Prussia - A Kaliningrad Story (Post WWII USSR Timeline)

Discussion in 'Alternate History Discussion: After 1900' started by Remitonov, Jan 16, 2016.

?

Which other ethnicities of the USSR should I look in detail? (Lithuanians confirmed for next chapter

  1. Armenians (Caucasus)

    16 vote(s)
    25.0%
  2. Azeri (Caucasus)

    5 vote(s)
    7.8%
  3. Georgians (Caucasus)

    6 vote(s)
    9.4%
  4. Tatars (Russia/Central Asia)

    9 vote(s)
    14.1%
  5. Kazakhs (Central Asia)

    9 vote(s)
    14.1%
  6. Uzbeks (Central Asia)

    5 vote(s)
    7.8%
  7. Kyrgyz (Central Asia)

    6 vote(s)
    9.4%
  8. Turkmen (Central Asia)

    6 vote(s)
    9.4%
  9. Tajiks (Central Asia)

    7 vote(s)
    10.9%
  10. Latvians (Baltics)

    10 vote(s)
    15.6%
  11. Estonians (Baltics)

    15 vote(s)
    23.4%
  12. Finns (European Russia/Baltics)

    17 vote(s)
    26.6%
  13. Ukrainians (Eastern Europe)

    11 vote(s)
    17.2%
  14. Belarusians (Eastern Europe)

    9 vote(s)
    14.1%
  15. Turco-Mongols (e.g. Altai, Buryats, Tuvans) (Siberia)

    14 vote(s)
    21.9%
  16. East and South East Asians (e.g. Koreans, Dungans, Vietnamese) (Central Asia/Siberia)

    16 vote(s)
    25.0%
  17. Others (please specify)

    1 vote(s)
    1.6%
Multiple votes are allowed.
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  1. Red_Galiray En un pueblito al sur de Estados Unidos.

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    So... the flag of Yugoslavia with something other than a red star in the middle? :p

    By the way, how is Prussia's economy in the present? I would like to get some insight there. Also, this is a little bit of a silly question, but does everyone call them Prussia? I mean, for some reason, I can see a situation like Taiwan happening here. Taiwans official name is the Republic of China because they claim to be China's true successors after the Communist took over, but everyone else calls their Taiwan since the Communist are know recognized as China's legitimate government. So perhaps the Prussians call their country, well, Prussia and everyone else, not recognizing them as the real successors of Prussia since they're not Germanic, calls them Kalingrad or something else.
     
  2. MorningDew #SWAGQUEST 2016!

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    ON THE SUBJECT OF THE LATEST UPDATE...

    SWAGGIN AS USUAL.

    THE SARA/YEVGENY ROMANCE IS WEIRD AND CLICHE.

    BUT IT'S CUTE AND ITS ANIME, SO I LOVE IT ANYWAY!

    KEEP UP THE DANK WORK!
     
  3. Remitonov Maki is Rabu Raibu. :3

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    I'm actually still considering what flag to use. I already have the SSR flag set (just OTL Kaliningrad flag with the hammer and sickle replacing the coat of arms). As for the national flag, I'm stuck between that flag with the hammer and sickle cut out, East Prussia's old civil flag and this...

    [​IMG]

    The Kingdom of Prussia flag did cross my mind too, but as Saizo pointed out, they're not a monarchy and the German population is actually rather small (but climbing somewhat). Also, nice flag, fluttersky, though as Neoteros said, plenty of non-Slavs in the country who aren't thay stellar at being called a Slavic nation, not just Central Asians but Finns, Balts, etc.

    That is actually going to be a plot point in my future chapters. :D

    That said, I am going to say the government manage to sort it out somewhat with all relevant parties (Germany, Poland and Lithuania), particularly on border claims. It took a lot of work to convince them that they don't intend to reclaim East Prussia's old borders or impersonating the old kingdom's heritage as their own. That didn't stop irrendentists in all three countries (and Russia) demanding they absorb Prussia, though...

    As for economy, that is something I have to look into more closely, because the area OTL is heavily militarized. Maybe I'll make it the 'Arsenal of Europe'. :V

    I admit, I rushed that somewhat, but I never planned on dwelling too long on Yevgeny's early work. I'm sure you all want to see shit hit the fan when I reach the 80s-90s
     
    Last edited: Feb 15, 2016
  4. Threadmarks: Interlude 1 - Faces

    Remitonov Maki is Rabu Raibu. :3

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    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]

    Cafeteria, University of Kyonigsburg
    Present


    “Welcome to McRonalds, can I take your order?”[1]

    It is one of the most dreaded places for a dieting heiress. Cheap, fattening, and allegedly just passable for food, McRonalds is both a place of memories for young students getting their first taste of modernity, and regrets for those threatened with obesity. Following the collapse of the Soviet empire, the spectre of American fast food wasted little time conquering the untouched lands of Eastern Europe. For Yana, the idea of going to a place like this endangered her chances of making it big in Korea, all while her friends lined the queue for a quick bite.

