The Red Peace [IC/AH/OPEN]

by **The V O I D** » Mon Dec 18, 2017 9:18 pm

OOC || WORLD MAP
Credit to Tracian Empire for the amazing map - last minute edits by me; if anything else needs an edit, TG me.

OFFICIAL DISCORD for THE RED PEACE

Today is January First, 1960. It is the Thirteenth Year of the Red Peace; others call it a Cold War.

It began in June of 1941. Operation Barbarossa; the invasion plan formulated by the Axis Powers to conquer the Soviet Union. It was a spectacular failure thanks to leaked German intelligence allowing the Soviets to prepare for the coming storm. The Soviet borders were better defended and reinforced, and so with a weakened invasion force because of Axis armies needing to quell rebellions in the Balkans, the Soviet line isn't pushed back. It does not push forward, either, because of Japanese invasion attempts in the Far East.

A few months later, in December, the Pearl Harbor attacks bring the United States into the Second World War. Because the Japanese are forced to pull back more and more troops and artillery to help support the islands as they are invaded, and as the US continues to push the Japanese back in the Pacific, the Soviets get much needed relief and reinforcements on the border. As the Japanese are removed from Soviet borders entirely, the Soviet Union enacts their counter-invasion.

A full scale invasion of Eastern Europe and the Balkans. The German War Machine was not prepared for such a massive counter attack. The Soviet invasion of Eastern Europe was rather difficult to stop, even as they pushed further and further. The Nazis and Axis began to focus their defenses on the eastern front; more and more, they pulled away from their western borders and out of France. The bombings of Britain eventually ceased entirely.

D-Day. September of 1942. The US, Britain, and French Resistance move into Normandy with almost no resistance from the Nazi military, and began their liberation of France. The German military is forced to pull back from the east and attempt to reinforce their borders, even as they try to move troops to keep the Allies at bay from the western front. This proves to be yet another disastrous mistake.

The Soviet Union pulls a last and rather final push from the south through Austria, and then another against the eastern border defense. Both sides fail to defend against the invasion, and in February of 1943, the Soviets capture Berlin - and begin to seize all of Germany. Meanwhile, France is liberated by the Allies. Germany has been forced to surrender, and the Soviets begin to help rebuild - but they form a communist regime in the Nazi government's place over Germany.

All of Eastern Europe, and the Balkans, have fallen to communism. The Soviet government claims the victory and declares that the war is over with Germany defeated. In December of 1943, the United States reluctantly recognizes the Soviet victory in Europe, even as the French government rebuilds. In the Far East, the Soviets begin using the momentum and morale increase from the victory in Europe to begin pushing into Asia; invading Japanese-controlled Manchuria. The Japanese military is taken completely by surprise, and unable to defend Manchuria.

Once liberated, the Soviets begin supplying the Chinese with weapons and armor, training them and especially their communists. Communist uprisings and Chinese resistance forces begin pushing back, hard, against Japanese forces, even as the Soviets secure their control over Eastern Europe through their satellite states. The Japanese Navy, in the meanwhile, is barely holding the US Navy back.

In February of 1944, because of a need to increase speed of development, the Manhattan Project fails. There is no atom bomb. With no other choice, the US government and military prepare for a naval-based invasion of Japan. The US deems atomic weapons a wishful dream. And then, their invasion begins.

With no other choice, Japan pulls back all of its military leftover from occupied China; allowing the communists to seize control. Korea is also left to be abandoned, even as Korean and Chinese communists, with Soviet support, begin to seize control and remove the occupation government.

It takes three long and bloody years for Japanese forces to be defeated throughout their former territory, as they continue to refuse to surrender. Eventually, they are simply forced to capitulate; with at least one year of the bloodshed being from resistance pockets and Imperial Japanese military forces led by rogue admirals or generals. Japan is beaten, at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives on both sides. A democratic government is set up in Japan, even as communist ones secure control over China and Korea thanks to Soviet support.

The Allies are left war-weary, and so, with the world at peace and communism seeming to rise to power throughout the Old World, the Red Peace begins. The United States cannot afford another war so soon, and so, even as Southeast Asia falls to communism over the next decade, they can do nothing but help their democratic allies rebuild, and consolidate their holdings in the Pacific.

Now, on the thirteenth year of the Red Peace, communism everywhere has massive propaganda campaigns, looking to the massive Soviet victories as signs that communism not only can win, but is a superior form of government.

The world is tense, but war-weary, under this peace - even as Soviet ambitions turn toward the Middle East and western Asia.

Under this Red Peace, where can one stand?

The Great Kremlin Palace
Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic
The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

The Supreme Soviet was in session. Nikita Khrushchev was present. It was unprecedented for a man to hold the three most important positions in the Soviet government, but Khrushchev had proven to be strong for the role. And he had convinced the Supreme Soviet, and those of the Central Committee of the Communist Party, that this was necessary. Many hardliners disagreed, but they had been outmatched.

