Well South America won out so South America it is.
War in the South! - Excerpt from the Daily Worker, October 10th 1940
As Leif Erikson day set in; or what semblance of it can be celebrated in the midst of our desperate struggle to defend the Soviet people from Axis perfidy in any case; the perfidious integralist state of Brazil, ever the enemy of the working man in South America has launched a massive and unprovoked invasion of Argentina while Salgado's cronies in Venezuela and Bolivia launch attacks on the peace loving workers and farmers of Colombia and Chile. Caught off guard by such a brazen attack it would seem that massive retreats are happening all across the nations of our comrades in the south; with the situation especially dire in the battle for Argentina as a vast green shirted horde poured across the border following what Salgado claimed to be a violation of Brazilian territory as a reconnaissance plane flying the Brazilian flag was chased back into its borders and shot down by an Argentine interceptor, with the Brazilian autocrat claiming this to be proof of an imminent Argentine attack. Similar incidents, including reports of attacks on Venezuelan border outposts and the shelling of a Bolivian patrol, have been used as causus bellis to wage an aggressive war against our allies and comrades in socialism.
But let us examine the facts and see what truth there are in Mister Salgado's claims of imminent Communist attack. Would an aggressor like Argentina have only a quarter of the forces arrayed against her than those of the supposedly innocent Brazilian republic and its stooges Paraguay and Uruguay? Would an aggressor like the Argentinians have spent millions of dollars on the erection of fortifications, usually a sign of expecting to be the attacked, not the attacker? In the case of Chile, was it not Bolivia constantly raising a ruckus over the loss of land in the Pacific war of 1879-1883 in much the same manner that Hitler ranted and raved about naturally German land? And in the north, do we not have at hand, reports of the Venezuelan government vowing to restore Gran Colombia and "smash the scourge of Bolshevism that taints the vision of Bolivar"? Such brief examinations of the facts at hand show what the Integralist claims of imminent threat from our comrades to be; much like most claims from fascists; nothing more than a pack of lies.
We are not in the business of mincing words comrades, the situation in South America seems grim. With an arsenal bought from the corrupt bourgeois governments of Europe and a war economy bankrolled with cheap money from its fascist allies and amoral creditors in the so called enlightened democracies of western Europe and the British Empire, the green tide has crested and driven back our allies a grievous distance. In the Andes, the Bolivians boast of reaching the sea before Red October to show the world the frailty of communism. In gran colombia the Columbian army has retreated a dozen kilometers, and in Argentina the Argentinian Republics have had to cede half again as much land to the barbarians at the gates. Already reports of mass looting and massacre have reached reporters as the peasants of Salgado's armies, fed on a diet of hate and lead to believe that their enemies were the minions of Satan himself; have enacted a savagery not seen on the continent since the darkest days of the Spanish Empire.
In all fronts of this world spanning war it seems; that the soldiers of fascism conduct themselves not as noble crusaders for civilization as they would claim; but as vandals and huns who would like nothing more than to see the world aflame. That is why premier Reed has now informed the embassies of the Integralist nations that we are at a state of war with the republics of Venezuela, Brazil, Paraguay, Bolivia, and Uruguay. This declaration has been followed by the premiers of the rest of the Comintern, and with a vow by the integralists to "choke the bolshevist hordes before they can suckle the teat of the north", leading to a fear that we may yet see submarines plying the south atlantic to join their German and Italian comrades so that they may terrorize innocent sailors and work to starve the people of the nations now being trodden upon by their wicked boot.
With a nearly unanimous vote, the all union congress has voted to support the supply of arms to our allies while the people of Mexico and Central America have gone even further and have promised to send what troops they can into the region. Whether or not we shall follow up remains to be seen; but with commitments already heavy in Europe there remains doubt as to whether much can be spared for the south in the way of trained men and women to fight the fascist beast.
...............................
To say that Reed was angry would be as empty a statement as saying the sun was bright or that the ocean was deep. He already had the integralist embassies notified of the declaration of war but he still fumed as he thought over the situation. "Are there any reactionaries we aren't at war with yet?" He grumbled to himself as he wiped his hand over his face and looked at the papers he had been delivered by his aide. The situation in the Soviet Union was looking grim to say the least, and it seemed that the war in South America was; though still fresh, in the fascist's favor. At the rate that this war was expanding he expected that sooner or later; Japan at the very least and the liberal democracies of western Europe at the very worst would also join in on trying to strangle the revolution in its crib.