    “You had to come here, did you,” grumbled the girl to Farah, looking around at the vast outlets dotting the sprawling, newly renovated cafeteria, “why'd you have to come here every time we go out for a meal?”

    “If you're not happy, just buy something else,” Farah stated as a matter of fact, quite perturbed by her whining, “they opened a new Subway outlet right across. Why don't you get that.”

    “Do I look wealthy to you,” Yana retorted, “my parents are already having issues splitting allowances between me and my cousins. You know how much my mother likes to whine at me.”

    Pouting at her insistence, however, Farah merely grumbled, “well, that's a surprise, coming from you. You seem the type to burn money on cosmetics and CDs. Besides, how many cousins do you have?”

    “Five, Farah,” the Koryo-saram wailed in agitation, biting her lip at the thought, “three of whom still live at my house. You remember my brother's birthday party, don't you? My uncle gets on way too much for my aunt-in-law to take.”

    “That's only one wife, though,” Farah interjected, “my uncle probably had more wifes than we have fingers. My grandfather pretty much disowned him for his philandering, among other things. My mother's still mad at him for trying to fleece our family for help.”

    “He's actually quite nice, though,” Yana mused, “he does get it on too much, but fair enough. Your customs and all.”

    “Javaneh told you that, didn't she,” the Tajik responded, narrowing her eyes a bit, “she's his daughter. Of course she had to defend him. You know your clan is big when your cousin knows your friend's cousin.”

    “Well, that only because I have many cousins myself,” grumbled the friend, “I can't exactly be held up as an example...”

    Speaking of family had always been a fairly thorny issue for Yana, not the least since many in the family had military roots. Her mother, Yelena, is an Prussian marine Warrant Officer stationed in the Kyonigsberg Naval HQ, former home of the Soviet Baltic Navy and, as of a year ago, the current home to the US 6th Fleet's Baltic detachment[2]. Her uncle Svetovid is an even larger enigma, his official duties as a special forces colonel largely doing little to explain the myriad off-the-radar missions he had done under Soviet, and now NATO employment. The most delibating was the lack of information from her late great grandparents. Largely silent on the matter, what little her great-grandmother told of her family was the name of her missing spouse and her 'rather uneventful' career as a KGB informant in the air force, before quitting to become a housewife.

    But Vorarlberg's lecture revealed a possibly disturbing development for Yana. She questioned whether her daydreaming was just a figment of imagination. She had heard her great grandmother's stories long ago, when she was still in her final days in a Pilava retirement home.[3] The tale of the hapless fool who gave her son his patronymic and surname, and his little dream. The details, however, still eluded her for the most part. After all, it had been far too long since her great grandmother passed away, and Yana's memory was not exactly perfect.

    But before she could entertain the thought further, a call from the twintailed, teenage cashier started speaking to her. Snapping out of her stupor, the unnerved Yana found herself under pressure to order. Darting her eyes on the menu, she hastily picked out the most half-way decent item on the menu. As she arrived defeated at the table with her tray, her friends wasted little time poking on her pride.

    “Grilled chicken wrap, huh,” mused one of Yana's classmates with dyed, bright orange hair, as he looked over her food items, “you know that healthy stuff's a gimmick, right?”

    “I got too distracted to get out of the queue, ok,” grunted the woman, batting a death glare at the young lad, “what's your deal?”

    “Let's just eat, ok,” mused another lad, a brown-haired lad, “and try to focus this time, Yana. People might think you're some attention whore if you keep getting the lecturer to call on you.”

    “Funny you should say that, Ahmed,” joked Farah, “her whole goal is to become one.”

    “Farah,” snapped the indignant girl, getting off her seat as if ready to reprimand her. Her face rosy, Yana clearly found the remark offensive, not the least since she had already been singled out enough by the lecturer. Fortunately, her friends were quick to restrain the two before Yana could start berating her. But something else was drawing attention away, beyond the usual noise and chatter of the cafeteria diners.

    _____________________________________

    [​IMG]

    “Can I help you, miss,” asked the hapless cashier next to his Caucasian colleague, struggling to keep a straight face as the schoolgirl in front of him tried to stifled a fit of giggles. A raven-haired Asiatic with tied bunches, she appeared no older than his part-time colleague, looking a bit too amused at the similarly Central Asian cashier. Keeping his grimace from twisting into view, he tried again to ask the girl for an order. Only a quick nudge from the student's friend finally prompted her.

    “Tarana, stop looking at him funny,” hissed the wine-haired girl at her friend, “what's wrong with you?”

    Coughing a bit as she tried to restrain herself, the snide girl made a few whispers, as if to point out a joke. Unable to restrain his disgust, the lad's professional smile managed to turn down the corners for a short moment. For some reason, he had already guessed the reason for the girl's morbid humour. A quick look at his name tag, to his dismay, would have said it all.

    “Excuse me, your order,” he once again asked in his best courteous tone, albeit more off-key than before. He could already feel his nerves reaching his limit as he had to deal with the gagging teen, hoping against God that she just leave with her order. Fortunately, her friend quickly stepped in for a couple of orders on her behalf. Wasting no time, the lad hastily passed the prepared meals as he punched at his cash register to take their payment.