Currently, the Supreme Soviet was meeting about legislation regarding some controversial economic reforms for the Union as a whole, as well as to discuss further what to do with nations in the Warsaw Pact to the west. Should there be a method to integrate them in the future, or should they remain totally independent of the Soviet Union? Among other issues.

One of these major issues that Khrushchev was going to speak on was Sino-Soviet relations, as well as relations with other communist nations abroad. The votes and passing of bills took many hours, but in the end, some of Khrushchev's reforms ended up being passed - after a few years fighting for them, as well.

Of course, Khrushchev wanted to meet with other communist leaders to discuss their states and affairs.

by **The Free Territory of Makhnovia** » Tue Dec 19, 2017 7:51 am

The president's official residence, Largo, Sofia, FPRY 3rd of January

Josip Broz Tito worked in his room. There were a lot of reports he had to sift through. First there were intelligence reports, most of them coming from the Black sea and Italian border. All seemed to be quiet there, but keeping a close eye on condition and loyalty of Slovene and Croatian troops in Istria was priority. Fro now there was no problem, but Tito made a few phone calls to make sure troops guarding the border were regularly rotated.

Then there were developments regarding new weapon that was devised by Yugoslav People's Army- the new multiple rocket launcher M-63 Plamen was being conceptualized and tested. Tito saw the blueprints that were sent to him from Army base in Han Pjesak, and he was quite pleased. With Soviet rocket technology and home-made field artillery, people's army had potential on being one of the best armies in Europe. The reports from Workers council's he merely skimmed- he had no interest into reviewing their work. After all, people wanted democracy so let them have it. He decided to answer Gromyko's memo that was placed on his table, and he decided to fly there personally. He had traveled a huge part of world, but travel still made him happy.

He packed the huge piles of republical and council reports and wrote a short memo to send them to his personal archive and make them availible to federal councils. Then he answered the memo writing in Russian, which he spoke and wrote fluently due to years spent in Moscow.

by **Labstoska** » Tue Dec 19, 2017 2:57 pm

the Irish people's parliament
The Irish people's parliament was huge concrete labyrinth, every corridor lead to some kind of pointless government division instead of guiding you where you really need to go however despite how incredibly frustrating this institution is its large labyrinth like nature while causing many curriers insane allowed for an incredibly large amount of government divisions to be squeezed into one small building and at the heart of this labyrinth is Arthur Gallagher's office from which the entire nation is run.

The office was nothing extravagant all it was really was a wooden desk, some filing cabinets and two flags behind said desk, but despite its lack of grandeur it was still practical and we'll ordered, which was exactly how Mr Gallagher liked his nation to be ran. The man himself was busy at work attempting to sign as many pieces of paperwork that he possibly could in one day, most of them were concerning the creation of the Irish resource authority which was to help extract as many metals as physically possible from the small island nation, others concerned the expansion of the Irish air force for many in the military high command believed that while Ireland could not possibly compete with Britain in terms of naval and army power the Irish air force definitely had the potential to compete, it was because of this that the Irish air force was now making an effort to modernize by purchasing jets of the Soviets and the Irish aeronautics division was to be founded in order to research new aircraft that could put the British to shame.

In and amongst the piles of paperwork there was actually one small square of paper that actually interested him, it appeared that the Soviets wished to have conference to further strengthen the communist states of the world. Mr Gallagher never wishing to disrespect those who had been so helpful in the reconstruction of Ireland into a Communist state so he immediately pushed aside all the other useless sheets of paper and began penning a letter to the Soviets.

To:the Officer of the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the USSR
From: the Irish ministry of foreign affairs
Encryption: maximum
Greetings our Soviet brothers, we graciously accept your invitation to Moscow in order to discuss the state of the communism throughout the world. May the light of the revolution bring freedom to workers throughout the world.

by **Republic of the Cristo** » Tue Dec 19, 2017 4:17 pm

January 5th, 1960, the Pentagon

Richard Nixon, still fifteen days away from being President.Nixon, sat sorely in the leather chair provided to him at the Pentagon debriefing room. For the last three days, he had been spent every hour from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m., in this room receiving a full and complete debrief about the military situation of the armed forces across the world. He was tired of hearing gruff men tell him in 50 different ways that the reds had Uncle Sam out manned and out gunned in every corner of the world.

