An execution preempted: A lethal Otsu incident, Russian empire centered TL
- Thread starter yboxman
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My guess is that Macedonia and Bosnia will be administered separately, but in other ways considered one greater region Bosnia-Macedonia.
The Slavic Macedonians won't like that.
What about the Greeks?
Can the Habsburg authorities win them over after Greece was humiliated in the last war?
A divided navy is better than a navy bottled-up in one marginal sea of a marginal sea.
The k.u.k. navy will probably get better funding thanks to the greater importance of naval power for the expanded empire and does not have to neglect one sea.
What does the Macedonian public and the other Ottoman authorities in Macedonia think of him and his move?
I hope they will be formally separated from the Ottoman Empire if the occupying powers are not willing to return them.
These occupations should never last beyond a few years.
So the Macedonia campaign won't be too different from the Bosnia campaign of the k. u. k. army.
yboxman
Banned
Temporarily, at least in Saloniki and the Chalcidice. The way it was shaping up they were slated for conquest by Bulgaria- which would seek to impose it's language and national identity in a way the Habsburgs would not (OTL mutual ethnic cleansings and massacres against fellow Christians were commited by all combatants in the Balkan war- even BEFORE the second Balkan war broke out).
The AH empire had a great deal of difficulty raising funds from it's subjects for the millitary. Or anything, really. It was spending less per capita on the army in every year between 1890-1913 than Italy was in spite of having a much higher GDP per capita.
The Slavo-Macedonian public hates his guts- the IMRO probably has his name near the top of a list of people to assasinate ASAP. Greeks in Saloniki the city and the chalcidice are fairly relieved but the rural population in southern Salonik Vilayet are bitter at his the atrocities his troops commited in their campaign against the Greek invasion and look forward to Ionesis. The Jews think he's the greatest thing since sliced bread him as do Aromanis and Roma. Muslims, with the exception of Albanians in western Monastir generally approve.
He IS the local Ottoman authorities- and most of his underlings approve. Those who really can't stand it will be going to Anatolia and so won;t be part of the equation.
A bit easier. The Ottoman armies and gendermane are pretty much with the AH forces, as are the non-Albanian Muslims. Greeks are Neutral- only the IMRO and some Albanian tribesmen will put up a fight. The AH biggest headache will be to restrain the (ex) Ottoman forces operating with them from massacring Slavo-macedonian villages in retaliation for IMRO attacks.
OTOH the Habsburgs are operating at the end of a longer logistical chain. On the gripping hand, their railroads are far more developed and their artillery gives them greater advantage over guerillas comapred to 1877.
Another yboxman timeline! Pity about Mound of Spring though.
I wonder how Germany is taking the crisis. It can't be happy with the "Entente" strengthening their influence in large areas of the Ottoman Empire. The limited occupations and the annexation of Salonika by junior partner Austria don't seem like a satisfactory compensation.
In brief,
-spend a hundred years searching for the right editable basemap. this one might be useful
-open it in MS Paint (or some equivalent if you haven't got that on your computer)
-if necessary, use the select tool to pick the area you actually want to edit and get rid of the rest
-use the pencil tool to draw the new borders and eliminate the old ones
-use the paint bucket tool to fill in the desired colors
If this isn't enough, feel free to ask for details.
I wonder how Germany is taking the crisis. It can't be happy with the "Entente" strengthening their influence in large areas of the Ottoman Empire. The limited occupations and the annexation of Salonika by junior partner Austria don't seem like a satisfactory compensation.
You da man. Now can anyone out there tell me how to use templated maps like this http://quantumbranching.deviantart.com/art/Male-Rising-395900619 rather than painting over existing historical maps?
In brief,
-spend a hundred years searching for the right editable basemap. this one might be useful
-open it in MS Paint (or some equivalent if you haven't got that on your computer)
-if necessary, use the select tool to pick the area you actually want to edit and get rid of the rest
-use the pencil tool to draw the new borders and eliminate the old ones
-use the paint bucket tool to fill in the desired colors
If this isn't enough, feel free to ask for details.
That is enough support to pacify and administer Macedonia, at least until the bordering Balkan nations are willing to got to war for it against its new owners.
Definitely a good move by Edhem Pasha.
Yes, raising funds for the army was a huge problem, but not for the navy as my Franz Ferdinand biography (Friedrich Weissensteiner's Franz Ferdinand - der verhinderte Herrscher) noted.
Maybe it should not be surprising.
The late Hapsburg empire had three armies, but only one (armed) navy.
Statistics from Paul Kennedy's The Rise and Fall of Great powers (Table 20 on page 203) confirm that the late Austria-Hungary, a continental power was quite invested in expanding its navy.
The warship tonnage of the k. u. k. navy increased from 87,000 in 1900 to 372,000 in 1914.
For comparison, the warship tonnage of the navies of France and Italy increased from 499,000/245,000 in 1900 to 900,000/498,000 in 1914.
Considering that the Hapsburg empire had much less ports and coastline than France and Italy and no proper oversea colonies, that is an impressive naval expansion and would not be possible without greatly increased funding for the navy.
The last part is hinting that he won't go to Anatolia as well (except in a coffin), doesn't it?
yboxman
Banned
They entered into a belated naval race with Italy- which they were losing. In spite of having a larger economic base. And naval races, unlike land arms races don't hand out second prizes.
No comment
.Badly. Prestige wise the holy land (I did mention the German landings in Haifa/Acre and Jaffa, right?) is quite peachy... but economically it's far less significant than Syria-Cilicia or Messopotamia.
Saloniki, OTOH is quite significant. Austrian gains, economically speaking are actually higher than any of the other powers.
OTL, Germany only came to see the OE as a potential strategic asset and economic investment/trade target around 1896-1897 during the Greco-Turkish war and the Cretan uprising. TTL it will try to recoup prestige through Palestine and staging a Berlin conference but the Navy league and Weltpolitik crowd will be spoiling for real estate to grab under some pretext or another- and ensuring the rump OE is a german economic preserve..