    “Come again soon,” he declared with a painful smile as he watched the redhead hastily ushered her gagging friend out, laughter finally breaking out in the distance. It was hardly anything unexpected, but no matter how many time this occurred, the hilarity people faced at his expense never failed to grate on his nerves.

    “What's wrong, Erasylov,” his colleague questioned him, looking a bit surprised at his grim appearance.

    “It's that thing again,” he grunted, tugging at his collar as he tried to calm down, “ten years, Horthy. Ten years, and not a single person who took a close look at my name tag had forgotten about it. Some wise guy once in a while would even sing that song. Maybe I should take it off...”

    “It's just a name, Erasylov,” the girl tried to assure him, even as his nerves started to fray again, “let the customers joke all they want. It's not like your name is exactly the same.”

    “I don't think it matters,” he grunted, forcing back a smile on his face as another customer arrived, “one letter doesn't make a difference to them.”

    Arriving at the counter was another pair of schoolgirls, their blue uniforms identical to that of the giggling midget from early. From the looks of it, the girls seemed more mature, a blonde with hair tied into a ponytail and a dark-haired girl with pigtails and 'assets' rivalling even his young colleague. Shaking off his earlier apprehension over their schoolmate's uncouth laughter, he again greeted in a professional tone, “welcome to McRonalds, can I take your order?”

    “Yes, just a couple of cheeseburger meals, with cola and fries, please,” the blonde mused, a lot more composed at first. But a quick look at the nametag, she tried to address, “Mr... 'Borat'? I mean 'Bolat', sorry! Mr Bolat is what I meant! Mr Bolat...”

    To add to his growing dismay, the girls were already starting to succumb to the same giggles as the last customer, the source again coming from his unfortunate name. While the Cyrillic written on his nametag was obvious enough to be different, it appeared that a lot of people would not pass up the chance to joke about the damnable movie. It sadly would not help if they knew he was an actual Kazakh too. It was not that he found offence over a British comedian's eager caricaturizing of his ancestral homeland. It was just that his very name was now a target of ridicule, way more than he could necessarily take.

    “I'm real sorry,” the other girl tried to apologize, trying to hold her laughter in as the increasingly depressed cashier looked on, “two cheeseburger meals, sorry.”

    Despondent, the hapless lad could only grunt in a simple, “ah”, shambling to the food rack as he relented on his anger. It had been ten long years since that movie came out; ten years since he had to suffer incessant poking from everyone around him. And yet no one has forgotten that movie. No... in today's internet age, it was next to impossible for anyone to forget.

    “'Man of steel',” the aggrieved employee muttered, “that was what my name's supposed to mean, not 'man of potassium'... Why?...”

    Just another day at work for Bolat Erasylov, assistant manager of McRonald's little university branch outlet.[4] His only consolation was that those who knew him would eventually get tired of the joke. He could only wish that were the case for every new customer he encounters. Thinking back to his latest encounters, he questioned whether he could ever get used to this kind of treatment.

    [​IMG]
    _____________________________________​

    OOC: Short omake is short. :| Apologies for the lack of content. We'll jump back to the lecture next post, at least I hope so...

    Anyway, feel free to ask me any questions. If it's not crucial to the plot, I can answer. :)

    Points:
    1. BLAND NAME PRODUCT
    2. The general unpleasantness of the Ukrainian crisis isn't exactly met with enthusiasm from the West in either TLs, but here, Uncle Sam has one very sick way to rub salt into the bear's wounds.
    3. Baltiysk, formerly and now ITTL, known as Pilava. Plov is the Russian translation, and sometimes known as such instead of the German name.
      1. EDIT: Amended, due to this Russian Wikipedia page.
      2. EDIT 2: I'm an idiot. Took a closer look at this list and because I can't read, I realized now that it's a proposal for Russifying old East Prussian locale names.
    4. Explaining the joke if you all haven't guessed by now.

    Cast
     
    Last edited: Jul 3, 2017
  5. Red_Galiray En un pueblito al sur de Estados Unidos.

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    Heh, pretty funny. I like the idea of omakes, as short chapters in TLs only made for fun. Poor Borat... :D
     
    TimTurner likes this.
  6. Remitonov Maki is Rabu Raibu. :3

    Joined:
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    Well, I try to make them as relevant to the plot as possible. :3

    Anyway, for the flags, some designs to consider:

    [​IMG]
    The old civil flag of East Prussia. One of the least controversial, though still enough to link it back to old Prussia/German Empire

    [​IMG]
    The immediate post-independence flag of the West Baltic (later Prussia), the design was taken from the SSR flag, in which the hammer and sickle was removed after independence. I made the design directly off OTL's oblast flag. The least Germanic, but also the most glaring reminder of Soviet symbology.

    [​IMG]
    Same as above, but recoloured with Germanic colours.

    [​IMG]
    TEUTONIC STATE RISES AGAIN! Probably the most controversial though, given that Prussia is neither a Teutonic state or run by a Catholic military order. Alexander Nevsky will be rolling in his grave on this one.