Nixon pinched pinched between his eyes at the top of his nose, trying to rub the sleep out of them. It was 9:30 of yet another long day of disappointing news. He had to smile at the misfortune; he had campaigned for over a year in order to get this job, and not even before he starts he is beginning to hate it. He would chuckle internally. " Mr. President? "

Nixon looked up at the marine who had opened the door. He wasn't technically the president yet, but he didn't really care to correct the man. " Secretary of Defense. Engels has arrived. " Once more, not technically SOD yet, but who really cared? The marine stepped aside from the door way in order allow in Joseph Engels - Nixon's pick for SOD ( and yes, the irony of the name and the position amused the both of them ). Engels was a rather tall man at 6 '3', his white hair was combed over perfectly to a side, and he wore the steely look of a man certain in his duty. His posture was perfect, and his smile was forced. Nixon looked over at the marine holding the door and nodded for him to leave. The marine nodded in returned and left the two men alone in the debriefing room.

The room was large ( for a conference room ). A magnificent oval table, whose wood glistened in the soft over head lights of the room, stood monolithically in the center of it all. At the far end away from Nixon was a projector built into the table which would display a light against a white sheet set up at the other end of the room. The room was sound proof, and it having been cleared moments ago of the previous generals to allow for this meeting of the new order, the silence seemed unbreakable - until broken.

" So, " Engels threw his hands up by his sides, " what did you gather from your debriefing? " Nixon let out a sigh and brought his hands together slowly.
" That's Ivan's got us fucked. " Nothing, not even a smile, Nixon thought as he looked at his future SOD. A fantastic military man with the credentials to boot - but absolutely no sense of humor... maybe he's really German after all? " Yeah, that's about what I got too.
" Engels said as he looked about the room's settings. He began to casually make his way over towards the projector at the end of table, taking his time in doing so.
" Really surprising actually. Ike was doing all he could to make sure we weren't so left behind. Hell, I was there with him the whole time. " Nixon had been ardently in favor of Ike's plan of remilitarization - it was one of his biggest campaign promises, one which the two of them had worked on together quite often. And yet, now that he was taking over for his old boss, he found that it all hadn't been enough... not nearly enough!
" Ike had his heart in the right place, but he didn't want see the worst case scenario... the one we are currently in. " Engels had by this time finally made his way onto the other side of the table near the projector, and from across the room he looked over towards Nixon. To other men, this look from that man would be extremely intimidating, but Nixon knew Engels well enough to know that he just always looked like a lion about to slaughter a zebra.
" The Truman doctrine has failed: It hasn't stopped a single nation from falling to Communism. Ike intended for the next war be like how it was with the Krauts and the Japs - but Ivan is a lot more practical then either of them were... and he certainly doesn't intend on faring as well as he did in the last war. " Engels cast an eyebrow over to Nixon.
Nixon sighed slowly, fearing what that he was not going to like what he was about to hear. Nodding his head, he inquired, " And how would you intend on modifying - " Nixon stopped mid sentence when Engels shook his head once. " - replacing, the Truman doctrine? What did my predecessor not see? "

Engels pulled from the inner lining of his coat pocket a single mini reel of film. He held it up as though it were a triumphant key. " To be frank sir, ruthlessness. " Engels put the reel of film into the built in projector at the end of the table and flipped the machine on - the lights fell. The image of a wrap sheet with an odd assortment of words and check marks and x's appeared. " Ike established the CIA and the NSA, both good starts, but he didn't use them to their full potential. " Engels points towards the image on the screen. " This, is a record of all proposed operations by the CIA which had viable chances of success. Checkmarks indicate they got the go ahead, and x's indicate a veto. As you can see 3/4ths of all operations were struck down. "

The image changed this time to show a Spartan building surrounded by forest and power lines. " This, is Whitefield agricultural research facility - or as it's known to the DOD, base 13. It is one of a set of special weapons research and development facilities across the nation which work to create new kinds of weapons to fight the future war. " The room suddenly got tense, Nixon could feel the sudden change, it was imitating now from literal air pressure, but from Engels demeanor. This, he knew, is where the real point of his speech was going to come into play.

" Ike put a lot of funding into these facilities, but he never actually thought they would bear any fruit militarily - at least as according to my recent research. He never really gave the projects of the places any legitimate consideration, and because of that, he never gave them the real assistance they needed to bear fruit. " Nixon threw up his hands at this and began shaking hesitantly.

" Hold on Joseph, you aren't talking about that uh... oh what did they used to call it - Atom bomb? You're not talking about that pipe dream are you? " Engels chuckled and shook his head, " No sir, the atom bomb was a just a crack pot idea. I am talking about real life weapons - weapons which have been used before to deadly affect. Most notably in China, and quite recently. "

The screen shifted to show an large Asian man in the uniform of an Imperial Japanese army officer. " This man's name is Masaji Kitano. During World War Two, he was a lead researcher in Unit 731 - Japan's biological warfare unit. " Nixon's expression did not change, so Engels continued on, scarred that if he were to stop right now his boss might very well fire him on the spot. " The research that he and his colleagues produced during the war was extensive and for a time revolutionized our understanding of germ warfare. " The film suddenly cut off, and the lights in the room were lifted once more.

