his eyes still glued to the window, responded, “To help you.”

“He speaks.” Hadzipetkov grumbled, “‘To help me?’ I don’t need any help. That thing in the Ardennes, that was just…just nerves, that’s all.”

Vulkov cocked his head and gave his companion a sidelong glance, “Nerves?”

“Nerves. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?”

“Will you stop repeating everything I say?! Now are you coming? We can’t keep everyone waiting.”

“Why?” Vulkov said.

“‘Why’ what?”

“Why are you so eager to please the Germans? Do you agree with them?”

“They’re our allies, Vulkov. We’re linked together whether we like it or not. Personal opinions don’t matter in wartime.”

Vulkov turned his eyes back to the window, “If you say so.”

Hadzipetkov sighed again and then left the room, slamming the door loudly on his way out. Vulkov didn’t flinch (or maybe didn’t notice), his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

The Sun still shone brightly in the sky, but Vulkov could see rain-filled clouds moving in quickly.

. . .​

It had just started to sprinkle as Hadzipetkov entered the Reich Chancellery. He received directions from a secretary and swiftly made his way to the meeting room. When he entered, the heavy double-doors banging loudly behind him, everyone else looked up. He was the last to arrive, and also late.

A Nazi officer spoke up, “Ah, finally come to join us, have you?”

The rest of the room laughed and Hadzipetkov gave a nervous chuckle.

“Don’t worry.” The officer beamed, “We hadn’t begun discussing anything yet. The Fuhrer has received an important call in the other room and we’re waiting for him to finish. Coffee?”

Hadzipetkov nodded and accepted a cup. Another officer spoke:

“Where is your associate, Herr Vulkov?” he asked.

“I’m afraid the weather has affected his health this morning,” Hadzipetkov said. “We’ll have to make do without him.”

“Ah well,” the second officer replied. “It’s a shame. I was looking forward to meeting him.”
“Hmm?” Hadzipetkov queried.

“Just so I can thank our two Bulgarian heroes in person. I hear his air support was crucial in the breakthrough into France.”

“Yes…” Hadzipetkov said quietly. “Yes, it—he was.”

A backroom door opened and out of it stepped the Fuhrer himself. Everyone present stiffened to attention. He barked an order in German at one of the officers next to him who said:

“Time to start the meeting. The Fuhrer wishes to discuss the Bulgarian role first. Let’s begin.”

. . .​

Hadzipetkov was one of the first to leave the meeting once it had concluded. He stepped outside into the rain. What had before been a sprinkle was now in a full downpour. He entered the hotel lobby soaking wet, but he didn’t care. His mind was somewhere else entirely. As the elevator took him up to his floor, Hadzipetkov tried to get his thoughts together:

It’s suicide, invading Russia at a time like this. They’ll be crushed. The Bulgarians along with them. It’s just as he predicted when he sent me on this assignment. But what about Bulgaria? No…Something must be done. I’ll have to ask permission from—”

The ding of the elevator signaling his arrival on the floor broke his attention. But still his mind was made up. He knew what he had to do. But first he would just have to get word his superiors. Though Vulkov would probably be expecting a look in.

“I’ll do that first,” he mumbled.

Hadzipetkov entered Vulkov’s room, without knocking this time. It had been a few hours, but Vulkov was still planted in front of the window, albeit he was at a different angle to it.

“Still here, are you?” Hadzipetkov said. “What’s so interesting out there?”

Vulkov remained silent.

“You’d better get packed. We’re heading back to Bulgaria in a few days.”

Vulkov turned around fully to face his comrade.

“We’re preparing to invade Russia, aren’t we?” Vulkov asked.

Hadzipetkov raised his eyebrows, “How’d you know that?”

“Been thinking. About why we’re here. Assumed something was going on.”

“Well, you’re right. It is about Russia. We’ll need to gather new equipment back home before moving North to help the Bulgarians.”

“Sounds good,” Vulkov turned back towards the window.

“That’s it? You don’t have any more questions?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what then, come on?”

Vulkov turned back to Hadzipetkov, “You tell the Tsar yet?”

“I’ll do that right after this. Anything else?”

“One more. You tell anyone else?”

“‘Anyone else?’” what do you mean? Of course not!”

Vulkov looked Hadzipetkov straight in his eyes, “You going to?”

“What are you implying?” Hadzipetkov said warily.

“Nothing,” Vulkov said.

“Are you saying I’m a spy?” He paused, “are you?” then, with more force, “Are you?!”

Vulkov searched deeply into Hadzipetkov’s eyes, before turning around again. The storm outside was thundering heavily and rain lashed at the window.

Hadzipetkov reached out his hand as if to force Vulkov to turn around, but then hesitated, thought better of it, then simply said:

“Never mind, just get packed.”

He sighed as he left the room and slammed the door.

. . .​

Once back in his room, Hadzipetkov dialed his Ministry office in Sofia and relayed information to be sent to the Tsar. They would be coming home soon. Then, as he hung up the phone, he walked over to his own window, opened it, and slipped outside into the rain.

He quickly found a telephone booth and dialed a number he had memorized by heart. A man on the other end picked up:

“Hello.”

“Hello,” Hadzipetkov said. “I need authorization for a Code 48.”

“Granted. You will have whatever you require to succeed in your mission.”

“I’ll need full control over our sector in Bulgaria for this to work.”

“That will be arranged. I’ll notify the others. Anything else?”

“We have a Code Tannenberg. Prepare as much as you can, it will be soon.”

“Understood. Good luck, Comrade.”

The stranger hung up.

 

[jak7139]

Chapter Nine: Appraisals; Updates; and Events; Oh My!​

Some of you may remember two chapters ago when I mentioned three incidents in Europe: a beginning, an end, and a sign of the times. These last two chapters have dealt with that first item, the beginning, but we still have two more incidents to relate before the rest of this story may be told. And this chapter deals with the sign of the times.

But first, there are a few events that have been overlooked in this story so far. Boris, Brian, and the Bulgarian Cabinet know about these events, as they naturally should. But we haven’t had time to convey that information to you, the reader. So now, let’s take a look at the world situation.

First, we all remember that before Hadzipetkov and Vulkov stepped in to save the day in France, that both Germany and Italy were on the ropes. Well now, you may have wondered when you first read that chapter, where were their armies? The answer: The Middle East and Africa. And though that may sound like a stupid idea and a horrible strategy when your nation is on the frontlines and losing, it actually paid off. The Axis controls all of North Africa, the Suez, and the Middle East.

Second, the Spanish Civil War has been going on this entire time in the background. Only near the end of 1940 and the beginning of the new year, does it finally end. But, since Germany and Italy are both busy and can’t spare any troops, this has led to a Communist victory. And I’m sure this will present no problems whatsoever going forward, especially if Germany ever decides to invade Russia. And why would they ever do something as silly as that?