    Let me know which one is most feasible to put into practice. :3
     
    TimTurner likes this.
  7. Neoteros Dux Mediolani

    Joined:
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    Location:
    Duchy of Milan
    What about this one?

    [​IMG]

    The SSR's flag, with the Soviet red and yellow replaced by the Prussian black and white. A little bit Germanic, but not too much. A little bit Slavic, but not too much. A little bit Soviet, but not too much. And black/white/blue is not a colour combination you see often on flags, so it'd be easily recognizable, too.
     
    Last edited: Feb 20, 2016
    TimTurner and Remitonov like this.
  8. Turquoise Blue Dangerously Inconsistent Donor

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    Why not the black-white-black tricolor?
     
  9. Neoteros Dux Mediolani

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    That one was the flag of West Prussia.

    The entire nation of Poland would have a collective heart attack if they chose that flag. :D
     
  10. Remitonov Maki is Rabu Raibu. :3

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    Last I checked, only Estonia uses that combination (in a different order). I do like it, though. :3

    This. Not impossible, but West Prussia in its entirety is in Poland now. I hate to see Poland's reaction to this. :3

    We could inverse the colours, but then it'll look like a Tokugawa Japan ISOT. :V
     
    Last edited: Feb 20, 2016
  11. Neoteros Dux Mediolani

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    Or, like a Province of Posen ISOT. Poland's reaction would be even worse. :eek: :D
     
  12. Remitonov Maki is Rabu Raibu. :3

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    Kurwa. :V :D

    Anyway, fluttersky, Neoteros, is it ok if I use your flag designs in a future post? Who knows, it might become the official flag itself. Don't think I'll put it to an actual vote in the forum though. I know fully well which flags will get the most votes. :3
     
  13. fluttersky ~ᴍeʀmᴀiᴅ iɴ a seᴀ oғ aɴoᴍiᴇ~

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    Yeah, that's fine. :)
     
  14. Neoteros Dux Mediolani

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    But of course. :D
     
  15. Remitonov Maki is Rabu Raibu. :3

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    Danke. :3 I really need to get to posting though...
     
  16. Threadmarks: Chapter 3-1

    Remitonov Maki is Rabu Raibu. :3

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    Scratch that, I got to posting real fast. :V

    _____________________________________
    [​IMG]

    Lecture Hall, University of Kyonigsberg
    Present


    Gathered back at the lecture hall, the students appeared resigned to another drubbing of Professor Vorarlberg's lecture. So far, much of what he covered was the very beginning, the early life of Yevgeny Stolypin, architect of modern Prussia's multiethnic demographics. Some appeared disinterested already, likely a habit they carried of all classes in general. Others, mostly girls, seemed more eager to pay attention to the lecturer, though familiarity seem to have worn off most of the initial fascination. But one blonde schoolgirl had her eyes on more recent events, peering down at a large, hardcover book borrowed from the university archives. Its contents were identical to the copy she had at home. And for someone like her, the history of Prussia was involably tied to her own, a fact few, even her friends, realized so far.

    “You've been staring at the book for some time now, Vasilka,” a tangerine-haired girl with a lopsided ponytail commented beside her, bending her head over for a look.

    Snapping out of her daze, she turned to the curious schoolmate as she apologized, “sorry, Aušra. I just thought it seemed relevant to the lecture.”

    “It is relevant to the lecture, Vasilka,” the buxom, dark-haired friend teased beside her, “you just claimed not to know because you don't like being singled out for it.”

    “About what,” Aušra questioned, nudging herself over the book as she tried to get a closer look. But the sudden pull of Vasilka's hands forced her tome away from her, as if trying to hide its contents.

    “Do you mind,” she told off the ditz, quite annoyed by her behaviour. To her relief, Roman's voice began to echo from the front of the hall, as the last few students started to settle down.

    “Ok, settle down,” Roman announced, “break time's over. Back to the dull and/or soothing voice of the old man in front of you, however you want to call it. From where we left off, we looked briefly into the early career of Yevgeny Stolypin, the man who would initiate a daring repopulation plan for what was then Kaliningrad Military Oblast. The demographics he aimed to achieve was, to put it bluntly, far beyond human capacity, and for someone who is not willing to repeat Stalin's grand example of 'organized migration', almost impossible to achieve. In fact, alone, his voice would probably not even reach the highest halls of the Supreme Soviet, his plans likely to rot away or reused as waste paper. So he had help – friends in high places, and friends who, in some way or not, shared his vision for a cohesive, multiracial society. So who are these people? Anyone care to name a few?”

    As expected, virtually all the students appeared stumped at what to answer. Even Yana minced their lips on this one. If her great grandmother's stories ever mentioned about this, which was unlikely at best, she could safely assume she had cleanly forgotten. But Vasilka felt confident, oddly enough, her hand half raised almost instinctive. But someone else beat her to the query. Shifting her eyes down the row, she spotted among her nine friends a girl with a wine-coloured bob standing to answer.