Oh, I will
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Yes, in the late 19th century when the Italien navy was more twice as large as the k.u.k navy.
That changed in the early 20th century when the Habsburg empire started to close the naval gap.
Italy's long coast and dependency on sea trade made developing and maintaining a major navy which is not inferior to other navies in the Mediterranean a necessity.
This was a naval race between two countries with a land border.
The ability of the Italian navy to bottle-up the k.u.k. navy meant nothing as long as the armies of Habsburg armies could defeat the Italian army and occupy much of North Italy.
What is the German Empire gonna do in order to stabilize the rump Ottoman Empire which I presume consists of unoccupied Western- and Central Anatolia + (South) Palestine, the Hejaz and Ottoman Yemen?
Isn't it ripe for a revolution?
Unless it becomes VERY Austrian instead, as in, close ally/vassal (which in my understanding was roughly the RL Obrenovic line at that point, although a significant fraction of Serbian public conspicuously hated it). Since ALL Serbs outside Serbia (and Montenegro) are pretty much under Austrian rule at this point, "if you can fight 'em, join 'em" would make a lot of long-term sense in the view of reuniting all Serbs together. Not that I expect many to consider such a course willingly given the dominant mindset of the time, but on the other hand, Serbia (and Montenegro) are surrounded, outnumbered, outgunned. Overall, they are in an extremely uncomfortable position to challenge Austria, EVEN with Russian and Bulgarian support, particularly assuming Germany still on Austria's side.
yboxman
Banned
NO WAY that Serbia will join A-H. Ever.
Politically, there is of course no way that Serbia will "become Austrian". But Austria is now not only their primary market- it also controls their access to most international markets (there is a railway linking Belgrade to Saloniki. No equivalent connection to ports in now Bulgarian Thrace- and no real ports worthy of the name anyways).
Nationalist sentiment may be outraged but the economically logical thing to do is actually to join Austria in a custom union. OTL, this is what Serbia tried to do with Bulgaria following the 1902 coup in order to secure access to the international market.
I don't know if this is politically acceptable for either Vienna (or rather Budapest- Serbian products would compete with Hungarian agriculture) or Belgrade. But it's something to bear in mind.
The best possible thing AH can do to ameliorate anger at it's gains is to draw at least Serbia, Montengro and Greece (and perhaps "Albania") into a Balkan Zolverin.
Any ideas on how plausible such an effort on Vienna's part would be and how it is likely to be recieved?
My understanding is that better economic ties with Serbia were actually a goal in itself for Vienna. Of course, they wanted ties that secured a dominant Austrian position, but that would be the obvious result of any economic integration between the two out of the fact that Serbia was smaller than several Austrian provinces in population and GDP. Don't know what Hungary thinks however, and Hungarian approval is hugely important here.
Well making Serbia and Montenegro some nice puppet was one of the goal of the Hapsburg foreign policy and they will probably sweeten the deal with both nation, giving them some little territory from the 'administrated' Ottoman land.
The serious situation will be between Italy and Austria-Hungary, art.7 has already been add to the alliance treaty and while Vienna will spin the situation that she has not enlarged her influence but merely administer that place for the Porte and will greatly downplay (at the point of ridiculness) any influence or possible custom union with Serbia and Montenegro.
Naturally nobody in Rome will buy it...not that they can do anything about it, Italy is too strecheted at the moment (principal reason while i continue to say that in Abyssinia we put some save face deal and reatreat for more serious business) and Vlore/Valona plus some hinterland for defense is the max that can be obtained.
In that situation enter Germany, she will try to mediate between her two allies, the new situation in the balkans and the middle-east mean that her rivals have gained a lot of advantages and she can't permit that Vienna and Rome goes their separate ways. Not that Vienna will give Italy any serious concession unless forced at gunpoint...but with German mediation at least take a conciliatory tone and not create diplomatic incidents taking away rights/privileges of the italian minority (hell, maybe even allow an italian university).
In general in 1902 when there will be the renew of the alliance treaty...it will be not a given the signing of Italy.
If the Ottoman enter the German sphere of economic influence is very probable that the British will permit to the island of Crete to join Greece to limit Berlin overall influence.
The serious situation will be between Italy and Austria-Hungary, art.7 has already been add to the alliance treaty and while Vienna will spin the situation that she has not enlarged her influence but merely administer that place for the Porte and will greatly downplay (at the point of ridiculness) any influence or possible custom union with Serbia and Montenegro.
Naturally nobody in Rome will buy it...not that they can do anything about it, Italy is too strecheted at the moment (principal reason while i continue to say that in Abyssinia we put some save face deal and reatreat for more serious business) and Vlore/Valona plus some hinterland for defense is the max that can be obtained.
In that situation enter Germany, she will try to mediate between her two allies, the new situation in the balkans and the middle-east mean that her rivals have gained a lot of advantages and she can't permit that Vienna and Rome goes their separate ways. Not that Vienna will give Italy any serious concession unless forced at gunpoint...but with German mediation at least take a conciliatory tone and not create diplomatic incidents taking away rights/privileges of the italian minority (hell, maybe even allow an italian university).
In general in 1902 when there will be the renew of the alliance treaty...it will be not a given the signing of Italy.
If the Ottoman enter the German sphere of economic influence is very probable that the British will permit to the island of Crete to join Greece to limit Berlin overall influence.
abc123
Banned
About Austrian Zollverein in Balkans, I don't think that any of Balkan countries can politically accept that. Something like Cuba accepting to be part of NAFTA or Japan in customs union with China...
About Serbian- Bulgarian cooperation, it is possible as tactical cooperation against the influence of A-H, but it will not last a second more after A-H is out of that area.
About Serbian- Bulgarian cooperation, it is possible as tactical cooperation against the influence of A-H, but it will not last a second more after A-H is out of that area.