Thirdly, and lastly, there are a few relatively minor matters. Hungry has gone Communist, Romania has joined the Axis, Japan is still bogged down in China (and is losing), and…let’s see, what else? Oh! Brazil is at war with the United States. These events, so far at least, haven’t affected the wider war or Bulgaria all that much. And let us hope, for Boris’ and Brian’s sakes that this continues to be the case. Anyways, on with the chapter…

*Clears throat*

As 1940 comes to a close and 1941 begins, Boris and Brian are hurriedly assembling with other members of the Cabinet. However, many members are away on business or for other reasons. Hadzipetkov and Vulkov, and the rest of the military advisors, for example, have finished the Scandinavian campaign and are currently on their way back to Bulgaria. If all goes well, they should be arriving within the week. Another Minister, Kyoseivanov, has been on vacation ever since the incident with the Messenger a few weeks prior. The fact that he still holds a grudge against Brian for assaulting him, and that Brian saved Boris’ life during the incident, surely have nothing to do with this. This leaves just the Tsar, Brian, Lukov, and Filov as the only ones present.

It’s past midnight. Much of the rest of the governmental staff has gone home and are currently enjoying a good night’s sleep. But not so for our bunch of Bulgarians, our menagerie of ministers, our gaggle of governors, our—

(Hmm? What’s that?...Well, if you think you can do a better job, go right ahead!...No, no, the script’s fine. I just thought I would add some extra…Fine! I’ll stick to the words as written).

Anyway, Filov has called this late-night meeting because, in his words, “The Tsar must know immediately!”. The dim lighting, Filov’s cryptic urgency, and the midnight air has, so far, silenced any discussion by the others as they assemble into the conference room. Only once Filov, the last to arrive, enters does Lukov begin to speak.

“Mind telling us the reason you’ve disturbed all our rests Filov!” Lukov jeered.

“Peace Lukov,” Boris commanded before stifling back a yawn, “I’m sure the Minister wouldn’t have called this meeting for nothing. Right Filov?”

All eyes turned towards Filov, who began:

“Of course, my Tsar. What I have to report is of the strictest importance. Gentlemen, it is with dire news that I’ve called this meeting. I’ve received news from one of our spies in the Americas, and it does not bode well for us or our allies.” He paused for dramatic effect.

“Spit it out Filov! We haven’t got all night!” Lukov glanced at a clock on the wall, “Or, in this case, morning.”

Filov fired back, “Maybe if you’d quit interrupting me Lukov, I would have finished by now.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s see how good you can talk with my fist in your mouth.”

Brian wedged himself in-between the two men, who were both sizing each other up and were inches apart.

“Now let’s all remember why we’re here. ‘Urgent news’. ‘Doesn’t bode well for the war effort’. Any of these ring a bell?”

“Fine!” Lukov snapped, backing off, “But this better be important. If it isn’t…”

“I assure you, it is. Now if I can continue,” he looked to the Tsar for confirmation, who nodded. Seeing this, Filov said:

“Good. Now our spy has told me, and he has made absolutely sure that this is the truth, that America has a fascist president. One, William Dudley Pelley.”

Spoiler: America's New Government

Note: I moved the dates around a bit, so ignore the screenshot saying it's 1942. I just thought it made more sense for America to become fascist in an election (1940) rather than a coup.

“Really? That’s what you’ve called us here for? That’s the big mystery?” Lukov started to make his way towards the door. “That’s good news! Why couldn’t this have waited until morning?”

“Because Lukov,” Filov said, barely controlling his anger, “America will not, in fact cannot, help the Axis with the war.”

“Oh yeah? Why not?” Lukov’s hand was on the door handle.

“Because America is at war with the Axis!” an exasperated Filov yelled, before slumping down in a nearby chair.

“They’ve declared war on our Mexican ally, citing ‘Manifest Destiny’. And Hitler’s already sent his reply back: War. With the Americans on our side we might’ve been able to force Churchill to the table, but now, alas, probably not. And so, Lukov, there’s your answer! That’s why I’ve called everyone here in the middle of the night! That’s why I’ve disturbed your oh so precious rest! Because I wanted to ask our Tsar, to plead with him: What. Do. We. Do? So, my Tsar, your move.”

Everyone was silent. Lukov’s hand, which had been clutching the door handle, now lay limp at his side. He then made his way to another chair and began to brood. Brian was staring intently at the ceiling. His eyes weren’t blinking, and his mouth was moving in silent prayer. Filov was still slumped in his chair. The only lively part of him being his eyes, which were fixed intently on his liege.

Boris could barely bring himself to meet Filov’s gaze. What to do? What to say? The Tsar thought. Finally, he spoke:

“We carry on. We’ve made our bed and now it’s time to lie in it, both literally and figuratively.” The Tsar attempted a smile, but his effort to lighten the mood with a joke was met with blank stares by the others. Brian, at least, came out of his daze long enough to pat Boris reassuringly on the shoulder. But that shoulder pat, though small, was enough to reinvigorate the monarch’s confidence.

He continued, his voice full of authority, “Brian send orders to Hadzipetkov immediately. We need him to reroute towards Berlin to see what our allies are planning. We need to know what our options are. Whatever information he and Vulkov find out, they are to send it back here immediately. Bulgaria is too isolated. We need someone closer to the action, that ‘someone’ is him and Vulkov. They’ll need to stay in Berlin until further notice and see what they can find out. Also tell them about the situation with America. They’ll find out sooner or later, but it’s best if we get it out of the way now.”

He paused and looked around at the others, “Anything else I should tell him?”

Filov, Brian, and Lukov all shook their heads.

“Right then, gentlemen,” Boris said, “good night.”

Boris was the first out of the room, followed by Brian, then the two ministers. Filov and Lukov went their respective ways, while Brian saw Boris safely to bed. Then he sent a message with the Tsar’s orders to Hadzipetkov, before going to bed as well. And everywhere in Bulgaria was silent as the Sun rose.

And so there you have it, reader. That is the sign of the times: another dictatorship and more war to follow it. The final incident, the end, comes, unsurprisingly, near the end of the story. Bye for now and see you next time.

 

[jak7139]

Chapter Eight: In Which There is Drama
​

As German forces prepared for the war in Scandinavia, the world was met with a shocking turn of events. Boris and Brian were going over some minor business when they heard the news. A knock was heard at the door.

“Come in,” Boris commanded.

The door opened to reveal a messenger with slightly crumpled clothes and an even more crumpled note. Boris and Brian both gave a slight start as they recognized the same crazed messenger who had delivered Hadzipetkov’s telegram in the last chapter.

The man stepped confidently into the room and eyed the office appreciatively, his eyes stopping especially on a set of crystalline glasses and a bottle of liquor. The messenger seemed hypnotized by the alluring way the light played and twinkled on the glass surfaces, so much so that he stopped and stood for several moments. The Tsar cleared his throat, snapping the man back to attention.

“My Tsar, Important news!” he said, holding up the crumpled letter.

“Yes, I can see that. Leave it on the table there and I’ll read it later.”

“But my Tsar, this is urgent!” he cried and made no movements to leave.