    “They call themselves the Committee for the Resettlement and Demilitarization of Kaliningrad Military Oblast, nine in total. Besides Stolypin, they include four others from the Soviet Union's various SSRs and four from the satellite states of the Soviet Union. Each one was tasked with the settlement of various ethnic groups under their charge, hence their selection based on their own ethnicities-”

    “Woah, calm down, Miss,” Roman urged candidly, holding his hand up, “if you're going to info dump like that, I won't have anything left to teach. Your name? Don't worry, I'm not scolding you.”

    Flustered by the lecturer's discomfort, the girl scratched her cheek as she blurted in a less firm voice, “Maria Hayrapetyan, Singenwaldhang Girls High School.”

    Flashing his cheeky smile again, he told her, “thank you, Maria. You're correct, by the way. The committee, if you can't recall the long name, had the responsibility of resettling the area based on the target demographic ratios Stolypin was seeking. His superior, Colonel Vladimir Petrovich Tonchev, believed the best option was to delegate the promotion of migration of each ethnic group based on the individual's ethnicity and understanding of the target populous' culture. In fact, he was the man who helped Stolypin present his proposal to Nikita Khruschev as a sponsor. We can debate all we want whether he had any ulterior motives for that, but that's for a different class. Ok, names these time. Bonus if you can give their place of origin.”

    This time, Vasilka took the chance to answer, standing almost abruptly as Maria and her other friends looked on. Sternly, she answered, “Valeriy Tonchev of Bulgaria, Mikalos Kaukėnas of Lithuania, Hakob Narcessian of Armenia and Nurzhan Aitmukhambetov of Kazak-pfftchhii-I'm sorry... -of Kazakhstan.[1] For Valeriy, in particular, he was a Lipovan immigrant from Bulgaria who arrived in the Russian SFSR with his brother Vladimir, initially to seek treatment for their ill father in the USSR, later becoming part of Stolypin's resettlement project. After the West Baltic was established, he-”

    “-he became the longest-serving Chairman of the West Baltic SSR to its dying day and stopped at nothing to prevent the country from seceding, to abject failure,” a voice in front suddenly spoke out, “yes, we all know that part of the story.”

    [​IMG]

    Getting up from her seat with a slightly miffed look, Farah did not seem to enjoy the rather descriptive, almost sympathetic portrayal of the man. Watching her glare up at the blonde, Vasilka could not help but feel hostility, as if she seemed out to slam Tonchev at the first opportunity. Shifting her eyes at the professor, she could tell he seemed a bit stunned by the interruption. Nonetheless, he appeared able to bring matters back under control, as he spoke to the girl in question.

    “I'm sorry,” he uttered to Farah in a hint of nervousness, “if you have a question or you want to answer, perhaps you should wait until she finishes. It's quite rude.”

    Exchanging a few glances between Vasilka and Roman, Farah felt a bit grudging at relenting. She did not feel she had spoken out of line, having felt compelled to speak out against what seemed like a deceptively sugarcoated example of historical revisionism. But the shaking head of her friends dissuaded her from pursuing the matter. Settling back down, she apologized in reluctance, “sorry. I was rash to interrupt.”

    “It's ok,” the lad assured her, “this is a university. Refuting the lecturer or other students isn't forbidden. Just be polite about it, though. Wait for the speaker to finish before your rebuttal. Otherwise. people might think you want a fight. Anyway, settle down, both of you. Your names?”

    Buttoning her lip a bit, Farah muttered, “Farahnaz. Farahnaz Ibrahimi. Blühenderwald High School.”

    Hearing the query, however, Vasilka felt even more reluctant to answer, though her stern facade did not show much of her anxiety. Tugging her collar for a bit, she considered whether to lie to the professor of her surname. But after Farah's interruption, she felt even more indignant at her attitude. She could tell she had something against the old Soviet-era leader, and she was not about to back down from that show.

    “Vasilka Lyubomirova Toncheva,” she stated in a resolute tone, “yes. Valeriy Petrovich Tonchev is my granduncle, the man whose life was sent into a spinning typhoon amidst the hysteria of imminent Soviet collapse. Very easy for anyone to fault him for being a Moscovite lapdog. But have you ever considered what you could have done in his position, when no one would listen to you, and no one to answer to?”

    Getting down on her seat, Vasilka's expression quickly soured at the thought. She admitted to herself that deep down, being related as a Tonchev made her somewhat biased for her extended family, her very name inspiring awe and revulsion alike. It did not take much for her to guess which side of the fence Farah belonged to. Like many Muslims, her family likely supported the independence-seeking New Prussia party, and revered its leader and later founding prime minister of West Baltic-Prussia. His conversion to Islam via marriage to a Muslim Tajik likely aided in his popularity among Muslim ethnic groups. It did not help that the party's main opposition in the Sejm, Fatherland Front, held the image of a heavily Christian-based party hostile to open immigration and Muslim identity[2]. A brief stare at Farah as she made a small scowl proved a telling sign of future scuffles. Weary, the Lipovan girl felt strained dealing with partisan youths like her.

