Two For The Price Of One: An Alternate Soviet Union
Chapter One: The Caucasian Commissar, the Nizhnik Bureaucrat, and the Death of the Man of Steel
Baku Soviet, The Caucasus
July 3, 1918
Light streamed in through the large, artistic windows on the room’s walls, illuminating the large, handmade SFSR flag behind Stepan Shahumyan. Shahumyan, leader of the 26 Commissars of Baku, stared across the low wooden table at Major Ranald MacDonell, British vice-consul in Baku. A stranger pair could not be found throughout the world. Shahumyan was a short, dark-haired, pale ethnic Armenian, a staunch Marxist, and a man of deeply brooding disposition and a highly commanding air. MacDonell, on the other hand, was a Scot, all red hair, blue eyes, and a warm, kindly personality. The two had been forced together by circumstance: the Ottomans, advancing up the Caucasus, had caught the attention of the British, who had commanded MacDonell to attempt to reason with Shahumyan and accept British support to defend the precious Baku oilfields. It was a difficult task. Shahumyan was staunchly anti-capitalist (and thus anti-British) and believed that the British were attempting to take over his small kingdom in the Caucasus. However, with the Ottomans slaughtering all Armenians in their path in revenge for the Dashnaks’(1) slaughtering of the Azeris in Baku, Shahumyan had been driven to consult MacDonell. The perceptive commissar went straight to the point, leaning across the table and saying quickly, “Is your General Dunsterville(2) coming to Baku to turn us out?” MacDonell laughed good-naturedly at this, causing Shahumyan to scowl. “No, no, my friend, the good General is a military man and has no stake in political matters. He is simply coming for military purposes. And besides, you need his—our—help if you wish to survive the Turks.(3)” Shahumyan grunted unhappily, then nodded. “You are right. We must join forces to resist the Ottomans. Tell your Dunsterville that he can enter the city, as long as the Commune gets a say in what actions he takes.” It was MacDonell’s turn to scowl, but he nodded as well. And so the British Empire agreed to protect the Bolsheviks from the Ottomans.
Moscow, Russian Soviet Republic
March 16, 1919
Yakov Sverdlov turned up his collar at the cold and scowled down at the horse he rode. Though he had been raised in Nizhny Novgorod, one of the coldest cities in western Russia, he had always hated the cold. But it couldn’t be helped. The same went for the horse. With all oil going towards the war effort against the damnable counter-revolutionaries, there was no chance of a car, and most carriages had been taken by their owners as the decrepit empire had collapsed. Sverdlov sighed and looked over at his companion. Joseph Stalin, editor of Pravda. Sverdlov wondered why Stalin had asked to come with him to Morozov’s Factory: after all, it was simply a standard inspection. The bureaucrat shrugged and looked forward. After a few minutes more, he swung himself off the horse—they had arrived.
***
Trailed by three Red Guards wielding aged rifles, the two walked into Morozov’s Factory. As they did, the workers within cheered and Sverdlov grinned cheerfully at them. He was quite popular here in Moscow. However, he failed to see the worker that stood just behind one of the many furnaces in the factory. The man was short and black-haired, while his face was pockmarked. One had the unpleasant sense that he had been starving for quite a while. He had the scent of death floating all around him. As Sverdlov and Stalin walked past, the man, Pyotr Syzginsky(4), leapt out from behind the furnace and swung his hand upwards—in it, there was a large hammer. Sverdlov turned as Syzginsky leapt out and seemed to be stunned. Had it not been for Stalin, he would have died. The large Georgian, moving quickly, leapt in front of Sverdlov and blocked the hammer with his left arm. An unpleasant cracking noise sounded, and Stalin winced in pain, dropping his arm. Syzginsky reached back again, his face malevolently gleeful, and smashed his hammer on the Georgian’s head. Stalin collapsed, and now the Red Guards had suddenly come out of their stupor. Three rapid shots and Syzginsky fell, dead. Sverdlov fell to his knees next to Stalin and felt his chest.
Joseph Stalin was dead.
(1) The Armenian Revolutionary Federation, a Communist group allied to the Bolsheviks.
(2) Head of the aptly-named Dunsterforce, which fought their way through the Ottoman Empire, from British India through Afghanistan through Iran through Iraq and finally to the Caucasus. Badass is the word.
(3) Our specific POD. OTL, MacDonell didn’t mention the whole “you need us” thing. That tiny push is just what Shahumyan needed to make up his mind.
(4) I made up the name. I cannot find –any- source that has the name of Sverdlov’s assassin.
* * *
This is what I do when I get writer's block. I start another project that I don't have writer's block on and update it until I get writer's block on it. Then I'm able to update the other one. Therefore, you few readers of The Flag Of Islam, do not worry! I shall return!
As to this TL, it's something I've always wanted to do: a USSR sans Stalin and plus Sverdlov and Shahumyan. Fun.