Brian stepped up to the messenger. “The Tsar is very busy right now, but don’t worry, I’m sure he appreciates your note and the gravity of the situation.”

Brian attempted to lead the messenger out of the room, but the man snatched his hand out of Brian’s grasp.

“Not to worry, my Tsar, this will just take a moment. Let me read it to you,” he said. He began, “German Marine forces have landed in Norway. Sweden and Finland have allied themselves to the Norwegians, forming a third bloc against the Axis and separate from the Allies. They call themselves ‘The Northern Lights.’”

At this Boris interrupted the man, “What about Denmark? Have they not joined?”

The messenger eyed him suspiciously, “What’s a…Denmark?”

Tsar Boris replied, “The country north of Germany.”

The messenger answered, “I already told you, Norway and Sweden are already in the Northern Lights.”

Brian challenged, “No, not them. Denmark. Between Germany and the rest of Scandinavia.”

The messenger took a step back in confusion, “I’m not sure what you mean. There’s nothing there except _______.”

Boris looked skeptical, “_______?”

“_______”, the messenger replied.

“What do you mean?” Brian asked.



The messenger enlightened him, “_______ is the beginning and the end. It is the alpha and the omega. It is not for mortal ears to hear, nor for mortal eyes to see! Were its true form revealed to the world, such consequences would be disastrous for the Universe!” At this the messenger leaped at the drinking glasses and poured himself a shot.

Boris sprang out of his chair and planted himself, motionless, flat near the back wall. Brian stood firm between the messenger and his Tsar.

“Okay now,” Brian eased, “just calm down.”

The messenger, having finished his drink, sighed contentedly and then, in response to Brian’s statement, began to cackle with glee.

“Calm down…CALM DOWN!?” he replied, “The fate of the Universe is at stake! _______ must never be known to those who are not worthy! All knowledge of it must be…purged!”

Brian paled, “I’m sorry…Purged?”

Boris, seeing how Brian was distracting the man, had begun to slowly slide along the walls of his office and towards the door, eager to remain unnoticed.

Nearly there…if I could just alert my guards. Boris thought as he inched closer, ever closer, to the door.

The messenger continued, seemingly oblivious to the Tsar’s movement, “The world must be safeguarded from the forbidden knowledge. All persons holding such knowledge without permission will be terminated!”

Boris continued to edge his way closer. Brian, keeping himself in the center of the room, shielded the Tsar in case the messenger sprung.

“Now,” Brian started, “We still don’t know what _______ is. I’m sure we can work something out—,”

“No! No negotiating!” The messenger screamed, “I’m sorry,” he moaned, “But my oath must not be broken.” With that he smashed one of the glasses onto the table and picked up his new blade. The light reflected off it still, though what before had seemed peaceful was now given a more menacing flair.

He elicited an ear-piercing screech and lunged at Brian…

But thankfully, at the moment the glass had shattered, Boris had reached the door and called to his guards from the hall. Any of these signs had gone unnoticed by the messenger, whose senses had been dulled. Whether this was from the shards of glass piercing his hands, the drinks he had had, both before and while he was in the Tsar’s office, or from his own disposition, none could say.

Whatever the case, as soon as he lunged, Brian dived to avoid it. The blade of glass missed by mere inches and was knocked from the messenger’s hand as he landed on the floor. However, he was up quickly and, seeing that his knife was out of reach, lunged again, this time to strangle Brian. The two men never met, however.

A gunshot rang out, dazing all three men in the confined room. The smell of gun smoke filled the area, watering the eyes of them too. But, to bring an end to the suspense, Brian was unharmed. Boris sat dazed, but unhurt by his side, gripping his friend’s arm for the reassurance that it was still there. And the messenger lay dead, of a shot to the heart.

The note, surprisingly, had remained in the man’s hand throughout the confrontation. It remained clutched, opened, and crumpled in the man’s hand.

The Palace’s security forces had wanted to investigate the messenger’s background, as well as those of his family and friends, but Boris said no. All evidence of this affair was to be covered up, no one was to know anything. The messenger was quietly buried somewhere on the palace grounds. Brian, still shaken by his near-death, asked Boris, “Why?”

They were on the palace’s balcony as Boris asked that question. It was the same day as the attack. But the day was nearly out, and the Sun was beginning to sink under the horizon.

The Tsar answered him, “If word gets out, either to Hitler, or to the Allies, Bulgaria will be seen as weak. That is something that we cannot afford. Especially in the days ahead.”

“The days ahead?”

“Yes,” Boris sighed. “Already the world has faced a year of war. And already is has taken a cost more than most men could bear.”

“Most men? What about you, Boris? Are you ‘most men?’”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But with you at my side I feel I have fared better than others. If you had died today…what would I have done? With you at my side, we’ve seen so much together.”

The two men stood in silence, watching the Sun dip below the world, watching as the rays of light left their vision and began to illuminate some other’s future. Someone, somewhere, on the other side of the globe.

“We have indeed,” Brian eventually replied. “And I hope we see many more days together, before the end.”

“Indeed Brian. Indeed.”

 

[jak7139]

Chapter Seven: Premature Celebrations​

As France fell, and as Hadzipetkov and Vulkov move North towards the Danish border, other events continued to happen in Europe, in Asia, and in the Americas. Mexico, it seems, was not the only one partial to Axis ideals and ideology. Columbia soon joined the war and swiftly allied itself with the Germans. Japan too had declared war on Britain and France, although it was still heavily bogged down in China, seizing Hong Kong and Indochina. And in Europe there were three items that were brought to the Tsar’s attention: one was a beginning, another an end, and the third was simply a sign of the times. Although no one in Bulgaria knew it at the time this third event would foreshadow dark times for Bulgaria ahead. But first, let’s start with the beginning incident…

The Cabinet was gathered to celebrate the recent fall of France. Only yesterday the remnants of the French government had signed an armistice with the Germans, a hefty blow to the Allied war effort. The Bulgarian Ministers each believed that peace would arrive soon. Even Lukov, Hadzipetkov’s rival, couldn’t help celebrating on this occasion.

“Three cheers for the Tsar!” he shouted, holding a glass of champagne, “His unflinching leadership in the face of this war and his wise decision to give our preeminent military-man Hadzipetkov control of the Army has played for our benefit! Soon victory will be ours!”

The rest of the Ministers gave nods and cheers of assent. Music blared from a radio somewhere. Champagne and chatter flowed freely into and out of the mouths of those gathered. Brian was off near the double-doored entrance to the room having an increasingly heated debate with someone, though with the celebration going on no one took any notice.

Tsar Boris accepted Lukov’s praise with a nod and stood from his chair, about to make a toast. “My fellow countrymen,” he began, “It is true that we had faced a difficult situation up until recently. And we only got out of it thanks to, as Lukov stated, our own Minister Hadzipetkov. I only wish he was here so we could all thank him in person, but he and Minister Vulkov, as well as all our brave men, will be home soon enough. Now, let’s all continue to enjoy—"

Whatever Boris was going to say gat cut off as the man Brian had been blocking near the entrance burst past the Tsar’s aide, who lay dazed, but unharmed, on the ground, and ran up to the Tsar a telegram clutched eagerly in his grip.