The trade agreement of 1881/1892 between Austria and Serbia did involve very low tariffs, and is sometimes called a borderline customs union. It provided Serbia easy export of agrarian products and cattle into and through Austria-Hungary, but on the other hand allowed Austrian manufactured goods to dominate Serbia's market, harming the growth of its economy.
Some in Serbia considered this an acceptable trade-off, but an even greater problem was Austria's tendency to often wiggle out of its part of the deal by closing its borders to Serbian cattle; most notably in 1895-96.
So Austria can achieve some (limited) success with a zollverein/customs union type strategy only if it is willing and able to consistently apply its principles and not bow down to the demands of Hungarian agriculture. Which is easier said than done.
As Lukedalton mentioned, a more reliable way to prop up the pro-Austrians in Serbia (and reduce Montenegro's hostility as well) would be to offer them some "border corrections" ie. small, less important bits of newly administered territory. This strategy was favored by the late Archduke Rudolph and some of the earlier Hungarian leaders, but I have no idea if this is something Vienna would plausibly do at this point.
abc123
Banned
Also, said territory belongs ( officially ) to the Turks and they will not accept that.
Also, said territory belongs ( officially ) to the Turks and they will not accept that.
There's a lot going on that the Turks really won't like having to accept. Considering the fate of various Ottoman territories elsewhere, this type of border "correction" would feel like a harmless mosquito bite after getting kicked in the face. So I think the decision would be entirely in Vienna's hands.
Sadly, IOTL Vienna seemed hardly ready to make any sort of concession of this sort, perceiving (rightly, to a point) that they would not be enough to make South Slavic (or Italian, for that matter) nationalism any less hostile. In the essence, nationalism in general, and South Slavic (esp. Serbian) and (to a somewhat lesser extent) Italian nationlism in particular, were an existential challenge to the continued existence of Austria as a Great Power; to a large extent, this hinges on the central role of both Trieste and a Balkan sphere of influence for the Great Power status of the monarchy, which both were not, in principle, compatible with national aspirations of the Balkan peoples -well, the nationally active components of those peooples- and the national and power aspirations of Italy (and the Italian minority within Austria).
This was seen with some relative clarity in Vienna and among Serbian radicals (for entirely opposed reasons), much less, AFAIK, in Italy.
Mostly agreed. However, although Austria could not afford to embrace the concepts of self-determination and nationalism, it still sometimes played with supporting it in more "acceptable" directions.
I don't know if anyone after Rudolf seriously considered buying Serbian and Montenegrin affection by donating territories. Although the text of Vienna's secret convention with the Obrenovic regime suggests that the idea was, at least, tolerated as a distant possibility.
IMO what drove Austria-Hungary to its fall was not so much the existence of nationalism itself as the inability to
1) reduce nationalism's strength within A-H's own territories by addressing the root causes of separatism
2) keep neighboring governments friendly by occasionally giving pro-Austrian elements something to show to their public
or in other words, A-H's (avoidable) failure/unwillingness to reduce nationalism's appeal and danger.
yboxman
Banned
#23 heroic measures
West of Erzurum, Turkish Armenia, August 12th 1895
"Scalpel!"
Even so far behind the front the roar of artillery was deafening, enough so that she hesitated for a second before handing the doctor the correct instrument and received an angry curse in response.
"Gauze!"
She wasn't supposed to be here of course. She was supposed to be making symbolic apperances with recovering patients, and displaced Armenians, and occasionally troubleshoot supply problems caused by bureaucratic snags. Such, after all was the power of the Tsarina- at times she was capable of cutting through red tape.
"Ether goddamnit!"
But Kuropatkin's big push, delayed for over a month as the railhead was extended westward had finally been launched on the heels of the naval operations in Trebizond. Artillery shell stockpiles, painfully transported and accumulated by mule caravan had been unleashed on the enemy fortifications and regiment after regiment had been thrown into the expected breech.
Every capable man, and woman, was now needed to triage and attend to the flood of wounded pouring back from the front. She had attempted to impose order on the chaos of the field hospital. Then she had been sucked into it.
She barely bothered glancing at the faces of the patients anymore. If she had it would have been too hard to continue.
"Hand me over the saw, nurse. I'll have to amputate this one above the knee. Too much of his flesh is mangled to save it."
The blue eyes of the innocent faced boy in the stretcher widened in horror before the ether kicked in. She takes care to tie him down- the shock of the saw often woke even the most sedated patients.
This one proved no exception- she has to forcibly hold him down as the surgeon completes his bloody business. She very nearly vomits as he debrides and sutures the hacked off limb, hopefully without infecting the leg.
Later, much later, when the flood of wounded slows down to a tricle and the finally, mercifully ends she collapses at the side of the hospital tent with her sisters and the other nurses and gratefully devours a full samovar of sugared tea.
When the surgeon, whose name she has never learned, approaches them she groans but is first to rise to her feet.
"We need to move. The section commander says we need to relocate by 10:00 tomorrow morning. I need you all to pack your bags and be prepared to move at dawn."
Elena looks at the patients and her heart falls. Was it all for nothing?
"The battle is lost then?"
"Lost? No, we've won. Kuropatkin has crushed the Turkish lines and has broken through. This… this is victory. This is what victory looks like."
West of Erzurum, Turkish Armenia, August 13th 1895
The next day she accompanies the field hospital to its new location, over the bitter protests of her handlers. It is nearly a dozen miles forward of the previous location, a testimony to Kuropatkin's success. Wounded begin coming in almost at once. This time she is assigned to Triaging them, separating those who require urgent care from those who are lightly wounded… and from those wounded too badly to receive any care from the overwrought medics beyond a hefty dose, and sometimes an overdose of Morphine.
When daylight wanes and the flood of wounded slackenss she is released. But she cannot, she dares not, sleep. Instead she walks to the edge of the hospital for a breath of fresh air. She curls up under a pine which mysteriously evaded the axe of the military foragers and looks at the stars for a while. The stench of harsh Turkish tobacco alerted her to the approach of the surgeon. Wordlessly, and without so much of a by-your-leave he seats himself besides her.