Chapter One: The Caucasian Commissar, the Nizhnik Bureaucrat, and the Death of the Man of Steel
Baku Soviet, The Caucasus
July 3, 1918
Light streamed in through the large, artistic windows on the room’s walls, illuminating the large, handmade SFSR flag behind Stepan Shahumyan. Shahumyan, leader of the 26 Commissars of Baku, stared across the low wooden table at Major Ranald MacDonell, British vice-consul in Baku. A stranger pair could not be found throughout the world. Shahumyan was a short, dark-haired, pale ethnic Armenian, a staunch Marxist, and a man of deeply brooding disposition and a highly commanding air. MacDonell, on the other hand, was a Scot, all red hair, blue eyes, and a warm, kindly personality. The two had been forced together by circumstance: the Ottomans, advancing up the Caucasus, had caught the attention of the British, who had commanded MacDonell to attempt to reason with Shahumyan and accept British support to defend the precious Baku oilfields. It was a difficult task. Shahumyan was staunchly anti-capitalist (and thus anti-British) and believed that the British were attempting to take over his small kingdom in the Caucasus. However, with the Ottomans slaughtering all Armenians in their path in revenge for the Dashnaks’(1) slaughtering of the Azeris in Baku, Shahumyan had been driven to consult MacDonell. The perceptive commissar went straight to the point, leaning across the table and saying quickly, “Is your General Dunsterville(2) coming to Baku to turn us out?” MacDonell laughed good-naturedly at this, causing Shahumyan to scowl. “No, no, my friend, the good General is a military man and has no stake in political matters. He is simply coming for military purposes. And besides, you need his—our—help if you wish to survive the Turks.(3)” Shahumyan grunted unhappily, then nodded. “You are right. We must join forces to resist the Ottomans. Tell your Dunsterville that he can enter the city, as long as the Commune gets a say in what actions he takes.” It was MacDonell’s turn to scowl, but he nodded as well. And so the British Empire agreed to protect the Bolsheviks from the Ottomans.
Moscow, Russian Soviet Republic
March 16, 1919
Yakov Sverdlov turned up his collar at the cold and scowled down at the horse he rode. Though he had been raised in Nizhny Novgorod, one of the coldest cities in western Russia, he had always hated the cold. But it couldn’t be helped. The same went for the horse. With all oil going towards the war effort against the damnable counter-revolutionaries, there was no chance of a car, and most carriages had been taken by their owners as the decrepit empire had collapsed. Sverdlov sighed and looked over at his companion. Joseph Stalin, editor of Pravda. Sverdlov wondered why Stalin had asked to come with him to Morozov’s Factory: after all, it was simply a standard inspection. The bureaucrat shrugged and looked forward. After a few minutes more, he swung himself off the horse—they had arrived.
***
Trailed by three Red Guards wielding aged rifles, the two walked into Morozov’s Factory. As they did, the workers within cheered and Sverdlov grinned cheerfully at them. He was quite popular here in Moscow. However, he failed to see the worker that stood just behind one of the many furnaces in the factory. The man was short and black-haired, while his face was pockmarked. One had the unpleasant sense that he had been starving for quite a while. He had the scent of death floating all around him. As Sverdlov and Stalin walked past, the man, Pyotr Syzginsky(4), leapt out from behind the furnace and swung his hand upwards—in it, there was a large hammer. Sverdlov turned as Syzginsky leapt out and seemed to be stunned. Had it not been for Stalin, he would have died. The large Georgian, moving quickly, leapt in front of Sverdlov and blocked the hammer with his left arm. An unpleasant cracking noise sounded, and Stalin winced in pain, dropping his arm. Syzginsky reached back again, his face malevolently gleeful, and smashed his hammer on the Georgian’s head. Stalin collapsed, and now the Red Guards had suddenly come out of their stupor. Three rapid shots and Syzginsky fell, dead. Sverdlov fell to his knees next to Stalin and felt his chest.
Joseph Stalin was dead.
(1) The Armenian Revolutionary Federation, a Communist group allied to the Bolsheviks.
(2) Head of the aptly-named Dunsterforce, which fought their way through the Ottoman Empire, from British India through Afghanistan through Iran through Iraq and finally to the Caucasus. Badass is the word.
(3) Our specific POD. OTL, MacDonell didn’t mention the whole “you need us” thing. That tiny push is just what Shahumyan needed to make up his mind.
(4) I made up the name. I cannot find –any- source that has the name of Sverdlov’s assassin.
* * *
This is what I do when I get writer's block. I start another project that I don't have writer's block on and update it until I get writer's block on it. Then I'm able to update the other one. Therefore, you few readers of The Flag Of Islam, do not worry! I shall return!
As to this TL, it's something I've always wanted to do: a USSR sans Stalin and plus Sverdlov and Shahumyan. Fun.
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