“My Tsar, My Tsar! I bring news!” the messenger said, before he grabbed the Tsar’s glass with his other hand and drank its contents in one gulp. “Important news. That you must hear immediately!” he shoved the crumpled remnants of the message into the Tsar’s, now empty, hands. “Read it! Read it!”

The Tsar eyed the still sealed letter with bated breath. The Ministers muttered barely audible remarks about the messenger’s ecstatic behavior, but most, including Boris, just chalked it up to the influence of the day’s celebrations and drinking. For not just the Cabinet, but the entire country had been ordered by the Tsar into a National Day of Celebration. Brian started to get shakily to his feet.

Boris sliced the letter open with an official-looking knife he kept in his pocket and was about to read the message aloud to his audience before Brian came up to him.

“My Tsar, forgive me, but perhaps you should wait until tomorrow before you look at the telegram. Its information is…not pertinent to a day like today.”

“Not pertinent? Brian, what do you mean?” for the Tsar had also had much to drink and was not as perceptive of his aide’s subtle warnings as he perhaps should have been.

He began to read the message aloud, “Ah, it’s from Hadzipetkov!” he began to read:

‘My Tsar, the British have rejected all peace terms from Germany. Hitler has declared ‘Festung Europa’. This requires the resources of Scandinavia, willingly given or not. We head North by the time this reaches you. Peace will not come this year, it seems. Colonel Hadzipetkov.’

The Tsar’s voice faded into silence as he read the last of Hadzipetkov’s message. Brian patted his monarch on the back reassuringly, the Cabinet members shuffled their feet awkwardly, and the messenger, satisfied of a job well done, left the room in a flash. It seems the old lie was not true:

Dulce et decorum est, Pro patria mori.

 

[jak7139]

Chapter Six: The Front
​

As Spring rolls into Summer, the war continues on in Europe. The Bulgarian Army has been trained and equipped and is now stationed on the border between Luxembourg, Belgium, and France. Hadzipetkov is there as well, to ensure that his operation goes smoothly (and certainly not to be out of the country should his plan fail). Vulkov and the other military advisors are also with him. The rest of the Cabinet are assembled back at home in the Sofia conference room, eagerly awaiting any news from the front. And—What’s this?—Tsar Boris has just been handed a telegram by a messenger:

“The offensive has begun.” Boris reads.

Everyone in the room lets out a breath that had been built up in anticipation and worry. Now though they’ll have to wait for more news. But thankfully for us, we can skip all that and go see what Hadzipetkov and Vulkov are up to on the front.

The early morning moisture left some dew on the grass and a slight fog in the air as we arrive at the command tent. Encamped just outside the spot where the German, Belgian, and Luxembourgian borders meet, Hadzipetkov pours over a map on a table with a protractor and compass, measuring and remeasuring each distance and degree. Eventually he nods to himself, gives a tired sigh, and slumps down into a chair next to the table. Across from him sits Vulkov who is, as always, deep in thought. Though unlike Hadzipetkov, Vulkov’s eyes aren’t red from lack of sleep, nor are his hair and uniform disheveled and unpressed.

Hadzipetkov barks at an aide to bring a bottle of rakia and two shot glasses, which are procured swiftly. He pours himself a shot then slides the other glass towards Vulkov enticingly. Vulkov doesn’t noticeably react, to which Hadzipetkov sighs again.

The Army is off to war, and the rest of the command staff with them, while I must sit and drink. He thinks to himself.

“The men joke about ‘Hadzipetkov the Mad’,” he mutters, “Hadzipetkov the Dedicated more like. ‘Not mentally fit to be at the front’ pfft. Do they not know how much I’ve sacrificed for this plan’s success!? How much I’ve looked into every detail!? Every eventuality? And now they say that to be so near to the action in my ‘condition’ would be dangerous. What do they now of danger? If this plan fails I am ruined, wrecked, torn to shreds by my hubris.” His head sags into his hands and a faint weeping can be heard.

This goes on for a while: the shuddering, the weeping. Eventually, the Sun pokes through the fog as the day progresses. Many aides have, seeing their commander’s sorrows and not wishing to anger him by disturbing him, crept into the tent and silently left updates about the offensive’s progress on the table. Hadzipetkov, head still in his hands, takes no notice.

Vulkov, with the speed of a sloth but the dexterity of a gymnast, reaches his arm over and begins to read through the papers one by one. His eyes pause over each word as if it were written by God himself and he gingerly handles each notice with the care a parent shows a newborn baby. As he reads each note, he stacks them neatly next to Hadzipetkov, one on top of the other. Once he finishes the last note, he picks up the glass offered by his counterpart earlier and takes a small, satisfied sip. Then he sets it down on the on the birch table, making sure it makes enough of a thump to catch the attention of his companion and says:

“The offensive goes well. You did good. Be proud. Get some rest.”

Vulkov stands to leave before, at the last moment, turning and extending his arm to touch Hadzipetkov’s shoulder. Hadzipetkov flinches but says nothing. Vulkov gives a slight squeeze, then walks through the tent flap and into the warm rays of the afternoon Sun.

Hadzipetkov remained seated, face buried in his hands for a few moments more before he too shook himself and stood to rise. He grabbed both the stack of messages and the bottle of rakia on his way out until he, reconsidering, reentered the tent and placed the bottle back on the table before exiting with the letters in hand.

He read the notices in his personal quarters, allowing no one to disturb him. The offensive had indeed gone well. After some initial difficulty pushing against the Allied forces on the Belgian-German border, the Army had moved North towards Aachen and Essen to cut off the Dutch from Belgium after the Dutch forces had pushed into Germany, seizing Oldenburg, Munster, and Osnabruck. But with their forces overextended, little was left to defend their homeland.

Arnhem was taken almost immediately, with Rotterdam, then Amsterdam following suit. With the Dutch knocked out, and many British, French, and Belgian forces trapped in Germany because of it, the Army split into two forces: those who would push on into Belgium and those who clean up the pocket before reuniting with the first group. That was where the messages stopped for Hadzipetkov but, me being the narrator, we can look into the future and see the ultimate outcome.

Once Brussels and Antwerp were taken, the first group would split into three: one would move North towards Ghent, Dunkirk, and Calais; Another would drive towards Reims and Paris; The third would move South to Luxembourg and then on to Metz. France would fall shortly after that. And many British forces would be left trapped in the French interior, trying to fight their way to the coast. Some would make it, some would not. One of those that would not, would be a portion of the BEF trying to evacuate out of Bordeaux as Axis forces had already taken Normandy and Brittany.