"Not your first time, is it?"
"Not… quite. But never like this."
The surgeon takes a deep drag on his cigarette.
"Thought so. You did well. Never thought this mad idea of the Tsarina, or whoever in the interior ministry cooked this up, would bear any fruit worthy of the name but the fact is many more young men would have died or been crippled if it weren't for you ladies. We just don’t have enough male nurses and medics and that's a fact."
With a small shock, Elena realizes that the Surgeon does not realize who she is. It is oddly comforting. For the past two years, and to a lesser degree for her entire life she could never be sure who was speaking his mind to her. And hardly surprising. In the blood spattered nurse uniform she does not look much like her official photographs.
"And perhaps not enough female surgeons as well?"
The doctor very nearly chokes on his ciggarete. Smiling, he offers her the smoke as he recovers.
"I hear they have some female doctors in the West. But in Russia? Perhaps your daughters might become surgeons. I doubt it will happen sooner than that. Nichevo. Nothing you or I can do about it any which way"
The shock of the Turkish tobacco prevents her from angrily retorting that she does, in fact, fully intend to do something about it.
"I do wish that when your daughter's time comes their services won’t be necessary. Not here. Not in war. I was a medic in 1878 on the Bulgarian front. I have more tools, and more experience, to treat the wounded but I wish the fools who start wars could be forced to see what they churn out- they seem no wiser now than they were then."
"You don’t think this war had to be fought? For the Armenian's sake? Have you seen the refugee camps?"
"Nobody in the government cares about the Armenians any more than they cared about the Bulgarians last time around. They are fighting the war so the diplomats, when they gather in Berlin or Vienna or Paris can draw the lines on the map a bit differently, that's all. And I saw what the Bulgarians did to their neighbors when we liberated them from the Turks. By all accounts the Armenians are doing the same. Angels and devils may fill heaven and hell but here on earth we are all mortals, and few among us are either saint or willful sinners. If those classifications mean anything to begin with"
Shaking his head, he rises to his feet and offers her a hand.
"We had best catch some sleep before the fighting resumes. May I offer you a drink of something stronger than teabefore we go to bed? (1)"
She feels a blush steal up her neck. What does he take her for? Refusing his extended hand she rises on her own, finding, to her surprise, that he stands nearly eye to eye with her.
"That would hardly be appropriate. Good night."
"Good night. Another time perhaps."
When she joins Anastasia and Milicia at their quarters she fails to respond to their chatter and drifts off to a hectic sleep in which the men she condemned to death today, the surgeon, George and his faceless mistresses all hover over her shoulder offering useless advice as she frantically, helplessly, tries to operate with inadequate instruments on a badly injured patient. When her efforts fail and the patient dies she realizes that the patient's face is that of George. And then it become her own (2)
Gasping, she struggles against her sweat drained coverlets before her sister's arms waken her and comfort her out of the nightmare.
None of them can fall asleep after that.
"Are you angry I dragged you here?" Elena timidly asks her sisters.
Anastasia laughs bitterly. "Are you joking? I would rather tour a dozen battlefields than spend another month with the filthy philanderer who is my husband".
Milicia clucks her tongue. "Philanderer or no- he is your husband. And you have your children to think of after all."
"He's with her right now, you know." Says Anastasia. She does not sound sad or angry, merely resigned.
Is that how she too would feel after a few more years of this charade?
"I suppose", Elena says with some hesitation after sipping her cocoa, "that I could ask George to dissolve your marriage if that is what you would like. You are still young after all- I'm sure you could find another, better companion."
Anastasia bites her lip and exchanges a quick glance with Milicia.
Elena sighs.
"No, I am not, in fact, an idiot. May I assume you know whom she is?"
Milicia lays her hand on Elena's knee. "They, my dear, they. And no, it is rather hard to keep track. He keeps half a dozen or so fillies in his stable at any one time and they frequently change. You need not be concerned, at least, that his heart belongs to another."
"Not his heart, no. Just another part"
The three sisters break down in hysterical, tear soaked giggles. After a time they climb back to bed to sink back into a brief, but surprisingly dream free slumber.
Russian army headquarters, Sivas, Ottoman Armenia, September 11th 1895
The army has come far in the past month, Turkish troops and civilians both being driven before the Advancing Russian forces into Angora. Streaming in form the other direction came Armenian and Greek refugees driven out of central Anatolia and seeking the refuge of the Russian army. Many, in spite of the ready availability of abandoned Turkish and Kurdish housing, remained corralled into tent cities beneath the city gates.
But not for long. Not if Elena had anything to say about it.
Her determined march is cut short when Kuropatkin's aide meets her at the entrance to the Stavka.
"Mikhail? What are you doing here?"
Her 17 year old brother in law grins rakishly as he offers her his arm.
"Hasn't George told you? I begged and pestered him until he assigned me to Kuropatkin's staff. Not that I am of much use, but at least I am learning the soldier's trade here in the real world instead of memorizing the campaigns of Alexander the Great. The only shame is that the war seems to be over almost before I had the chance to experience it."
"Poor George. Left all alone at the Palace with no one but mother and Olga to care for him"
Mikhail's flush is all the confirmation she needs. Is there anyone in St.Petersburg who doesn’t know?
"Relax Mikhail. I know- and I can’t say that I particularly care. My work here is more important than a few furled petticoats and frumpled Ballerinas."
The flush spreads farther up his neck. Escorting her as he is, he can hardly either escape or respond with indefinite silence. After a few corridors he speaks.
"It is, you know. I've heard Kuropatkin, and Yudenich say as much. Hundreds, maybe thousands of lives were saved thanks to the way you secured medical supplies and practioners. They say we will have to learn many things from how this war was conducted, and medical support is not least among them?"
She raises her eyebrows. Struggling with thick necked military obstructionists over the past two months have not given her the impression that her concerns were taken seriously. But perhaps she was mistaken.
