RISE OF THE VOZHD: BEFORE THE PARTY
RISE OF THE VOZHD
BEFORE THE PARTY
BEFORE THE PARTY
A figure stands by himself in the concert hall, looking outside as the rain falls, it was not a storm but more of a... melancholic one, like if the clouds weren’t even making an effort. But isn’t rain a melancholic affair for a cloud ? From it’s formation over a body of water, it has a long journey that ends in the rain, the rain is the cloud dying so that others could live, plants, animals, humans, all live thanks to the rain. “Isn’t the cloud like me ?” The Vozhd thought, every day he was making an extraordinary effort taking harsh decisions, dying little by little every day as he sacrificed his body for his nation. He continue to observe as the thin drops of water went to the ground, the animals looking for shelter under the trees, specifically he was watching as a family of birds hid inside an oak, “Isn’t the tree like me ?” Of course it was, the rain for them was a danger, they couldn’t fly in the midst of the drops of water, so they took shelter, looking for protection during dark times, just like the people of Russia when they came to him.
Mikhail Nikolaevich Tukhachevsky, the Vozhd of the All-Russian People’s State, leader of the Partiya natsional'nogo obnovleniya Rossii (PNOR), and so many other titles, was feeling inspired that night. Always an admirer of music, he stepped back from the window, turning back to the opulent concert hall of his Dacha, he went to the Piano, grabbing a Violin casket on its top and opening it, revealing his great passion in the house. With the Violin in hands, he walked back towards the window, and as he watched the rain fall, he started reminiscing about a bygone era, one where he didn’t have so many worries and responsibilities, a more simple time back in Alexandrovsky, the small town near Smolensk where he grew up.
“Mikhail, don’t forget to make us proud my son, serve with the honor and dignity of a noble, our family's name will be passed on you, wherever you go you shall carry us all with you.” Those were the last words he heard from his father, it was the day he would become a man, the day he went to the Moscow Military School. Before him, the greatest name of the Tukhachevsky family was his Great-Grandfather, an Colonel in the 14th Olonets Infantry Regiment, who served in the Russo-Polish war of 1830 under Tsar Nicholas I, dying during the Battle of Warsaw in 1831. The name Tukhachevsky was from a family of poor nobles, the low nobility that was only different from the majority of the population in virtue of their names, it’s origin was based in a legend, of a Flemish noble and a Turkish wife settling in Russia during the Crusades, although it is generally unknown if such origin has truth in it, the fact remains that the Tukhachevsky family was a very minor one, that would go to become the most powerful one in Russia in a matter of years. The echo of his father’s order would motivate young Mikhail to excel in his career, he would be transferred to the Alexandrovskoye Military school in 1914 where he graduated and joined the Semyonovsky Lifeguard Regiment, one of the oldest and most traditional in Russia as a Second Lieutenant.
I am convinced that all that is needed in order to achieve what I want is bravery and self-confidence. I certainly have enough self-confidence.... I told myself that I shall either be a general at thirty, or that I shall not be alive by then.
Mikhail was an exemplary soldier during the war, serving with distinction in the frontlines and receiving the Order of Saint Vladimir, the Order of Saint Anna, and the Order of Saint Stanislaus. He also shown great military potential as an officer, with the use of innovative aggressive tactics, with the use of concentrated attacks and infiltration tactics that would be used by German Stormtroopers later on the war. One thing that shouldn’t be denied was his determination to serve his motherland, being captured as prisoner in 1915 and escaping 4 times until he would finally be transferred to the Fortress Prison of Ingolstadt, one called “inescapable” by the Germans. There he would meet with a French army Captain that matched his patriotism: Charles Marie de Gaulle.
The most reliable source on the stay of both de Gaulle and Tukhachevsky inside the “Bavarian Castle” was French Journalist Remy Roure, operating under the pseudonym of Pierre Fervacque. Roure was a journalist to Le Monde that registered his encounters with many prisoners, he observed that Tukhachevsky’s favorite pastime was playing his Violin, and would share a cell with the French captain. Mikhail’s political ideas at the time were observed by Roure, who noted a heavily anti-Semitic and Nihilistic tone of his world view, although anti-semitism was common in Russia, Roure noted Tukhachevsky’s radicalism about it. He blamed the Jews for bringing Christianity and the “Morality of Capital” to Russia while praising the old barbaric customs of the Slavic peoples, he also showed an extreme aversion to Socialism and Christianity, although the later seemed to have either disappeared or remained hidden very well.
“Socialist? Certainly not! What a need for classification you have! Besides, the great socialists are Jews and the socialist doctrine is a branch of universal christianity. I laugh at money, and whether the land is divided up or not is all one to me. The barbarians, my ancestors, lived in common, but they had chiefs. No, I detest socialists, Jews and Christians.”
The future Vozhd of All-Russias showed some of his greatest political characteristics at the time, he would also grow to violently oppose Freemasons, especially after the New Year Revolution as Kerensky and many other leaders of the new Russian Republic were members of a Freemason Lodge. Tukhachevsky would manage to escape Ingolstadt during the last weeks of the war, arriving just after the disaster of the Kerensky offensive. He had already grown a fame for himself as a determined patriot before, but escaping the “inescapable Bavarian Fortress” was something that helped create his myth as a War Hero. But there was nothing the now-Colonel Tukhachevsky, the same rank his ancestor had on his death, could do to turn the tide, and the signing of the Peace of Lublin crushed his spirit with defeat.
The History of Mikhail Tukhachevsky could’ve ended there, he already made his family name known and made his household proud, he could live off his military pension and write his memoirs in a book. But the young and ambitious mind of the future Vozhd couldn’t be satisfied, he was a soldier and couldn’t abandon his Motherland to the “Jews, Freemasons, and Bolsheviks”. His nationalism, only exacerbated by the experiences of the war and his years in prison, demanded that he saved his country, that he would avenge the defeat and bring Russia to greatness once again.
At that moment, the Vozhd heard a thunder, with a bright flash in the horizon, he finished his song and put his violin back in the casket. The door was knocked thrice, he turned to face it, his hands behind his back. “Come in”, he said and a guard opened the door and entered, clicking his boots. “My Vozhd, your daughter Svetlana.” He then would retreat back as a child, 6 years old and dressed in pajamas, entered the hall where her father, the most beloved and feared man of Eurasia, looked at her with a smile. As the door closed, the Vozhd went down to one knee and embraced his daughter as she rushed to hug him.
“Svetlana, what are you doing awake at this hour ?” Mikhail asked in a calm and sweet voice, one that no one ever heard except his daughter, Svetlana was the single person he valued the most in the world, even more than her mother. “Did you hear the noise, daddy ? The sky is angry.” Of course she was referring to the thunder, she was still so young and innocent, who could blame her for being scared of a thunder ? “Sweetheart, that was just a thunder, we are safe here, do you want me to tell you a bedtime story ?” Svetlana, looking at her father’s eyes, nodded with her fear passing, afterall her father would protect her from whatever it came right ? “Then let us go, before your mother wakes up.” At that moment the Vozhd wasn’t a feared totalitarian ruler of the greatest nation on earth, now he was just a father comforting his child, the two would leave the room, Svetlana’s little hand wrapping around her father’s finger, with Tukhachevsky glancing back to his concerto hall for a moment before the door closed.
Last edited:
I'm always excited to see more Russian TLs on this website!