The cleanup group would find itself in a much harder spot than the offensive group. Most of the Allied Army had funneled into the Netherlands to support the Dutch push into Germany, and though they were now cutoff, they were still highly equipped and significantly outnumbered the local Bulgarian and German forces (much of the German Army was stationed on the Maginot and in Italy). By the time the Allied forces were well and truly beaten, much of France had already fallen. So they weren’t needed to link up with the rest of the Army. Instead, order from the German High Command would force them (and Hadzipetkov and Vulkov) to move North towards Scandinavia (though that’s a tale for another time).

And so that is where this part ends. Bulgaria has saved Germany (and Italy) from the jaws of defeat. But now what will they do?

Spoiler: An artist's rendering of the offensive

 

[jak7139]

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long. I've just been really busy with school and life. I plan to update this going forward every 1-3 weeks. Thank you all for your patience!

---

Chapter Five: A Plan​

Excerpt from a speech delivered by Tsar Boris III, Spring 1940:

“The second of February 1940. A day of triumph for our nation. The Germans have offered us a seat at the table, and we have accepted it. Bulgaria is now at war with Britain and its allies. The Greeks and the Serbs shall pay in blood for our past humiliations. We stand with Germany. We stand with Italy. We stand with Mexico…”

The following day France joins Britain, the Czechs, Greece, and Yugoslavia in their war. A major offensive is launched across the Italian border, perceiving them to be the weak link. Tsar Boris calls an emergency meeting of the Cabinet to discuss this development.

- - -​

“How can they fall so quickly, surely they were at least somewhat prepared?” Brian asked.

“Exactly why I thought this was a bad idea,” Kyoseivanov quipped, “They shall roll straight through Italy into the Balkans and Austria. We are beaten.” he shook his and sighed.

“We shall make them pay for every inch of ground!” Lukov stated. “Let them try and take Sofia!”

Boris has been listening carefully and stared at the map of Italy on the wall, “Hadzipetkov, what do you think?”

Spoiler: The Map

The Minister eyed his liege coldly, not out of contempt, but because his mind was racing with all the military knowledge of Bulgaria and he was eager to find a solution to the, at the moment, precarious predicament. He answered the Tsar with another question, asking, “Filov, what does our intelligence say about the number of divisions in the Italian Army?”

Filov answered him, “Around fifty to sixty. Mostly infantry with very little in the way of tanks. Why?”

The Tsar, his eyes still fixed on the map, guessed at the answer before Hadzipetkov could explain, “There’s only forty Italian divisions on the front!”

“Exactly, my Tsar!” Hadzipetkov replied. “Though where their other men are, I don’t know.” He began to pace around the room, “But wherever they are, we must still act. And I think I have an idea to do it.” He began to mumble slightly to himself, “Yes…an idea indeed, they won’t expect a thing!”

“What plan?” Brian asked.

“Ah, Brian my boy” Hadzipetkov clasped a hand on Brian’s shoulder, “the Ardennes!”

“The Ardennes!?” Kyoseivanov cried, “that forest is impassable! Would you risk our whole army when the Allies are so close to our borders!?”

“Don’t worry Kyoseivanov. I’ll leave enough of a force behind to protect our borders, but we must send something to the front. And it has to be enough of a something to make a difference.”

“You mean the Tsar will order you to?” Filov said, “You don’t rule this country yet. You just advise the Tsar on military matters.”

“Of course! Of course! A thousand pardons my Tsar, I never meant to usurp your authority. I just got so excited about this plan—which I do believe will work—that I just lost my head for a moment. That’s all.”

Boris nodded, “Very well, Hadzipetkov. Whatever this plan is, I accept it. But it had better work.”

“Oh, it will. It will…” Hadzipetkov gleamed.

 

[jak7139]

Author's Note: I decided to include some images for this chapter to provide some context. I put them in the spoiler tags so they shouldn't disrupt the narrative too much. There's nothing really important for the in them, it's just something extra for those who want it.

I also hope everyone had a great Holiday/Christmas/New Years!

---

Chapter Four: The Beginning​

Hello, once again everyone! We’ve left Bulgaria at the end of that fateful Cabinet meeting, but now we pick up some three years hence. The world stands on the brink of a cliff, but where is Bulgaria in relation to the precipice, the top, the ledge, or the bottom? But of course, to decide this you need to be updated on the world’s situation. Well conveniently, Minister Filov is currently updating the Tsar and Brian on these matters—Why is he doing this? —well, you’ll see in good time.

“…It has happened just like last time. Europe at war all thanks to the Balkans.” Brian stared at the map, shook his head, and sighed. “Will we never learn?” he cast a weary glance at Boris.

The Tsar stood looking at the map as well. His face was hard and unreadable but determined. Suddenly he turned and faced Minister Filov, “What has been the reaction so far from the Americans? Will they join, especially now that Mexico has allied itself with the Germans and Italians?”

Spoiler: The Map

A few things to note:

• Albania is Greece's puppet.
• Greece and Yugo are in their own faction. Czechoslovakia is in the Allies.
• France isn't in the Allies so they aren't in the war currently.

“I doubt it,” the Minister started, “the United States is still suffering through the Depression and their citizens’ opinions seem to support neutrality. Though they will probably still send arms to the British. But the question remains, what should Bulgaria do?” he directed this question at the Tsar, but also glanced around the room, welcoming further input.

“It remains clear what we must do,” Lukov began, “and any further debate on this matter only delays the inevitable. The Serbs and the Greeks hold ancestral Bulgarian land. They won’t expect a surprise attack from us while they are busy with the Italians, we must strike hard, and we must strike now!” Lukov’s eyes flashed with fire as he gave his answer before he raised his eyes toward Boris, beseeching him to agree.

The Tsar gave a slight nod to Lukov, acknowledging his opinion before shouting, “Hadzipetkov! Is our army ready?” gaining the man’s attention.

“We have twenty-five divisions ready for combat duty, and two garrison divisions for home defense. A further ten combat divisions are currently in training but could be called up now if you so wish, my Tsar. Generals Mihov and Nakov can be at our western and southern borders within the week.”

Spoiler: Mihov and Nakov

Spoiler: Division Template

Boris began to pace the room with his hand on his chin. Hadzipetkov watched him for a few seconds before continuing.

“Sapundzhiev has ensured me that our artillery is on-par, or even better than our Balkan neighbors. They won’t hold long under sustained firepower.”

Spoiler: Sapundzhiev

Minister Kyoseivanov interrupted Hadzipetkov and stood, “Now, gentlemen,” he cautioned, “the Army is just one piece. What about the Airforce? To sustain such a bombardment as you have planned, Hadzipetkov, and such a lightning offensive, Lukov, would we not need a quality number of planes to support our men and scout out enemy positions? And, even though Minister Vulkov’s record is distinguishable from the last war, I believe, and I am truly sorry to say this, that it has left him, somewhat, aloof in most matters.”

All eyes turned to Vulkov to see his response, but he remained seated. He was eyeing the swirls of the oaken conference table with the keen interest of an art collector appraising a Monet (or perhaps a Van Gogh).