"I may have a word or two to say on that account while I am here. Do I understand Yudenich will be attending as well?"
Mikhail nods.
"I believe so. He has just returned from Dersim. You know about the Alevi uprising in our support?"
"I do. Is that Yudenich's doing?"
"Not his alone, but he is the one who sealed the pact. He has a way with dealing with tribal people, Muslim or Armenian."
"He's no fool- which makes the way the Armenian refugees from Kayseri are being treated even more inexplicable. Humanity aside, doesn’t he understand that they will not love Russia any more for being pointlessly blocked from resettlement rather than being aided?"
"Well, of course, but it's not as if they are going to stay here."
She halts and Mikhail shuts his mouth with a near snap. He obviously was not supposed to blurt out what he had just said.
"What's that supposed to mean? What do you know?"
Mikhail glances helplessly to his sides. No rescue, however, seems to be forthcoming.
"Well, what I've heard is that if we want to make this land Russian, it's best if there aren’t too many non-Russian people of one sort here and that the lands and houses left by the Turks are to be given to Russian and other Slav settlers, maybe to form a new Cossack host. (3)"
"And the Armenians?"
"Yudenich says there is plenty of good vacant land in Turkmenistan (4) and the Syr Darya. And that the weather there is sufficiently clement that the Armenians from the west can be resettled there easily, even in the fall."
Elena's fists clench when she thinks of the hopeless, malnourished faces she has seen yesterday at the camps. That they should remain there a moment longer than neccesary…
"Well, we shall see about that. I believe I shall have some harsh words to Genral Yudenich and his excellency Kuropatkin."
Michael is staring at her in a way she finds disconcerting.
"My brother is a fool"
Impulsively she hugs him.
"You are a good lad, a good man, Mikhail. Thank you for telling me- and have no fear. No one will know how I figured it out."
He grins.
"Perhaps after you are done chewing out the generals you might ask them to permit me to escort you about the city? The Bazaar, or what is left of it, is quite lovely."
She glances over her shoulder as she enters Kuropatkin's office.
"Perhaps"
"What you do not understand, your highness, is that our hold on the province remains precocious. The Ottomans might counter-attack at any time and the refugees whose well being we all desire would only be massacred if they are not evacuated to the East."
Kuropatkin picks up smoothly where Yudenich leaves off. They have obviously prepared.
"Besides, neither of us can tell what the shape of the political resolution arrived at in Berlin will be. It may well be that we shall be forced to cede Sivas back to the Turk. And then what? Shall we hand over those who have fled his bloody regime back to his Abdul-Hamid's rule? And if they already take possession of the property abandoned by his Muslim subjects what embarrassment will Russia face when bloodshed erupts when they return?"
Elena smiles sweetly.
"Goatshit."
Kuropatkin sputteres.
"Your highness…"
"Nonsense, I say. The Turkish army is defeated, and much to your credit. They are not launching any new counter attacks- none, in any event which you cannot defeat. And the outcome of the war was decided before it ever begun. Do you think my husband does not share his calculations with me (5)? The Six Vilayets are Russia's. The only question is whether our claim to be the saviors of the Armenians will be made out to be a hollow self-serving falsehood, or whether the world, and the Armenians themselves shall have cause to thank us for their deliverance."
"Whatever thanks they might have now, you may be assured that they shall soon be demanding autonomy or independence- if they are the majority."
"And a hundred thousand refuges will make the difference? Please. By all means, encourage the refugees to be resettled across the Caspian. Tell them the same tall tales you have told me, though hopefully more convincingly. But until you arrange transport- get the women and children into shelter, cease limiting their movements and ability to purchase and gather food, and arrange adequate provisions and supplies for them."
Kuropatkin sighs.
"Your highness, the Berlin conference may reach it conclusions within a month or two"
"You mean the conclusions which award Sivas to Russia?"
Kuropatkin sighs and cedes the point with a wave of his hand.
"Perhaps. The point is that may not be enough time to arrange for the transport and resettlement of all of the Kayseri refugees in that timeframe."
"It doesn’t matter. Past that point you will be forcing them to relocate in the middle of winter. That is a death sentence."
Yudenich interjects.
"Perhaps if we send the young men ahead of their families to prepare the new settlements… well, that shall require far less transport and the families can be assigned to the work Battlions Witte is sending to take possession of the abandoned Turkish possesions. They can rejoin the men later."
Elena spreads her hands.
"Do whatever you think best. But I want the refugees housed by the day after tomorrow or I will know the reason why. And so will my husband."
Izmir Vilayet, Western Anatolia, October 1895
Somehow, Ahmed Djemal had kept his men together throughout the long retreat through the desperate defense of western Erzurum, through the long grinding retreat through Sivas, through the night ambushes of the Alevi traitors of Dersim.
They had been defeated, time and time again, so badly battered that they had lost all sense of self-worth or self-preservation. But they had not lost faith in him, in their commander. Why? He could promise them no victories, no glory. Not even, as he admitted in night's darkest moments particular military brilliance. All he had, all he was, was a condensed core of determination to keep on fighting.
But his men cleaved to him, as he cleaved to them. And that is why the thrice cursed government in Brusa had sent his unit here to spearhead the counterattack against the latest threat to the Turkish people.
And here… here they had not been defeated.
"What should we do with them Sir?"
The Orthodox Church is filled with the town's Christian inhabitants, identified by the Muslims who had survived the Hellene army's advance and retreat. Athens knew the conference would soon order an end to the fighting and so they attempted to achieve in Izmir what they had been denied in Anatolia. Nearly all of their army had landed under the guns of theior fleet and taken the great city by storm. Over the past week their army had fanned out from the city into the countryside as they raced to secure as much land as they could before the armistice. They had encountered little resistance... until now.
His hand clutches at his breastcoat. Yes, his mother's letter is still there.
"Sir? Some of the men may be soldiers or rebels disguised as civilians even if they are not armed. Should we interrogate them?"