    “She's quite outspoken, isn't she,” one of her friends commented, a similarly sensible-looking girl with long, black hair, “a bit strange for her to call you like that for such a simple question.”

    “Probably a fanatic in the New Prussia youth wing, Ritva,” the buxom girl mused, “you know how political types go.”

    “You tell me, Ludmilla. If this is the kind of verbal abuse these people would throw at me and Alisa, I hate to imagine what Rayka goes through on a daily basis,” Vasilka grunted, “what's the world coming to?”

    “Don't worry about a thing, Vasilka,” Aušra assured them excitedly, “if anyone tries to come after you. Ludmilla will beat them to mince meat!”

    Frowning at the suggestion, though, the sulking blonde could only peer at the buxom girl's cat face to know that would not go well.

    “Don't encourage her, Aušra,” Vasilka told off gently, “violence never ends well.”

    Looking back at the stage, the hapless young lecturer was making a quick sip of water, likely over the sudden peak in tension and attention spun towards the 'princess' further back at the rows. Checking back on the slides, he called out, “ok, drama's over. Back to reality. If you like to talk 90s politics, this can wait until a few lectures down. We won't get there on time if you dawdle. Eyes back on me, please. Anyway, to add on to Miss Toncheva's point. Representatives from the Soviet Union itself, Stolypin included, encompass more than half the group. With the exception of Tonchev, who manages the settlement of South Slavs like himself, sort of, the representatives manage the immigration of various ethnic groups within the USSR itself. Stolypin, Kaukėnas, Narcessian and Aitmukhambetov are thus tasked with managing the immigration of East Slavic, Batlic, Christian Caucasian and Muslim Turkic and Iranic groups, respectively.

    Besides them, the other four are tasked namely with immigration from the satellites to Kaliningrad; Stanislav Mazurski of Poland, Stefania Rotaru of Romania, Margit Haraszti of Hungary and Arnhild Weiss of the German Democratic Republic. I don't think I need to explain where their responsibilities lie, though in Rotaru's case, I would point out that she deals with Moldovans as well. In addition to encouraging immigration, the committee was tasking with overlooking the development and management of the existing population, a task that mainly fell to Stolypin and Mazurski due to the significant Russian and Polish populations in the area at the time. But as you will find out. Their task was far from easy.”

    [​IMG]
    Part 1

    1. Previous post
    2. Prussia has a two-party system, with largely center-left to left New Prussia (Russian: Новая Пруссия, Novaya Prussiya) and right-wing Fatherland Front (Russian: Отечественный фронт, Otechestvennyy Front) taking up most of the Sejm. I will elaborate on that in future.

    Errata:
    • Margit's surname is changed to Haraszti, for consistency

    Cast
     
    Last edited: Mar 15, 2017
  17. Neoteros Dux Mediolani

    Joined:
    Feb 26, 2007
    Location:
    Duchy of Milan
    The names of those parties seem to suggest far more than their position on the political spectrum: New Prussia was probably founded by those who supported the West Baltic's independence and Stolypin's vision, while Fatherland Front sounds like the name of a rabidly Russophile/Slavophile far-right party whose upper echelons are dominated by fanboys of whoever's the resident strongman of post-Soviet Russia in ATL's 2016.
     
  18. Remitonov Maki is Rabu Raibu. :3

    Joined:
    Sep 11, 2014
    Location:
    Crown Dependency of Singapore
    Well, I've already confirmed Putin as the current strongman, same at OTL. Beyond getting a new citizenship card for his then not-yet-divorced wife (or moving her birthplace from East Prussia), not much has really changed on that front. Could go on a butterfly killing spree, but I can't see how much more the changes could spread from my PODs.

    Also, nice guess. Pretty accurate, but it's somewhat more complicated than that. :3
     
  19. Threadmarks: Chapter 3-2

    Remitonov Maki is Rabu Raibu. :3

    Joined:
    Sep 11, 2014
    Location:
    Crown Dependency of Singapore
    Crossposted from the Alternative History Armoured Fighting Vehicles thread. A bit of explanation on Prussia's economy, but mostly on its defence industry.

    EDIT: Also, new update! :3

    Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
    18th October, 1956


    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]

    “...in other news, tensions are escalating in Hungary as dissident university students began launching increasingly brazen attacks against the legitimate Hungarian government, allegedly agitated by Western agents and sympathizers supporting the disgraced chairman, Imre Nagy. General Secretary Ernő Gerő has assured Communist partners that the movement will shall be 'defeated with great justice' in defiance of Western designs on the Hungarian nation. In his rally...”

    Autumn had arrived in Moscow, and the frigid air was slowly leaking into the streets around the walls of the Kremlin. Pacing along the vast stretch of the Moscva River, a lone officer holding a set of files appeared shrivelled under his heavy coat, the chilly breeze trying to pierce into his frail body. The officer cap, to his dismay, provided even less protection to the elements, not like the ushanka he kept in his hotel room. He wished for once he had that with him to swap. However, ever the dutiful follower of regulation, he kept stubbornly to his officer cap in what was the most harrowing review he ever had, not the least since it concerned his own future.