Engels folded his hands over his waist as he starred down the future leader of the free world. Nixon's folded his hands over his mouth, choosing only to look sternly at his SOD. " After the war, we and the Soviets picked up a few scientists each from the group... they killed their in 49', a but a letter of recommendation by MacArthur convinced Truman to save ours... Kitano lives only 60 miles away sir, and many of his colleagues live around the states and in Japan. Sir - "

" Enough, " Nixon's cut off of Engels surprised both men. Few people ever dared cut the intimidating figure of Joseph Engels off mid-sentence - Richard M. Nixon now being one of them. " I have heard enough to know where you are going with this... you have my permission. " Engels's heart shot up to his throat. " Are - are you sure sir? " Engels asked tentatively.

" No, i'm not. But the last three days have shown me that what we have been doing isn't working, and if push came to shove, right now, we'd get mowed over. We need an edge, we need an advantage against the hordes of Godless reds. " Nixon looked over in disgust at the door from which Engels had come in through ( sub-consciously, Nixon actually regretted picking Engels for SOD ). " We've gotta have something to protect us. "

Nixon shot a look so serious and so frightful, that even Engels ( though he would never admit it ) felt intimidated. " You'll get what you need. When the time comes, get your team together - and win us the next fucking war! "

by **Costa Fierro** » Wed Dec 20, 2017 5:34 am

İzmir, Turkey. January 1, 1960. 7:35pm.
The sunset was framed between the apartment blocks that lined the narrow city street, the opening of which ended at the waterfront. Above the city, the sky was decorated with various hues of orange, yellow, pink and purple. İzmir was transitioning to evening, with restaurants gearing up for the evening rush and most smaller businesses closing down. Few average people in Turkey cared about what was happening in Ankara, or what had happened there. Few cared about the thousands of people who had been purged from the government and the military. Few cared enough to do something about it.

Mustafa Celal was one of those people. Celal was in his early 60's, had greying hair around the sides of his head, the top being bald. He had a squat nose, a low brow and a mustache that was exhibiting the same characteristics as the rest of the hair on his head. He looked like your typical older man. Celal, however, was a former professor of political science at the Ionian University before getting a similar job teaching economic theory at Ege University, the newest tertiary institution in the city. He was one of those purged from the education system for the crime of voting for the communists in general and presidential elections. Celal never really admitted his political leanings to colleagues but his views and opinions were well known by the students he taught. Out of a job and struggling to make money, he found himself facing eviction from his apartment in central İzmir. Celal had been making money in the meantime by working for cash in various shops in the street below. He'd met a man who shared his political leanings but more importantly, was sharing the same experience as he was. Job loss, no money, no income. However this man was a former military officer of sixteen years, and was only a couple of years away from being promoted to a commissioned officer. Celal only knew him as Mister Gökçek. He didn't know much more than his shared purging from government institutions and his surname, if he was called that. But he promised more money than he was earning selling newspapers or bread. And to Celal, despite the rather unusual and coincidental circumstances with which Mister Gökçek materialised in this part of his life, the promise of some money, more than a few lira, was enough to peak his interest. Mister Gökçek said that he was to meet him in the Çiğli district across the harbour from the main city. He'd left the street number and apartment number on a piece of paper handed over with a couple of lira for a loaf of bread brought at the bakery Celal worked at when he wasn't selling newspapers. Celal wasn't sure what he was in for, but whatever it was, it was well paid.
Celal walked into the small room at the entrance of his apartment and donned a winter coat and hat. He picked up his keys from a small bowl on a table with a dead decorative plant on it, in addition to his wallet. He only had a few lira with him. He wasn't sure how much a taxi to the location would be and thus settled for a brief walk to the closest ferry terminal where he would catch one of the many ferries across the harbour. He put on a had and stepped out the door, locking it behind him. His foosteps resonated as he descended the suitcase through two floors before reaching the ground floor. Reaching the ground floor, he walked down a small corridor to the front door of the building. He opened it and stepped out onto the street.

The streets of İzmir were bustling with the night crowd, with people heading to restaurants or clubs for a night out. Taxis plied the streets looking for customers. To the foreign eye, İzmir looked like as much of a clash of east and west as it ever did. Turkish and Ottoman style buildings mixed with newer, Western architecture. Men wore Western fashions. Women did too, the older ones mixing traditional clothing with new trends. The cars that plied the streets were American, status symbols of those who were doing good for themselves, although the odd Volkswagen Beetle or Fiat broke up the display of American excess. Celal also did reasonably well out of the previous decade, but the coup in 1959 and the subsequent purge ended that.
Celal crossed the busy boulevard beside the waterfront and made his way to the ferry terimal. He paid for a single fare and went aboard one of the ferries that had docked almost as soon as he had arrived. He took a seat inside the ferry and waited until docked on the other side.