It doesn't matter what he does here. Not really. Lesbos, Mytilene, his home… they are gone. His younger brothers and cousins- killed. His sisters, ravished and dishonored at the hands of the Hellenes in front of his mother.
"Sir? Should we just separate the goats from the ewes and take them behind the hill?"
He closes his eyes to the huddled, terrified masses before him, closes his ears to their whispered infidel prayers. He himself, after all, has not been able to pray for the past month. Why should the enemy have the audacity to believe Allah is watching over them?
Instead, he remembers wave swept beaches, the call of the Muezin for evening prayers mixed with the greetings of the fishwives to their husbands returning to Mytilene's wharves, the rustle of the pines and the bleating of sheep in the high meadows….
"Sir? Sir?"
"No. That will not be necessary, captain."
"Sir?"
"Walk with me."
They leave the church and the captives within it. He closes its doors and he order them barred, and nailed shut from the outside. The captain still doesn't understand, not even when he orders brush piled against the doors.
Silently, he lights a naphlata soaked torch and flings it on the brushpile.
"Burn them. Burn them all."
(1) Smooth, very smooth. Then again when you are a field doctor surrounded by female nurses you don’t really have to be.
(2) I don't really need to explain the dream-metaphor, do I?
(3) OTL WWI policy. Not that it could be implemented, what with the great retreat, the revolution and what not.
(4) Partially because the Russians decimated the local Turkemeni population when they conquered it.
(5) Well, he doesn’t. Or not fully. But she's bluffing, and bluffing well.
West of Erzurum, Turkish Armenia, August 12th 1895
"Scalpel!"
Even so far behind the front the roar of artillery was deafening, enough so that she hesitated for a second before handing the doctor the correct instrument and received an angry curse in response.
"Gauze!"
She wasn't supposed to be here of course. She was supposed to be making symbolic apperances with recovering patients, and displaced Armenians, and occasionally troubleshoot supply problems caused by bureaucratic snags. Such, after all was the power of the Tsarina- at times she was capable of cutting through red tape.
"Ether goddamnit!"
But Kuropatkin's big push, delayed for over a month as the railhead was extended westward had finally been launched on the heels of the naval operations in Trebizond. Artillery shell stockpiles, painfully transported and accumulated by mule caravan had been unleashed on the enemy fortifications and regiment after regiment had been thrown into the expected breech.
Every capable man, and woman, was now needed to triage and attend to the flood of wounded pouring back from the front. She had attempted to impose order on the chaos of the field hospital. Then she had been sucked into it.
She barely bothered glancing at the faces of the patients anymore. If she had it would have been too hard to continue.
"Hand me over the saw, nurse. I'll have to amputate this one above the knee. Too much of his flesh is mangled to save it."
The blue eyes of the innocent faced boy in the stretcher widened in horror before the ether kicked in. She takes care to tie him down- the shock of the saw often woke even the most sedated patients.
This one proved no exception- she has to forcibly hold him down as the surgeon completes his bloody business. She very nearly vomits as he debrides and sutures the hacked off limb, hopefully without infecting the leg.
Later, much later, when the flood of wounded slows down to a tricle and the finally, mercifully ends she collapses at the side of the hospital tent with her sisters and the other nurses and gratefully devours a full samovar of sugared tea.
When the surgeon, whose name she has never learned, approaches them she groans but is first to rise to her feet.
"We need to move. The section commander says we need to relocate by 10:00 tomorrow morning. I need you all to pack your bags and be prepared to move at dawn."
Elena looks at the patients and her heart falls. Was it all for nothing?
"The battle is lost then?"
"Lost? No, we've won. Kuropatkin has crushed the Turkish lines and has broken through. This… this is victory. This is what victory looks like."
West of Erzurum, Turkish Armenia, August 13th 1895
The next day she accompanies the field hospital to its new location, over the bitter protests of her handlers. It is nearly a dozen miles forward of the previous location, a testimony to Kuropatkin's success. Wounded begin coming in almost at once. This time she is assigned to Triaging them, separating those who require urgent care from those who are lightly wounded… and from those wounded too badly to receive any care from the overwrought medics beyond a hefty dose, and sometimes an overdose of Morphine.
When daylight wanes and the flood of wounded slackenss she is released. But she cannot, she dares not, sleep. Instead she walks to the edge of the hospital for a breath of fresh air. She curls up under a pine which mysteriously evaded the axe of the military foragers and looks at the stars for a while. The stench of harsh Turkish tobacco alerted her to the approach of the surgeon. Wordlessly, and without so much of a by-your-leave he seats himself besides her.
"Not your first time, is it?"
"Not… quite. But never like this."
The surgeon takes a deep drag on his cigarette.
"Thought so. You did well. Never thought this mad idea of the Tsarina, or whoever in the interior ministry cooked this up, would bear any fruit worthy of the name but the fact is many more young men would have died or been crippled if it weren't for you ladies. We just don’t have enough male nurses and medics and that's a fact."
With a small shock, Elena realizes that the Surgeon does not realize who she is. It is oddly comforting. For the past two years, and to a lesser degree for her entire life she could never be sure who was speaking his mind to her. And hardly surprising. In the blood spattered nurse uniform she does not look much like her official photographs.
"And perhaps not enough female surgeons as well?"
The doctor very nearly chokes on his ciggarete. Smiling, he offers her the smoke as he recovers.
"I hear they have some female doctors in the West. But in Russia? Perhaps your daughters might become surgeons. I doubt it will happen sooner than that. Nichevo. Nothing you or I can do about it any which way"
The shock of the Turkish tobacco prevents her from angrily retorting that she does, in fact, fully intend to do something about it.
"I do wish that when your daughter's time comes their services won’t be necessary. Not here. Not in war. I was a medic in 1878 on the Bulgarian front. I have more tools, and more experience, to treat the wounded but I wish the fools who start wars could be forced to see what they churn out- they seem no wiser now than they were then."
"You don’t think this war had to be fought? For the Armenian's sake? Have you seen the refugee camps?"