    “...with your credentials, I'm afraid it would be very difficult for us to back your resettlement plans, Captain Stolypin[1],” the voice of the most powerful man in the Soviet Bloc rang, as the image of the distant desk of obscured executives flashed back into his mind, “however, since your superior has assured us, we will... review your proposal in earnest. We will let the both of you know of our decision.”

    Clinging to the railings as he took a hefty gasp, Yevgeny could still feel his nerves rattled at the sight of the Premier and his fellow staff staring right across the room at him. What was he, he felt, a mere captain promoted for a few weeks of typewriter punching in Korea to these people, powerful men with the will and connections to control half the world? What was he even doing there?

    “Still shaken, Yevgeny,” questioned a calm voice behind him, “I can understand if it's your first time. I get the butterflies too when I had to address Stalin for the first time.”

    Looking to his side, he could see the shadow of the man who managed to get him into the Kremin. Tall, blonde and charming, the astutely dressed colonel had the look of a proud war hero, a small scar on his head that could easily be mistaken as a war trophy. For the fairly short, spindly Yevgeny, Colonel Vladimir Petrovich Tonchev was everything he was not, confident, brave and possible ruthless too. A veteran in the Soviet Air Force during the Great Patriotic War, the man probably had no shortage of lovers, despite his marriage to a well-connected family. Yevgeny, of course, never really dared to ask. He could only assume he might trade a sharp wit of his own about his own wife, the infamous 'black widow' that somehow allowed herself to be 'caught' by the 'court jester'.

    “Easy for you to say,” he mused in a bit of self-depreciation, “you were fighting Germans since you were thirteen. A young pioneer turned pilot. I wish I had that kind of steel nerves.”

    “Well, it wasn't as if I had a choice,” Tonchev answered in kind, leaning on the railings as he faced the Moscow River too, “bastards will kill us all otherwise.”

    Watching the senior pick out a cigarette from his pocket cigar box, Yevgeny could only agree. Everyone knew what kind of monsters the Germans were. Even though Stalin, for one, matched Hitler in every respect in terms of ruthlessness, he never exactly killed people for who they were. Just what they might plan against him. Even the deportations were for that specific reason, even if the accusations were covering entire races. If anything, unlike Hitler, Stalin oppressed everyone with equal disregard, hardly playing favour to any one race.

    At least, that was what he assumed at first.

    While his experience in Korea remained an afterthought despite the fairly serious bruising, he never quite shook off what the POWs in Pyuktong told him. Interest in communism, he deduced, stemmed from disenfranchisement due to poverty. It was, as he long learnt from state education, the root cause of the February and October Revolutions. However, what was the root of this disenfranchisement? African Americans like Clarence Adams, seemed to have a ready answer – racism. Whatever the ideals spread by the enlightenment, it was clear the escalating gap between the Europeans of the 19th Century and their counterparts throughout the world had imbumed in them a sense of arrogance for their 'genetic superiority'. Having outstripped their Asian rivals to become the premier powers in scientific and empirical-based knowledge, the kingdoms and republics of Europe and their immigrant-spawned dominions in the Americas, had become conceited over their overpowering might despite the lack of manpower. Intent on dominating the trade networks to enrich their own societies, they had taken to usurp power throughout Africa, Asia and the Americas, bending the indigenous societies to their own whims. All that, as claimed by the revolutionaries of the Soviet state, was what communism was created to combat against, the continued disgrace of the poor and downtrodden not only in Russia, but throughout the world.

    But Yevgeny felt unnerved at the direction taken by the current Soviet state. Digging what he could beneath the web of propaganda (no less with Sara's help), he began piecing a disturbing picture of his homeland. Indigenization (Russian: коренизация; lit. putting down roots) , the policy launched since the victory of the Bolsheviks after the Civil War, was replaced by a silent, but systematic program of Russification. People like himself, with perfect command of the Russian language, was favoured as loyalists, while those who could not were derided as separatist, of little use to the state and a danger to Soviet unity. Claims of dissolving ethnic boundaries veiled a startling attempt to recreate the Tsars' own persecution of its non-Russian subjects. Those of Asian or Baltic descent were the most particularly affected, as peripheries with the greatest potential to secede at the first chance. While the constitution guaranteed that right in the first place, part of him was concerned that it might be exploited at some point, either by local strongmen seeking to consolidate power at Moscow's expense, or by local opposition itself. And who, he grudgingly admitted, could blame them?

    Looking out at the opposite back, he questioned, “sir... If I may ask, why did you recommend my proposal. Forgive me if I sound disparaging, but is there anything you want to ask me in kind? I feel like I need to return the favour.”

    Giving a small chuckle, the colonel replied, “no offence taken, I assure you. I merely I found your proposal of great interest to me. A daring, perhaps fatalistic challenge to the state, in fact – if I haven't been there to edit it to cover your ass. However, I do think you have a point. The current SSR system requires a bit of change. Right now, our country is being held together at one center, Moscow. If Moscow falls apart, so will the union. All it takes is one weak leader to take the helm. When that happens, we'll be reenacting the end of Rome for the viewing pleasure of the Western world. For that reason, we must build a solid foundation for unity across the board to combat possible separatist intent. Favouring Russian-speakers isn't enough. No... in fact, it's exactly what we should dismantle if we are to prevent collapse.”