Apartment Seven was located at the top floor of an older apartment building located not far from the waterfront. It was grey, with the bottom floor occupied by a vacant retail space. The windows were surrounded by thin white frames, which upon closer inspection, revealed numerous rust spots and flaking paint. The door to access the rest of the building was, like his own apartment building, located adjacent to the vacant shop. The door lacked a lock and easily swung open. Celal stepped inside and was greeted with the smell of dust, cigarette smoke and urine. Hardly surprising given this part of İzmir was mostly working class. He walked up the stair case, footsteps echoing. He reached the top, found the door and knocked on it.
Mister Gökçek answered the door, opening it up as far as the lock chain would allow it. "Hoşgeldin arkadaş!" he said as he unlocked the door and opened it. "Please do come in." Celal entered the apartment, which was furnished with basic chairs, tables, cabinets. He noticed there were no pictures on the walls. Celal followed Mister Gökçek into the kitchen, where a small table was located. At the table, smoking a cigarette, was a man Celal did not recognise. His pallid expression and rather cheap looking suit, coupled with a skin complextion that nearly rendered him transparent struck him as being distinctly non-Turkish. The man stood up and shook Celal's hand.
"Merhaba" the man said in heavily accented Turkish. Mister Gökçek motioned for him to sit down. After Celal sat on the rather rickety looking kitchen chair, Mister Gökçek offered him a cigarette, which he accepted. Mister Gökçek also lit the cigarette with an American Zippo lighter and lit one for himself before taking a drag. After he breathed out the smoke, he began to speak.
"Mister Celal, this is Dimitri Gaparov," he said. "He works for the Soviets." Celal was surprised to hear this. He had an inkling that this was something involving spies or other such subterfuge, but asked for clarification anyway.
"Works for the Soviets?"
"He's with the KGB," Mister Gökçek replied after taking another drag from his cigarette. "He's here to help us establish contacts and get messages out to those willing to join the struggle to bring about a corrective revolution in our nation." Celal was surprised to hear this. He was a supporter of the communists but didn't think that his political views were that overt.
"How did you find me?" Celal asked.
"One of your former students," Mister Gökçek replied. "You seem to have made an impression on him." Celal wasn't sure about which of the students he was talking about, there were a few over the years. Even fewer knew where he lived and what had happened to him after the coup. He was feeling more uneasy and now confusion was entering in the mix. So not only was he in an apartment with a KGB agent, he still had no idea who the hell Mister Gökçek was, assuming that was his real name.
"Who are you exactly?" Celal asked.
"My name is Adnan Gökçek," Gökçek replied. "I'm with the intelligence services. I wasn't purged, but rather kept my political affiliations secret."
"So how do you know the Russian?" Celal asked.
"He's my contact with the KGB," Gökçek replied. "I've been giving him information for years. I get paid handsomely too. Basically he asks for something, I give it to him and he pays me for my efforts. For example, if he wants anything regarding the military or other branches of the armed forces, I source it and give him what he needs. I also provide information for cells and cadres around Turkey to provide soft targets for them to attack or to warn of military or gendarmerie operations."
"It sounds like you've got everything covered," Celal commented. "Why do you need me?"
"Because you're familiar with this place," Gökçek said. "We're in need of people like you to pass messages to our operatives and cadres in and around İzmir. Anything we need you to send. You'll also be useful in helping deliver supplies to caches we're establishing in preparation for our revolution. And you're also one of the last people that the authorities will suspect."
"Even though I'm a known communist?"
"You blend in," Gökçek replied after exhaling, allowing the cigarette smoke to add to the pall filling the kitchen. "No one will look at you twice."
"And I'll be paid for this?"
"Of course," Gökçek replied. "The money will be given along with whatever needs to be delivered."
"What if I took the money and didn't deliver the message?" Celal asked, sitting back in his seat. "You know I'm hard up. Otherwise you wouldn't have dangled it in front of me."
"We know where you live," Gökçek replied with a more serious tone. "If one message fails to arrive, you'll be visited. And believe me, you don't want to receive a visit from some of your comrades."
Celal sighed. "Sounds like I don't have a choice."
"Well no one's forcing you," Gökçek replied, pulling over the ashtray and stubbing his cigarette out. "We know you need money, so there's not going to be much of a choice in the matter."
"Fine." Celal said, realizing that he wasn't in a position to disagree. "How much will I get?"
"You won't get paid until you get your first delivery," Gökçek. "I'll meet you tomorrow so you can familiarise yourself with the system and where you'll need to go." Gökçek said that Celal was free to leave.