"Nobody in the government cares about the Armenians any more than they cared about the Bulgarians last time around. They are fighting the war so the diplomats, when they gather in Berlin or Vienna or Paris can draw the lines on the map a bit differently, that's all. And I saw what the Bulgarians did to their neighbors when we liberated them from the Turks. By all accounts the Armenians are doing the same. Angels and devils may fill heaven and hell but here on earth we are all mortals, and few among us are either saint or willful sinners. If those classifications mean anything to begin with"
Shaking his head, he rises to his feet and offers her a hand.
"We had best catch some sleep before the fighting resumes. May I offer you a drink of something stronger than teabefore we go to bed? (1)"
She feels a blush steal up her neck. What does he take her for? Refusing his extended hand she rises on her own, finding, to her surprise, that he stands nearly eye to eye with her.
"That would hardly be appropriate. Good night."
"Good night. Another time perhaps."
When she joins Anastasia and Milicia at their quarters she fails to respond to their chatter and drifts off to a hectic sleep in which the men she condemned to death today, the surgeon, George and his faceless mistresses all hover over her shoulder offering useless advice as she frantically, helplessly, tries to operate with inadequate instruments on a badly injured patient. When her efforts fail and the patient dies she realizes that the patient's face is that of George. And then it become her own (2)
Gasping, she struggles against her sweat drained coverlets before her sister's arms waken her and comfort her out of the nightmare.
None of them can fall asleep after that.
"Are you angry I dragged you here?" Elena timidly asks her sisters.
Anastasia laughs bitterly. "Are you joking? I would rather tour a dozen battlefields than spend another month with the filthy philanderer who is my husband".
Milicia clucks her tongue. "Philanderer or no- he is your husband. And you have your children to think of after all."
"He's with her right now, you know." Says Anastasia. She does not sound sad or angry, merely resigned.
Is that how she too would feel after a few more years of this charade?
"I suppose", Elena says with some hesitation after sipping her cocoa, "that I could ask George to dissolve your marriage if that is what you would like. You are still young after all- I'm sure you could find another, better companion."
Anastasia bites her lip and exchanges a quick glance with Milicia.
Elena sighs.
"No, I am not, in fact, an idiot. May I assume you know whom she is?"
Milicia lays her hand on Elena's knee. "They, my dear, they. And no, it is rather hard to keep track. He keeps half a dozen or so fillies in his stable at any one time and they frequently change. You need not be concerned, at least, that his heart belongs to another."
"Not his heart, no. Just another part"
The three sisters break down in hysterical, tear soaked giggles. After a time they climb back to bed to sink back into a brief, but surprisingly dream free slumber.
Russian army headquarters, Sivas, Ottoman Armenia, September 11th 1895
The army has come far in the past month, Turkish troops and civilians both being driven before the Advancing Russian forces into Angora. Streaming in form the other direction came Armenian and Greek refugees driven out of central Anatolia and seeking the refuge of the Russian army. Many, in spite of the ready availability of abandoned Turkish and Kurdish housing, remained corralled into tent cities beneath the city gates.
But not for long. Not if Elena had anything to say about it.
Her determined march is cut short when Kuropatkin's aide meets her at the entrance to the Stavka.
"Mikhail? What are you doing here?"
Her 17 year old brother in law grins rakishly as he offers her his arm.
"Hasn't George told you? I begged and pestered him until he assigned me to Kuropatkin's staff. Not that I am of much use, but at least I am learning the soldier's trade here in the real world instead of memorizing the campaigns of Alexander the Great. The only shame is that the war seems to be over almost before I had the chance to experience it."
"Poor George. Left all alone at the Palace with no one but mother and Olga to care for him"
Mikhail's flush is all the confirmation she needs. Is there anyone in St.Petersburg who doesn’t know?
"Relax Mikhail. I know- and I can’t say that I particularly care. My work here is more important than a few furled petticoats and frumpled Ballerinas."
The flush spreads farther up his neck. Escorting her as he is, he can hardly either escape or respond with indefinite silence. After a few corridors he speaks.
"It is, you know. I've heard Kuropatkin, and Yudenich say as much. Hundreds, maybe thousands of lives were saved thanks to the way you secured medical supplies and practioners. They say we will have to learn many things from how this war was conducted, and medical support is not least among them?"
She raises her eyebrows. Struggling with thick necked military obstructionists over the past two months have not given her the impression that her concerns were taken seriously. But perhaps she was mistaken.
"I may have a word or two to say on that account while I am here. Do I understand Yudenich will be attending as well?"
Mikhail nods.
"I believe so. He has just returned from Dersim. You know about the Alevi uprising in our support?"
"I do. Is that Yudenich's doing?"
"Not his alone, but he is the one who sealed the pact. He has a way with dealing with tribal people, Muslim or Armenian."
"He's no fool- which makes the way the Armenian refugees from Kayseri are being treated even more inexplicable. Humanity aside, doesn’t he understand that they will not love Russia any more for being pointlessly blocked from resettlement rather than being aided?"
"Well, of course, but it's not as if they are going to stay here."
She halts and Mikhail shuts his mouth with a near snap. He obviously was not supposed to blurt out what he had just said.
"What's that supposed to mean? What do you know?"
Mikhail glances helplessly to his sides. No rescue, however, seems to be forthcoming.
"Well, what I've heard is that if we want to make this land Russian, it's best if there aren’t too many non-Russian people of one sort here and that the lands and houses left by the Turks are to be given to Russian and other Slav settlers, maybe to form a new Cossack host. (3)"
"And the Armenians?"
"Yudenich says there is plenty of good vacant land in Turkmenistan (4) and the Syr Darya. And that the weather there is sufficiently clement that the Armenians from the west can be resettled there easily, even in the fall."
Elena's fists clench when she thinks of the hopeless, malnourished faces she has seen yesterday at the camps. That they should remain there a moment longer than neccesary…
"Well, we shall see about that. I believe I shall have some harsh words to Genral Yudenich and his excellency Kuropatkin."