He saw his aide, a young, brown haired woman who had grown up during the revolution, about to open her mouth before he gave her a handwave.
"It was a rhetorical question, no need to answer it." He said as he looked again at the files. The offensives in Axis held Europe were at the least starting to grind a bit in the heavy autumn rains; the Raputista, though he regarded the map showing the maximal point of Axis advance with alarm; staring at the grey mass that engulfed so much of the Union and for a brief moment, mentally picturing what could only be happening there based on the reports of the conduct of Hitler and his stooges. He hadn't yet received maps depicting the advance in South America, but bile rose in his throat and he forcibly dismissed the thoughts as another aide knocked on the door, a knock that was met with a summons to enter.
"Comrade premier?" The aide, another young woman; though older than the one in his office; asked in her heavy texan accent.
"Yes Comrade Robinson?" He said, his gaze lifting from his papers and looking at her in the eyes, putting aside his thoughts regarding the war for the time. He hoped beyond hope that what he had was good news, he knew himself how badly he needed some good news at this time of day.
"I have word from the embassy of Mexico that the Mexicans are promising to send troops, as well as all of the Central American Republics. We've also got word from Cuba; they're sitting this one out for now, and Premier Zapata would like to speak with you on the line as soon as possible." She said, holding a binder full of papers in her arms as Reed breathed out a sigh of relief, barely perceptible but what he allowed of his internal leap for joy to be expressed
"Thank you comrade, I'll get on that as soon as possible, and make sure they receive my gratitude." He said, Robinson giving him a nod as she walked out of the room.
Standing up, he made the trip to the series of hotlines established with America's closer allies and quickly picked up the line to his counterpart in Mexico City. He waited a few moments before a click informed him that the line had been picked up.
"Comrade Zapata" He said in Spanish.
"Comrade Reed" His counterpart replied warmly in English, the two speaking like old friends.
"I've been told you've got plans to send troops over to the new theater." he said, smiling on his end of the line as he spoke as he settled on using English to speak to his counterpart.
"Yes, this will cut into our planned deployments in Europe but you must understand the value of reinforcements who can understand the language spoken there." Zapata replied, an understanding nod coming from Reed as he thought a bit, yes having Spanish speaking troops would be a great asset, however much he was unhappy with having to work with less to fight Hitler and Mussolini and save the people of Eastern Europe from the grisly fate awaiting them so vividly described in what his intelligence operatives had found of the horror show that was Generalplan Ost.
"I fully understand that, how soon can the people of Mexico get their boys and girls down south and stop Plinio from painting the continent an plug-ugly shade of green on the map?" He asked, hoping the answer was at least decently soon for the northern front; though the distance to the Andean and Southern front was certainly intimidating for anyone's logistics.
"We can probably get troops in Colombia before the year's end, beyond that I'd be surprised if we could land any substantial number of troops before the southern winter next year. Our admiralty is worried about the threat of the submarines though, comrade. The fascists in Cuba are harboring submarines and so are the Venezuelans, Uruguayans and Brazilians; and those three have their own U-boats surely setting sail. If we're going to get enough troops to the far south, America will need to make sure the seas are safe so we aren't stuck with the pacific route." Zapata said, his voice frank and earnest as Reed nodded.
"You don't need to worry about that, we're fully aware of the need for convoys with all the sharks in the water. Especially when they'll be needing tanks, guns, and planes down there more badly than ever." Reed said, confident that the Navy could keep the underwater menace under control.
"You're a confident man Reed, I suppose some confidence is what everyone needs at times like this." Zapata laughed, though it was a grim laugh, the laugh of someone fully aware of how dark the situation was.
"I have faith in the workers and farmers of the world to triumph against those who would seek to drag us back to the dark ages Zapata. Hitler can call us soft, he can call us neanderthals, he can accuse every one of us of being a floozy and of being as limp as a wet noodle. But he will find that just like water, we may be soft when calm; but when riled up into a great storm we can crush the greatest of obstacles. He will find that all his machismo and fluster cannot overcome our greater dedication to the common prosperity of humanity, to the devotion of science to better ourselves, and to our dedication to see his hate buried in the ash heap where it belongs. Give it time Zapata, he and all his cronies will find their fasces broken and burning, and Salgado will find himself with all the rest of his friends." Reed said, his voice confident of ultimate victory. He saw the numbers, the comintern as a whole was the greatest economic machine on the face of the Earth; together, the Axis couldn't hope to match the industry and manpower of the Comintern. The question was whether they could triumph through divide and conquer, and if anyone in this country had anything to say about it; they wouldn't let that happen in a million years.