Celal left the apartment block and walked down the street towards the harbour. He emerged onto the waterfront boulevard and walked inside a small restaurant. Inside he asked if he could use one of their phones. He was shown to a line of wall mounted pay phones. Celal produced his wallet and retrieved some coins and a peace of paper. He unfolded the piece of paper and inserted the coins into the pay phone. He dialed the number on the paper. A husky voice sounded on the other end.
"Doğan here," it said. "Is this you, Celal?"
"It is." Celal confirmed.
"Good. I'll come by sometime this week." The line went dead.

Aralık, Eastern Turkey. January 1, 1960. 10:00pm.
He glanced at his watch, the face of it lit from the dim light the closest street lamp provided. Two men sat inside the truck. Both of them were young men, one of them in his late 20's. The other barely in his 20's. The younger one seemed more skittish, more alert than the older one, who looked bored out of his mind.
"What time is it?" The younger one asked.
"Ten," the older one replied. "Why do you keep asking Arêz?"
"Nothing," Arêz replied, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. "I'm fine."
"You've been asking what the time is almost every fifteen minutes for hours," the older man replied. "Something's up. You're not scared, are you?"
"Aren't you?" Arêz jabbed back. "What if we get caught?"
"I've told you before, we won't get caught," the older man replied. "The police here don't give a shit and the Soviets will only shoot their own people." Arêz went silent. The older man reached forward and cranked the key. The Ford 1/2 Ton truck grumbled into life. The man slid the column shifter into gear and began to wrench the wheel to the left. The truck pulled out onto the main street and rattled its way down the cobblestones. It made a right-hand turn and drove through the town. No one else was on the streets and few were awake. The truck rattled through the town before making another series of turns. Soon the Ford was bouncing and rattling down a dirt road, heading eastwards. They turned left, continued following the road, crossed an irrigation canal and kept going. After making a hard left turn, they drove northwards for a few hundred metres until they arrived at T-shaped intersection, where a dirt road paralleled the Aras river north-to-south.
"We'll stop here," the older man said, parking up the truck. "There's a track that leads off down to the river to the north. I'll head up there and see if they've arrived." The older man jumped out and began walking to the north.

The man's boots crunched through the snow as he made his way north. He had with him a flashlight which he used to see ahead of him. He found the track and walked down it. It was surrounded on either side by tall shrubs and bushes which were devoid of leaves. He got to the river bank and looked around. Despite being below freezing, the water was still flowing. He aimed the flashlight at the opposite bank and flashed it twice. There was a short pause before two flashed returned from the opposite bank. The sound of an engine starting was heard above the sound of the flowing river and two headlights appeared. A truck began driving across the river and stopped where the man stood. The door opened and a man jumped out. The two embraced one another.
"Dobro pozhalovat' v Turtsiyu Haik," the older man said. "Sorry about my bad Russian."
"Ne volnuysya Gulîk," Haik replied. "I don't speak a word of Kurdish."
"I'd have met you further south, but we've been having a little bit of trouble." Gulîk said, offering Haik a cigarette. He took one out of the box himself and lit it using his lighter. He lit Haik's cigarette also. "The government has decided upon itself that the people's will isn't in their interests anymore."
"So I hear," Haik replied, taking a drag of the cigarette. "I hear they're closing the border soon."
"That means all this will be illegal now!" Gulîk joked. They both had a chuckle. Two men from the truck joined them. "I'm assuming we've got what we needed back there?" Gulîk asked, gesturing to the cargo compartment of the GAZ 51. Haik nodded.
"First shipment is there," Haik said. "Two more will follow shortly." Haik took a drag of the cigarette before continuing. "Have you considered getting patronage of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union for your revolutionary activities?" Haik asked in jest. The rather pallid expression on Gulîk's face signalled to Haik that the joke had fallen flat. He barked something in Armenian at the two men and they both went to the rear of the truck. They pulled out a crate and placed at the feet of Haik and Gulîk. Haik clambered back into the cab of the truck and retrieved a crow bar, which he then used to pry open the crate. Shining lights on the contents of the crate revealed several Mosin-Nagant bolt-action rifles. Gulîk smiled.
"When can we expected first payment?" Haik asked.
"In a couple of weeks time, once we get the currency issue sorted." Gulîk replied. The lid was placed on the crate and the two men lifted it back inside the truck. Haik and the two men jumped back inside the truck, with Gulîk holding onto the side for the short drive to where his own truck was parked.