When it was clear that Vulkov would not respond to his remarks, Kyoseivanov grinned slyly, “See what I mean? An operation of such importance as the one proposed cannot be trusted to this…character. Furthermore—”.

“You dare,” Brian snapped, shoving others aside, “to insult the Minister in such a way, side-stepping around any open insults and implying everything. Knowing he cannot and will not challenge you! You dare to insult someone who has fought for Bulgaria’s honor in such a horrific war! I’ll give you a challenge!” Brian stormed up to Kyoseivanov and tackled him to the floor. He shoved the frightened Minister to the ground and raised his fist for the first punch.

The remaining Ministers, shocked both by Kyoseivanov’s insinuations and by Brian’s attack, remained still and simply watched. But before he could begin his beating, a hand gripped Brian’s wrist and pulled him up from the floor. That hand was the Tsar’s.

Brian looked up, tears of rage and regret streaming down his face. “I’m sorry, Boris—I mean my Tsar” Brian quickly corrected, “I…I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry Minister Kyoseivanov for my uncalled-for behavior, I don’t know why…” He left his sentence hanging. “I will leave now and lie down, if I may my Tsar?”

“You may Brian.” Boris replied, a small smile of sympathy on his face. “Get as much rest as you need.”

Brian nodded and turned to leave the room, but before he could Kyoseivanov had regained some of his composure.

He snarled, a quiver still slightly evident in his voice, “You can’t do that! He’s attacked a government official! This man must be arrested! Someone, seize him!”

But any further words were caught in Kyoseivanov’s throat by Boris’ icy glare, “My guards will do no such thing Minister. And if you wish to remain one, I suggest that you keep your mouth shut.” Boris stepped up to him, until their faces were inches apart, “Do I make myself clear?”. Kyoseivanov mumbled a meek “yes” as his reply. “Good.” Boris stated, “Brian you can go now. And I don’t want this matter to come up ever again. That goes for all of you.” He let his gaze pierce each of the other Ministers. “Now, Hadzipetkov, please continue.”

Hadzipetkov waited for Brian to leave then cleared his throat, “The Airforce is ready to support the Army I assure you Kyoseivanov. And as for our planes having to act as scouts, that is not needed. Our troops are fitted with radios to help them find their targets. But, to broach a different subject, if we do join this war, it must be soon. The French may not have joined yet, but that won’t we the case for long. And of course, the real danger is the British fleet being able to ship troops over from the Middle East, Africa, and Cyprus. As much confidence as I have in our troops and our tactics, I would like them to get some field experience against our neighbors before we have to face a much more professional army. As always, my Tsar, the final decision rests with you.”

Spoiler: Vulkov

“Give me a few days and I will decide.” The Tsar replied. “Surely nothing will change in a few days?”

Everyone nodded and left the room, leaving only the Tsar and Vulkov who was still admiring the table. Boris sighed and stared at the Minister, “The world at war again, who would have thought it? What they say must be true indeed that, ‘there’s nothing new under the Sun’. But do I have the strength to lead us, to lead Bulgaria through it to the bitter end? And what about Brian? The War left its scars on all of us, even if they aren’t visible.” He got a faraway look as he remembered twenty years ago, “So long ago, yet so short too. ‘The War to End All Wars’ a distant yet present memory. Good talk Vulkov, good talk.” He sighed again and left the room.

Vulkov remained staring at the swirls on the table. The endless rings, the endless cycles so mesmerizing to the eyes of man.

 

[jak7139]

Chapter Three: The Meeting ​

We’re back and it’s that time again to join our Bulgarian monarch and his aide in their story. The assembled Ministers, Military, and staff have all just finished filing into the conference room, so let’s enter as well. Now let’s see, what do we have here?

Everyone sat beside a long, stately conference table. Each of the Ministers sat along one side, while the Military Staff sat along the other side. The groups made nine and five, respectively. Curiously, a chair was empty on the Ministers’ side, though no one seemed to notice. Tsar Boris sat at the head of the table and was wearing his finest military uniform. Brian stood beside him, ready to attend to his monarch and to mediate the discussion should things become heated. Boris stood up to address the room.

“You all know why we’re here,” He began. “We need to decide Bulgaria’s future. I have a plan to bring Bulgaria into the modern age and regain our strength!” he paused for emphasis, “But in order to enact this plan I need to know where things stand. That is what you, my loyal Ministers and Military, are here to divulge.”

He nodded to Brian, who continued, “The Civil Ministers will go first, followed by the Military Ministers, then our Military Staff will speak. After the Tsar has considered your advice, he will make his decision. Minister Kyoseivanov, you shall go first.”

Tsar Boris nodded his approval and sat back down as the Minister for Propaganda stood to speak.

“Well, my Tsar, I thank you for the introduction.” He blinked rapidly at Boris and stared at him, perhaps trying to gain some sympathy or recognition. When, after several seconds of silence, it became clear that everyone was, instead, waiting for him, he continued.

“As stated by myself and my colleague Hadzipetkov at our previous meeting, we simply do not have the infrastructure to conduct a modern war in any real capacity. Were we to begin building our nation to such a state, the British, French, and even the Soviets would see it as a threat. And, after the destruction of the last war, they would be eager to quash anyone trying to challenge their hegemony. I implore you, my fellow Ministers to not let our glorious, infallible Tsar go through with his plan. It would be a mistake.” Kyoseivanov sat back down, satisfied he had made his point.

The next Minister to stand was Bogdan Filov. “Thank you for that fine speech, Minister Kyoseivanov. I’m sure the Tsar has taken it to heart.”

At this, Filov let out a chuckle, and the Tsar smiled lightly at the joke. Kyoseivanov sniffed but was otherwise expressionless. The rest of the cabinet looked at each other, and a few were brave enough to smile.

Filov continued, “While the Great Powers may have taken an interest in any build up ten years ago, times have changed. There have been coups in Italy and Germany, coups that would, according to your argument Kyoseivanov, threaten their hegemony. Our diplomats tell me of tensions in China, of war in Ethiopia, yet the British and French do nothing? It has been eighteen years since the war that shook the world. The war shook it but did not rouse the world from its bed. Take the Americans for example. They espoused self-determination at Versailles, but remain isolated on their continent, content to let Europe rot. The Bulldog and the Poodle have claimed more territory for themselves in this chaos, but they remain shattered after the Great War. All it would take is one push for the whole vase to break. If Bulgaria is to survive that push, we must be with the hand that does it, rather than remain trapped on the vase ourselves” Filov gestured to Lukov and sat back down. The Minister for Industry rose and only said this.

“As Minister Filov says, we must be the hand that pushes the vase. Any who remain trapped inside the vase will break by Bulgaria’s hand. And I would hate to have to clean up that mess.” In this last bit, he directed his eyes at Hadzipetkov and smiled with relish before sitting back down.

Hadzipetkov stiffened but, for the most part, seemed unmoved by Minister Lukov’s threat.