"To the revolution then comrade." Zapata said cheerfully.
"To the revolution." He responded.
***************************
A week into the war
(Warning: Attempted rape)
Fausto Oliveria slung his Mauser over his shoulder as his commander shouted a march order for the day. He was not a rich man, he did better than some, but like most of Brazil's population he found life to be a struggle to survive, particularly after his father passed away and left him in charge of the farm and his siblings; a struggle even before Salgado made his call for war. He was drafted a few months before the plane was shot down and holy Brazil's sovereignity was violated by the communists, yes the communists. Ever since Salgado became the leader of Brazil, O líder of this blesed nation; he had heard so many things about the communists. He was told that they hated holy mother church, that they rejected God, that they would take his land and make whores of his sisters. He was always a patriot, but he was pushed further when he heard that the Communists would make Brazil a slave of Russia and America; and that only Salgado and the integralists could save Brazil from horrible class conflict. When he heard the call; he entrusted his farm to his first younger brother, telling the thirteen year old boy that it was his time to be a man. Now he was so very far away from the highlands of his home, marching towards Buenos Aires; a den of sin and communist opulence.
He took one last sip of his fondly regarded Yerba Mate before he filed into the column, looking back at the village. He saw many things he thought he'd like in the city. Nice dress shoes from America he thought would look nice on his older sister a painting or two he liked the look of, jewelry he was sure was worth money, every Peso he could find was hurriedly stuffed into his pockets and the canned food of the house he looted quickly found its way into his rucksack. He paid the quartermaster to ship what he had taken back to his home, sure the family would appreciate both it and the letter he attached to it. THe food though, that he would keep.
"Eh, give my mother these ingredients and she would show these field cooks what actual food is like." Fausto grumbled, finding that the food was one of the less agreeable parts of life in the army. The eighteen year old was particularly fond of the dried meat which always seemed to have the toughness of old leather boots and made his aw ache as he worked his way through it. His thoughts were interrupted as some of the tanks rumbled past him; prompting him to look as some of the Matilda tanks kept close. He knew these vehicles had come from Britain, but this was the closest he had ever gotten to one. It looked like some sort of beastly tractor to him, maybe even a bit like a dog the way the silhouette of its side seemed to him. But it was the faster Chimera tanks that rumbled on past the infantry and the infantry tanks that really grabbed his attention.
"Why does one of them have a bigger gun?" He asked of one of his mates in the marching formation, Felipe tended to be more knowledgeable about war machines than he did.
"Ah that's a demolisher, it's meant to blow apart the walls and bunkers. Maybe it will save you when we get to the next real fight?" Felipe said with a bit of a chuckle as they marched down the road; planes roaring overhead bearing the emblem of the Brazilian air force. The others in his column let out a cheer as they saw the planes move ahead, welcoming the sight of Salgado's condors as they hunted down the enemy. "Trust me, we'll be in Buenos Airies in time for Christmas." Felipe said with a big grin and good cheer, a dark smile coming from his sergeant Manuel that thoroughly unnerved him. Fausto had heard rumors about him...and others in his company, that they were engaging in ungodly things. He didn't dare say it to Manuel's face though, the man was twice his size and a rippling wall of muscle. He had already seen the sergeant strike a man for questioning him, and he'd rather avoid being on the wrong end of his fist.
It was about a day before their next major engagement as they came upon a town he didn't know the name of; not too far from the Brazilian-Argentine border. He knew to hit the ground as soon as he heard the thunder of nearby explosions that didn't sound like any of the guns he was familiar with; peeking his head out to see the muzzle flashes of Argentine weapons before the "Krakkakrakkakrakka" of a Matilda tank's machine guns briefly interrupted the fire, following by the booming report of a 4 inch gun that was itself followed by a thundrous detonation as the Chimera mounted howitzer made a great booming sound. Fausto raised his rifle and took aim at the enemy, spotting a helmet bearing the red star of communist argentina; taking a shot from behind his dirt mound cover as the enemy ducked into cover. Looking at where the Chimera fired; he could only see a pile of rubble where someone's house once was as a Hawker Hurricane came roaring in; the scream of its propellers drowned out by the chatter of its brace of machine guns and the eruption of bombs hitting the ground as anti-air tried to walk their fire at the brazilian plane.