Arêz watched as a pair of headlights came towards him from the direction where he saw Gulîk walk off into the dark. He leant over and flashed the lights of the Ford, and the headlights slowed to a stop. Arêz opened his door and got out of the truck, walking around the front to meet Gulîk. Arêz was introduced to Haik, before he joined the two men in transferring crates from the rear of the GAZ to the Ford. Once all the crates had been moved, the GAZ turned around and headed back to the border. Gulîk manhandled the Ford into pulling the same maneuvre, but this time heading back towards Aralık.
"We'll head back home tomorrow," Gulîk. "You looking forward to the training?" Arêz nodded and yawned. Both of them needed sleep for the drive south the next day.

by **Greater Redosia** » Wed Dec 20, 2017 9:50 am

Cairo, Egypt, United Arab Republic

The United Arab Republic, a political union between Egypt and Syria which resulted from the extreme rise of Communism and possible future invasions from the Baghdad pact, as well as Turkey. The union gave power to Cairo over Syria, several crackdowns in Syria brought some semblance of stability. The Muslim Brotherhood were now forced into hiding, the Kurds were simply left alone, and the Ba'athists were still given some power but not enough to make a difference. The Cairo centralized government with Nasser at the top took the most power. But it wasn't the end yet.

In other parts of the world involving the UAR was in Northern Yemen, the Yemen Arab Republic which overthrew the Monarchy in 1958 which then plunged the nation into civil war with those supporting the Monarchy and those supporting the Republic. Tribes aligned with the major forces and clashed heavily, as much as 25,000 of Egypt's forces were currently in Yemen supporting the Republic and they controlled the skies with Mig-19s and a few Tu-16s. It was quite obvious who would win the war yet the sides continued to fight on, for with the support of UAR the Yemen Arab Repbulic was destined to win.

As for a final situation was the Soviet's meeting in Moscow, Nasser knew how much the Soviets depended on him for the unification of the Middle East, as well how much he depended on the Soviets for aircraft and industrial power. In the end Nasser knew he couldn't refuse nor was he going to, he would travel to Moscow for the meeting leaving his Vice President Abdul Hakim Amer in charge of the nation. This meeting of Socialists and Communists was going to be huge. And he was going to show the power he has too run his nation.

To: Government of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
From: President Gamal Abdel Nasser of the United Arab Republic
Encryption: Medium

I will be attending this meeting and I will expect that many others shall be there as well, I alone won't just be representing the Union of Egypt and Syria. No, no, I will be representing the united arab world. For it will be I alone who has the influence to unite the people, the one who shall bring peace, and the one who will liberate the Palestinians who are still in Israel. Hope you will prepare for my arrival, for this is only the beginning of something big.

by **Soviet Chernarus** » Wed Dec 20, 2017 4:55 pm

Italian Social Republic

The Italian Social Republic was hailed by many as a rebirth of a new fascism -- a phoenix rising from the ashes, so to speak. Despite the loss of Italian colonies and much of its territorial gains, Italy had emerged relatively unscathed. The same could not be said for their ally, Germany. News of Soviet atrocities and the destruction of Berlin horrified Italians and did much to damage the image of Togliatti's post-war communists. The infamous Red Peace saw a massive shift of power. Now, communism stretched from the Rhine to the Bering Strait. Italy had barely escaped Allied invasion and now, in an ironic twist of fate, began to seek a reconciliation with their former enemies. A new strategy emerged, designed to defend Italy from communist threats while maintaining Italian power and influence on the world stage. Italy's Cold War strategy was divided into three spheres: political, military, and foreign.

On the political sphere, the Italian government was intent on maintaining MSI rule. Ranging from anti-communist propaganda to outright voter fraud, the danger posed by the masses was evident in the failed revolution of '55. If the people turned against the regime, then communism, backed by the full might of the Soviet Union, would surely prevail. It was also necessary to drum up support for government actions and maintain the illusion of a united public front against communism. The domestic front was considered the most important. Italian intelligence suspected that the Soviet Union had planted cells within the communist underground, cells that could rise up and disrupt the war effort. Partisans could sever communication and supply lines, feed intelligence to the enemy, and sow chaos and confusion. The cabanieri, local police, and Italian intelligence agencies needed to crush these covert operations in the early stages of the war.

The military sphere was also crucial. While most Italian strategists predicted that the main thrust would be directed towards France, they also believed that a major communist force could try to force their way through the formidable Alpine Shield and the Gorizia Gap. The Alpine Shield was a series of improved fortifications containing elite Alpini and Bersaglieri divisions. These troops occupied important passes and easily defensible positions in the mountains. However, the Italian high command expected that any attack would be a feint, designed to draw off strength from the real offensive. The offensive through the Gorizia Gap was expected to contain a substantial army, consisting of Soviet, Hungarian, and Yugoslavian soldiers. Should Italian defensive lines collapse in the area, the industrial north would have to be written off. It would be an absolute military and political disaster.