Brian gestured that it was now the Military Ministers’ turn. The first to rise was the Chief of Airforce, Vasil Vulkov. He was not the least bit short, an effect that was made more obvious because of his clothes, an aviation uniform that made his wrists and ankles visible.

He cleared his throat for several moments before saying, “I support this plan” then he sat back down. The look on his face was one of a philosopher deep in thought.

When it became clear that Vulkov was not going to say anything else, Boris, Brian, and the rest of the Ministers decided to not disturb him and carried on.

The next Minister scheduled to speak was the Chief of Army, Vasil Boydev, but as he rose the rest of the Military Ministers, besides Vulkov, rose with him and jointly declared that Col. Hadzipetkov would speak on their behalf about any Military matters. Boydev then said, “We are sorry, my Tsar. It is not that we don’t believe in your plan, but we are all old men and tired of war. Hadzipetkov, as our nation’s theorist, is up to date on the latest technologies and tactics. We will do whatever he advises, or you order, but for information look to him”. The Ministers sat back down to allow Hadzipetkov to speak.

“I thank my fellow Ministers for their confidence in this matter. That they trust so much in me is truly heartening” Hadzipetkov began. “As stated before, I do not agree with this plan or think it feasible. But, as Lukov so eloquently put it at our last meeting, anyone who is not with Bulgaria is an enemy” he flashed Lukov a smug smile. “And so, since I have been given this responsibility as your Chief Military Aide by my fellow compatriots, and since they trust me to advise you no matter the outcome, I have decided to support your plan. May you lead Bulgaria to new heights!” he raised an invisible glass, “Three cheers for the Tsar! Three cheers for Bulgaria! Hip-hip, hurrah! Hip-hip, hurrah! Hip-hip, hurrah!”

Most of the other Ministers and the Military, joined in on the cheering. Brian and Boris eyed each other for a moment with questions on their faces before Brian joined in on the cheers and the Tsar stood respectfully. Boris looked on with a smile at Hadzipetkov, but confusion in his mind. What is he up to? The Tsar thought. Three members of the Cabinet remained seated and didn’t join in on the cheering. Lukov and Kyoseivanov were rapidly discussing something over the shouting, while Vulkov was still contemplating whatever it was he was contemplating with a faraway look. Finally, with the cheers finished, Brian called the room to order.

“Alright, alright! Everyone to order! Now the Generals and Marshalls will speak.”

As each officer gave their speech, Boris feigned interest. Hadzipetkov’s stunt had worried him. He had opposed this plan before, but now he supports it, what’s his game? Finally, the speeches were over, and Tsar Boris gave his, unsurprising, verdict: Bulgaria would remilitarize and seek allies for the coming storm. As the Ministers and staff filed out of the room, Boris and Brian were left alone. Brian spoke first.

“What’s Hadzipetkov’s plan? Hijacking the meeting like that! He had to have planned it beforehand.”

“I know” said the Tsar “We’ll have to keep a close eye on him.”

“Well, that won’t be hard. He’s made himself your Chief advisor on Military matters, and it seems as though the Military supports him.”

“Yes…What is he up to?”

“Keep your friends close—”

“—and your enemies closer” Boris finished. “Let’s go get some lunch Brian.”

“And a drink?” Brian queried. “It’s been a long day.”

The Tsar laughed, slapping Brian on the back, “And a drink! Or two! On me!”

Brian laughed as well, wiping a tear from his eye. As they made their way out the door he remarked. “Hey Boris, do you feel like we’ve forgotten something?”

Boris paused for a second, “You know, now that you mention it, yes. But I can’t quite grasp it.” He mimed a grab with his hands, “Ah well! That drink will probably help jog our memories.”

“That it will Brian. That it will!”

As the two men strode out of the building to get some lunch, the thoughts of forgetfulness floated up into the air and away from our two characters. The wind took that thought to the east, to the coast on a cool breeze. There it floated down and down until it came to a small house by the sea. The wind brought the thought circling the house, until they found an ajar window. The wind whisked the thought through the gap, and the thought came to rest on the ears of a sleeping man. That man being, Ivan Variklechkov, Chief of Navy for Bulgaria. The wind had disturbed him slightly, so he yawned, yanked the covers off himself, and shut the window. Then he rolled over and went back to sleep. The thought, now separated from the wind, and seeing its plan to have the Navy be relevant fail, slowly fizzled out and died. The wind, who had tried and failed to force the window back open, saw the loss of its companion and drifted away to find help. And so, the Navy slept as Bulgaria moved forward into the future.

 

[jak7139]

Chapter Two: The Cabinet’s Reaction​

Ah, hello, hello all of you and welcome back! When we last left our story, the Tsar and his aide were off to find some clothes before that morning’s meeting. Having successfully completed said task, we now pick up inside a conference room where they have just revealed the reason for their lateness to the assembled cabinet and—oh! I think I hear shouting, that must be the cabinet’s response. Let’s listen in, shall we?

“This is preposterous!” Georgi Ivanov Kyoseivanov, the Minister for Propaganda, shouted. “We cannot simply rearm on a whim. What will the British and French say!? Not to mention we lack the sufficient military infrastructure to produce equipment on a large scale, as well as the propaganda apparatus necessary to instill the proper amount patriotism in our soldiers and citizenry. We simply cannot.” Georgi stopped his tirade with a satisfied nod and sat back down in his chair.

Before Boris or Brian could react to the Minister’s statement, another member of the cabinet rose to speak.

“Agreed,” Colonel Nikola Hadzipetkov stated, standing up from his chair. “While I’m sure we all would love to see a strengthened Bulgaria, we don’t have any of the tools necessary to train or equip new troops. As Bulgaria’s leading Military Theorist, it is my job to keep up to date with the latest technologies. And right now, we don’t have enough industry to produce what the major powers are making on any reasonable scale. Wouldn’t you agree Lukov?” he gestured to the seated official.

The Minister for Industry remained seated for not a few moments and was closely examining his fingernails. After a while he stopped and, with a snide look at Hadzipetkov, made a great show of getting out of his chair.

“While I suppose we don’t currently have the ‘industry’ or ‘propaganda apparatus’,” Lukov started, eyeing each Minister coldly. “We can always build up our infrastructure. Or take it from those too weak to defend it. The Tsar is right!” he slammed his fist down on the table “Bulgaria is at a crossroads, and we must act! And if you are not an ally, then you are an enemy!” He gave everyone one last look, nodded respectfully to the Tsar, then sat back down.

The silence that followed bit into the hearts of each of the assembled Bulgarians. The Ministers, each initially shocked by Lukov’s declaration, started to eye each other warily and mumble. Thankfully Brian was quick to recognize the trouble.

“Well then!” he cut in before any fights broke out, “I’m sure we all wish for a strengthened Bulgaria. After all, we’re all Bulgarians, aren’t we?” He eyed some members in mock-suspicion then let out a bit laughter that was a bit too loud. Boris joined in the laughter, which caused the rest of the cabinet, except for Hadzipetkov and Lukov who were glaring at each other, to emit some nervous chuckles.