He took a few more shots as a loud ping resounded; someone firing at a matilda only to bounce off its frontal armour, and the whistle of the Company Commander soon had him heading out, the chatter of weapons fire forcing him to focus purely on what was ahead of him if he didn't want to experience the full force of sensory overload. Fear gripped his heart as many soldiers were cut down in this advance from cover to cover; some finding limbs taken off or terrifyingly large holes ripped into them as an M2 browning raked across the field; one man some distance to the left of him hitting the ground with a thud as his head seemed to disappear into fine mist; the tanks that the gunner had managed to hide from rotating around to try and deal with the gunner and silencing him with their own crack.
His heart pounding, he managed to get into the town, his bayonet fixed as he looked around; sweat pouring down his forehead as he hastily took a shot at the first thing he saw; prompting the figure to duck before retorting, missing him as he ran into cover. As he advanced deeper and deeper into the town, terrifying noise of all kind was a constant companion, and if you were to tell him now that he would ever stop shaking he would have scarcely believed it. After hours he couldn't track had passed, he finally came upon a house that had a sigma symbol painted on it; a sign of safety. He Stumbled into it and was caught by Felipe, the young; boyish and bookish man catching him before he could flop on the floor.
"Christ look at you, you look like you've been through hell." Felipe said, and as far as Fausto was concerned; he had been through hell. All the images of fire and brimstone the priest could conjure were nothing compared to what he had witnessed; mutilated corpses, blood flowing like water, dirt fountaining and raining like a downpour, fire and flames ravaging all they touched as metal beasts struggled to get into the city. Even some of the mighty tanks he had come to associate with invincibility had been stopped cold by some of the biggest guns he had ever seen; and even the Eagles of Salgado could die; one having its wing clipped by a black cloud that sent the burning metal bird spiraling into a fatal collision with a house that ended with an eruption of flame and a tremendous thunderclap. But what stuck most was the screaming...screaming like he could hear now. He heard a woman's wails and found the strength to pull himself up.
"Felipe, what is that?" He asked as he caught his breath, straightening his buckling legs and desperately wishing he had anything liquid to assuage how incredibly dry his throat and mouth felt, felipe offering him a canteen that was hurriedly gulped down without a second thought.
"The sergeant i-" He said before he forced open the door and found his sergeant with his pants down by his legs and a knife in his hands and a woman in an argentine uniform that he had clearly used the knife on to expose her, shouting curses at the woman that if he had ever repeated before his mother he'd have almost certainly been beaten senseless for.
"Sergeant, what in god's name are you do-" He managed before Manuel turned towards him and threw a meaty fist at Fausto's cheek, sending him sprawling onto the ground; his vision briefly going blurry from the impact as he found himself staring at his sergeant's boots.
"You will keep your mouth shut boy if you know what's good for you you peasant sack of shit." The mustached man growled angrily like some kind of hellish jaguar as he prepared to pull his pants up enough to give him a good kicking before the report of a submachine gun made him recoil, looking around as the tied woman tried untying herself; clearly not intent on letting herself simply take her fate lying down. Reaching for his rifle on his shoulder, Fausto was met with a swift kick to the chest that knocked the air out of him as Felipe yiped, making a cross on his chest as his eyes bugged out and ensuring Felipe was in no position to react as the entrance swung open again and one of the greenshirted guards was shot to pieces by a Thompson submachine gun followed by another; followed by shouting in spanish to stop as the woman on the bed managed to undo the rather fragile bindings and reached for Manuel's service pistol as he stared at the intruder; another woman. He tried reaching for his pitsol only to find it out of its holster, and then heard a click and nothing else; hitting the ground near Fausto who at this point was largely just writhing on the ground as the woman came to her comrade and asked her a few questions; offering her her own coat to go over her cut up blouse.
She looked at the stunned felipe and the prone Fausto and shook her head. "I'm going to take it that you two are surrendering." She said in Portuguese, which seemed to finally snap Felipe out of his shock.
"Who are you?" He asked, as if just finally registering what had happened.
"Valentina Garcia, now unless you want to join your sergeant I suggest you drop all your weapons now, I've no patience to deal with fascist scum right now." The copper haired woman said, the two complying immediately, soldiers picking Fausto up as they prepared to march them to prisoner of war camps.
*****************************************************
Not as much as I would have liked to write, but hey. You'll be seeing more of Valentina soon as well.