Michael is staring at her in a way she finds disconcerting.
"My brother is a fool"
Impulsively she hugs him.
"You are a good lad, a good man, Mikhail. Thank you for telling me- and have no fear. No one will know how I figured it out."
He grins.
"Perhaps after you are done chewing out the generals you might ask them to permit me to escort you about the city? The Bazaar, or what is left of it, is quite lovely."
She glances over her shoulder as she enters Kuropatkin's office.
"Perhaps"
"What you do not understand, your highness, is that our hold on the province remains precocious. The Ottomans might counter-attack at any time and the refugees whose well being we all desire would only be massacred if they are not evacuated to the East."
Kuropatkin picks up smoothly where Yudenich leaves off. They have obviously prepared.
"Besides, neither of us can tell what the shape of the political resolution arrived at in Berlin will be. It may well be that we shall be forced to cede Sivas back to the Turk. And then what? Shall we hand over those who have fled his bloody regime back to his Abdul-Hamid's rule? And if they already take possession of the property abandoned by his Muslim subjects what embarrassment will Russia face when bloodshed erupts when they return?"
Elena smiles sweetly.
"Goatshit."
Kuropatkin sputteres.
"Your highness…"
"Nonsense, I say. The Turkish army is defeated, and much to your credit. They are not launching any new counter attacks- none, in any event which you cannot defeat. And the outcome of the war was decided before it ever begun. Do you think my husband does not share his calculations with me (5)? The Six Vilayets are Russia's. The only question is whether our claim to be the saviors of the Armenians will be made out to be a hollow self-serving falsehood, or whether the world, and the Armenians themselves shall have cause to thank us for their deliverance."
"Whatever thanks they might have now, you may be assured that they shall soon be demanding autonomy or independence- if they are the majority."
"And a hundred thousand refuges will make the difference? Please. By all means, encourage the refugees to be resettled across the Caspian. Tell them the same tall tales you have told me, though hopefully more convincingly. But until you arrange transport- get the women and children into shelter, cease limiting their movements and ability to purchase and gather food, and arrange adequate provisions and supplies for them."
Kuropatkin sighs.
"Your highness, the Berlin conference may reach it conclusions within a month or two"
"You mean the conclusions which award Sivas to Russia?"
Kuropatkin sighs and cedes the point with a wave of his hand.
"Perhaps. The point is that may not be enough time to arrange for the transport and resettlement of all of the Kayseri refugees in that timeframe."
"It doesn’t matter. Past that point you will be forcing them to relocate in the middle of winter. That is a death sentence."
Yudenich interjects.
"Perhaps if we send the young men ahead of their families to prepare the new settlements… well, that shall require far less transport and the families can be assigned to the work Battlions Witte is sending to take possession of the abandoned Turkish possesions. They can rejoin the men later."
Elena spreads her hands.
"Do whatever you think best. But I want the refugees housed by the day after tomorrow or I will know the reason why. And so will my husband."
Izmir Vilayet, Western Anatolia, October 1895
Somehow, Ahmed Djemal had kept his men together throughout the long retreat through the desperate defense of western Erzurum, through the long grinding retreat through Sivas, through the night ambushes of the Alevi traitors of Dersim.
They had been defeated, time and time again, so badly battered that they had lost all sense of self-worth or self-preservation. But they had not lost faith in him, in their commander. Why? He could promise them no victories, no glory. Not even, as he admitted in night's darkest moments particular military brilliance. All he had, all he was, was a condensed core of determination to keep on fighting.
But his men cleaved to him, as he cleaved to them. And that is why the thrice cursed government in Brusa had sent his unit here to spearhead the counterattack against the latest threat to the Turkish people.
And here… here they had not been defeated.
"What should we do with them Sir?"
The Orthodox Church is filled with the town's Christian inhabitants, identified by the Muslims who had survived the Hellene army's advance and retreat. Athens knew the conference would soon order an end to the fighting and so they attempted to achieve in Izmir what they had been denied in Anatolia. Nearly all of their army had landed under the guns of theior fleet and taken the great city by storm. Over the past week their army had fanned out from the city into the countryside as they raced to secure as much land as they could before the armistice. They had encountered little resistance... until now.
His hand clutches at his breastcoat. Yes, his mother's letter is still there.
"Sir? Some of the men may be soldiers or rebels disguised as civilians even if they are not armed. Should we interrogate them?"
It doesn't matter what he does here. Not really. Lesbos, Mytilene, his home… they are gone. His younger brothers and cousins- killed. His sisters, ravished and dishonored at the hands of the Hellenes in front of his mother.
"Sir? Should we just separate the goats from the ewes and take them behind the hill?"
He closes his eyes to the huddled, terrified masses before him, closes his ears to their whispered infidel prayers. He himself, after all, has not been able to pray for the past month. Why should the enemy have the audacity to believe Allah is watching over them?
Instead, he remembers wave swept beaches, the call of the Muezin for evening prayers mixed with the greetings of the fishwives to their husbands returning to Mytilene's wharves, the rustle of the pines and the bleating of sheep in the high meadows….
"Sir? Sir?"
"No. That will not be necessary, captain."
"Sir?"
"Walk with me."
They leave the church and the captives within it. He closes its doors and he order them barred, and nailed shut from the outside. The captain still doesn't understand, not even when he orders brush piled against the doors.
Silently, he lights a naphlata soaked torch and flings it on the brushpile.
"Burn them. Burn them all."
(1) Smooth, very smooth. Then again when you are a field doctor surrounded by female nurses you don’t really have to be.
(2) I don't really need to explain the dream-metaphor, do I?
(3) OTL WWI policy. Not that it could be implemented, what with the great retreat, the revolution and what not.
(4) Partially because the Russians decimated the local Turkemeni population when they conquered it.
(5) Well, he doesn’t. Or not fully. But she's bluffing, and bluffing well.
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