Minister of State, Bogdan Filov, was the first to speak after the laughter had died down.

“I agree with the Tsar and his Aide. Bulgaria will rebuild and restore her former glory. I’m sure we can accomplish much given time. Now, if there is nothing else may I suggest we adjourn this meeting and let each Minister head to their respective departments to gather a full report for our illustrious Tsar. And, of course, our Generals and Field Marshalls aren’t even at this meeting. It was assumed this meeting would be something routine, not a major debate. Let us reconvene in a week, and hear from our Generals, as well as those Ministers who have not yet had a chance to speak.”

Everyone nodded thoughtfully at Filov’s sage advice, although Lukov and Hadzipetkov were likely scheming on how best to one-up one another at this future meeting. The Ministers, Military, Boris, and Brian would all be back in one weeks’ time. They would all be ready to decide Bulgaria’s future…

…Idiots, I lend my voice to their network eight hours a day and they can’t even give me a week’s vacation time. I knew I should’ve taken Frank’s advice, “Don’t do it”, he said “Worst choice of my career”. Ah well, least the Coffee’s good…Oh, pardon me, I didn’t realize we were back! They can edit this bit out, can’t they? Clears throat. So, reader, you’ve seen what the initial reaction has been to this plan of Boris’ making. He’s got quite the battle ahead of him, hasn’t he? But, if I may spoil something, his plan will pass because—and this is the important bit—he’s the monarch. It also doesn’t hurt that there would be no story otherwise. Bye for now and see you next time!

 

[jak7139]

Hello everyone and welcome to my second AAR! I played through this save file a couple months back, so no abrupt end due to crashes this time. I hope you all enjoy it. Any feedback you have is greatly appreciated.

I've written a few chapters in advance, so I hope to update this once, maybe twice, a week.

Why Road to 56? When I played this, I didn't have any of the DLC, and I'd heard Road to 56 gives pretty much every nation a focus tree. So I decided to try Bulgaria like this rather than spend some money.

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Chapter One: The Dream​

We start high above a sparkling city with lights. The cool late-night air ensures there is no sound as we descend. Yes, dear reader, it is in fair Verona that we lay our scene. And as we ride towards it on the wind…What’s that? What do you mean, “Wrong script?” Oh. Clears throat. Right, it is not towards fair Verona (warm, sunny Verona sigh) that we travel, but towards the city of Sofia Bulgaria. The city sleeps, but all is not calm. Let us descend to find out why.

In a room, inside a palace, within Bulgaria, a man sleeps. But this sleep is not peaceful. This man is having a nightmare. Explosions rack his brain, as he stirs. Bullets, screams, the sounds of war. Now, something else cuts through the noise.

“a date which will live in infamy,” says a voice.

Boris stirs some more.

“We shall go on to the end…defend our…never surrender,” says another.

He mumbles, struggling against his dream.

“men are tired of liberty,” says a third.

He tries to open his eyes. If he could just wake up, the dream would stop.

A fourth voice: “the Great Crusade…The eyes of the world are upon you…people everywhere march with you”.

His eyes…must…try to open. The Tsar thinks.

Then comes a knock at the chamber doors, rousing Tsar Boris III of Bulgaria from his slumber.

“Wake up! Wake up my Tsar! You’ll be late for the cabinet meeting!” Brian chimed before opening the doors. He walks over and begins pulling the sheets off the still groggy Tsar. “Come! Come!”

“Ugh, what time is it, Brian?” Boris says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and the sweat from his forehead.

“Time for the cabinet meeting. With the New Year upon us comes new responsibilities. It’s an important job, being the Tsar. I’ve honestly no idea how your father handled it.”

Boris barely hears his aide’s reply. That dream, what could it mean? An infamous date? What must he defend? And a Crusade? Boris contemplates.

“Brian?” Boris asks “What’s on the agenda for today’s meeting? Will it take very long?”

Brian flashes a carefree smile as he fluffs a pillow, “Oh, just some news from our intelligence my Tsar. Nothing much. After all, how can you run Bulgaria without staying up to date on the latest in foreign affairs? Why?”

Boris sits for a moment on his bed, thinking. “I have an announcement to make. As well as a plan”. The Tsar then gets up and walks out of his bedchambers without a backwards glance, a steely gaze in his eyes, a fire in his heart, and a fresh sheen to his forehead.

Brian, surprised by Boris’ sudden movement, struggles to catch up to his liege’s jog. “Boris! Wait…stop! A plan for what?”

Brian catches up to Boris outside the palace. Birds chirp from somewhere in the trees, signalling the day’s dawn. The courtyard’s fountain spouts water, which splashes calmly on its marble basin. Boris stands by the fountain, allowing his aide to arrive. He turns around and faces Brian, “Brian, do you trust me?”

Brian catches his breath before proceeding, “Of course, Boris. As much as you trusted me with your life during the war. As much as your father trusted me with it as well. I’ve always trusted you, ever since our childhood”. Brian stops for a moment and studies the Tsar, “There’s something different about you. I haven’t seen you this determined since…”. He pauses, searching for the right words. “Since your father was forced to abdicate at the end of the war. You were determined to lead Bulgaria to a brighter and better future. And then…” a conflicted look comes over his face.

“And then?” Boris urges, an eyebrow raised.

“And then…life moved on. We all moved on, even you. But now…I don’t know how to describe it, you’re…back. Tell me, Boris, what happened?”

“Come. Let’s walk together and I’ll tell you.”

The two of them went from the palace to the government offices. And along the way Boris told Brian about his dream. About the voices. Then finally, he offered up his interpretation:

“I must lead Bulgaria against this ‘Crusade’, and the only way to do that is to secure Bulgaria’s borders, its people, and it military. You said it yourself, ever since my father’s abdication I wanted to ‘lead Bulgaria to a brighter and better future’. I just didn’t know how. Now I will do it.”

“But Boris, why now?” Brian asks.

“Because I feel it. The world is changing, something big is on the horizon.”

“I don’t disagree with you, I’ve felt something too, but the cabinet…they’ll never go along with this!”

“I’m the Tsar aren’t I?” Boris chuckles, “Of course, they’ll support me. And if they don’t, the people will. Now, let’s go address the cabinet, shall we?”

“Um…Boris?” Brian asks tentatively.

“Yes Brian?” the Tsar playfully rolls his eyes.

“Shouldn’t you address them in something more than your pajamas?”

“Ah. You’re quite right Brian” Boris lets out a laugh, “What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know, my Tsar.” said Brian, joining in the laughter, “Now let’s find you some clothes.”

And so, our two protagonists go off to find some clothes for the Monarch, before too many people wake up. Now, how they found these clothes, dressed the Tsar, and somehow still arrived on time for the cabinet meeting, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of the Kings of Bulgaria? Therefore, don’t worry about that too much. This is a story, I’m the narrator, and what I say goes. Now, go away all of you! I need a break (Oh if only this story was set in Verona, sweet, sweet Verona!).