    It was a handful, coming from the colonel. Yevgeny hated to admit it, but his superior had a way with words he could never hope to spew. Shaking his head in relent, the captain felt the man seemed well placed for a future in the Kremlin itself. For someone like him to take interest in Yevgeny's project seemed like a grand opportunity, but knowing Vladimir, he probably wanted something in return.

    “In any case,” he added, “I admit, I do have a request in mind. It wasn't like I haven't planned to ask for it anyway when I made the approval, my apologies. Don't worry, it's nothing illegal. Just a little mentorship for a young pioneer just like yourself. You'll like him.”

    “Who,” Yevgeny asked, facing the senior in curiosity. While he had a feeling the colonel was going to ask for a return, he never expected to become a mentor to anyone. As Vladimir turned to face him, he coyly stated, “you'll find out soon enough. I arranged for him to join you in your next assignment in Hungary. I'll let you know the details later. We still have to hope for the deal to pass, do we?”

    Bowing his head a bit, Yevgeny could only admit it to be the case. For now, however, Hungary awaited, and perhaps, if the proposal fails to convince the panel, he might just settle down with Sara in Samarkand for good. He could feel the strain of his job wearing him thin. He just was not sure how long he had to be apart from her like this.

    “Hungary, huh...” was all he could muse by now, as the two continued to watch the opposite skyline lit up beneath the dimming skies above.

    ________________________​

    Samarkand, Uzbek Soviet Socialist Republic, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
    18th October, 1956

    [​IMG]

    “Hungary, I see,” a voice rang into the receiver, “sounds a bit dangerous.”

    Seated along the ruins of the old Silk Road, the ancient city of Samarkand had long been a contested frontier for much of its history. From the Persian Achaemenids and Sogdians, to Alexander the Great; from the rule of the Mongol horselords to the remnants of the Central Asian emirates. Today, it remains a frontier republic of the Soviet Union, successor to the conquerors of imperial Russia. And like other frontiers in Central Asia and Siberia, Samarkand and the region as a whole had become a dumping ground for deported minorities deemed potential fifth columnists by the Muscovite authorities.

    Living in a modest but startlingly well-furbished house in the suburbs, a young boy was seated on the floor scribbling on paper with crayons as his mother spoke on the phone. With black hair and typical Asiatic features, there was no question of his blood ties to his mother. But his blue eyes spoke of European origins, far unlike the small, exiled Korean community he and his mother owe their identity to. Even his surname, Pak, did not reveal anything suspect; and his patronymic did little to betray his father's true identity beyond the name, with so many Koryo-saram Russified beyond recognition of their counterparts in the homeland. Only the housewife on the phone knew the identity of his father in full. While hardly a secret in official papers or the prying eyes of neighbours, not much was spoken of the man or the strange-looking, well-to-do family living on the site.[2]

    “It's probably just a bit of discontent,” Yevgeny's voice rang over the phone to the oddly amazonian housewife, “Colonel Tonchev said command will send escorts for us. Don't worry, I won't die that easily, not unless – God forbid – World War III breaks out there. I should be back by the month's end.”

    “You're not one to believe in God, Yevgeny Sr,” Sara chimed in her usual sarcastic fashion, “force of habit?”

    “It goes with my mother, I guess,” he admitted, “I just hope my proposal gets through.”

    “Strange,” she teased endearingly, “I was hoping you might fail. Then you'd have to come back and tend to your son.”

    “You're still sore I left in a hurry, aren't you,” the father uttered in discomfort, “it's not like you have a job anymore. Someone has to hold a salary.”

    Cackling a bit, the former agent wasted no time toying. Tapping the phone, she remarked, “how do you know I've actually quit? Because I told you so? Alright, I won't hold you back. Take care, Yevgeny.”

    “Ah...” blurted the officer, “take care then.”
    Putting the phone down, Sara's devious smirk finally receded with the facade. Her hand still gripped on the receiver, the woman could not shake off her discomfort. After all, what she knew of the situation in Hungary, some of which came directly from her former colleagues, the population was growing increasingly incensed, with the Communist government largely powerless to stem the tide of unrest. It would be a matter of time before Budapest calls for Soviet tanks to roll in. When that happened, it was nobody's guess what would entail.

    “Be careful,” she muttered grimly, a tinge of fear working its way up her spine for the first time since her 'retirement', “seems like you're headed somewhere very ugly.”[3]

    [​IMG]
    Part 2

    1. PROMOTION!
    2. Don't tell me you didn't see that coming
    3. Guess where we're heading next. :D

    Cast
     
    Last edited: Mar 8, 2016
  20. Remitonov Maki is Rabu Raibu. :3

    Joined:
    Sep 11, 2014
    Location:
    Crown Dependency of Singapore
    So, I made a new post. :V
     
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