Foreign support and diplomacy would also have to be a central part of the war. While Italy was officially allied to the US, the UK, and France, they were not a part of NATO. In addition, some Italian generals feared that NATO support was not a given. The US, the UK, and France would be preoccupied with a Soviet invasion. The French government would be interested in defending their own country, rather than Italy. It was this fear that lead some to suggest a diplomatic alternative. An alliance of ideologically similar nations, united in their unwavering belief of a strong nation and their fierce opposition to communism, that could potentially form a viable alternative to the forces of capitalism and communism. It was certainly a tempting proposal, yet one that had been written off for the better part of a decade. One reason was that Italy feared harming relations with NATO -- a new fascist alliance would almost certainly ring some alarms. The second reason was that any fascist alliance would have no standing. Besides Spain, Portugal, and Italy, there was only a smattering of other fascist-sympathetic nations, most of them concentrated in Central and South America...

Quirinal Palace
Rome, Italian Social Republic

Hidalgo Cortez's final victory in Cuba was welcome news in a time when it seemed that communism was winning on all fronts. Of course, Augusto De Marsanich, President of the Italian Social Republic, had consulted with Cortez on several occasions. One of them had been in the Quirinal Palace. De Marsanich had agreed to lend Cortez's Cuban revolutionaries weapons and other forms of material aid. His efforts had obviously paid off -- now, it was only a matter of mopping up Fidel Castro's wretched communists. It was a small victory, but it was sorely needed. He would have to trumpet this up in the next few days, lauding Cuba in propaganda and playing up the Italo-Cuban partnership..

"I'm sure you have heard of the commotion in Moscow, yes?" The Minister of Foreign Affairs and member of the State Council, Raffaele Guariglia, walked in. He was an aging man, an Italian patriot who had loyally served the state in the Second World War. However, he had expressed a desire to retire from politics and public life. De Marsanich received it well and had already set up a date in advance. To his surprise, Guariglia had requested one last appointment with the President. "No," De Marsanich's eyebrows furrowed in concern, "I have not heard of any...commotion."

"I am sure it is nothing. The Soviets are notorious for keeping secrets. It was something I picked up from our American and British friends." Guariglia sat down, pulling out a folder. "Is that what this meeting is about?" De Marsanich asked.
"No, no," Guariglia said hastily, "I wanted to speak about alliances. Alliances with other powers."
Realization dawned on the President. "I see," he replied, glancing at the folder. Guariglia quickly placed it on the President's desk and opened the folder. The Foreign Minister opened it, revealing an assortment of papers -- memorandums, reports...De Marsanich caught a few words, most of it being diplomatic jargon. One word -- phrase, more like -- stood out to him in bold letters: the Pact of Madrid.

"None of this is final. Consider it a...proposal. A framework might be a better way of putting it."
De Marsanich's face betrayed no hint of emotion. It was clear that he was deep in thought, considering both the advantages and drawbacks of this proposal.
"We cannot depend on the West for protection. If this Red Peace turns into a war, then Italy will be alone. Our defense agreements will be little more than scraps of paper when the Red Army threatens Paris."
"So you suggest making a new alliance, if I understand correctly." De Marsanich replied, still studying over the papers.
"Yes, the Pact of Madrid, although the name is obviously a suggestion. I believe Spain and Portugal will play a central role in this alliance -- unlike France, they are not directly threatened by invasion and can stand to help us in a war. Our combined navies will be more than enough to contain Yugoslavia and Greece, while Spanish and Portuguese troops can help bolster our defenses in the north. Their support will be crucial and an alliance would solidify both our ideological commitments and military strength."

"And what of other nations? Cuba?" De Marsanich asked curiously.
"They will be allowed to sign the Madrid Pact. It will not be limited to Europe."
The Madrid Pact seemed to have the potential of becoming a viable "third bloc" to the capitalists and communists. Unlike the Non-aligned movement, it had a clear ideology and path forward.
"Very well, I will take this proposal into consideration. I plan on contacting the Spanish government...perhaps they would be interested."

Official Message from the Italian Social Republic

To: Minister of Foreign Affairs, State of Spain
From: Augusto De Marsanich, President of the Council of State, Italian Social Republic

Since the Spanish people prevailed over the communists in 1939, our two nations have forged a bond that has lasted through the ravages of the Second World War and the Red Peace. Even in the most troubled of times, the friendship between our peoples continues to endure. However, we face a far greater threat to our existence: the spectre of communism hangs over the world. It is on the rise in Africa and it already dominates Asia. It has become clear that we can no longer sit idly by and watch as entire nations fall like dominoes. The North Atlantic Treaty Organization, lead by the United States of America, has failed in their initial objective -- containing communism. Much of this failure can be attributed to the weaknesses inherent in a democracy, including the lack of strong leaders and government gridlock.

The failure of the Truman Doctrine, combined with the constant rise of communism, has left the Italian government with no other recourse but to take decisive action in a time of crisis. The Foreign Ministry is prepared to send a delegation to the Spanish capital of Madrid, to discuss strengthening relations, NATO, and the threat of communism. I propose February 1st to be the date of these negotiations.

With best regards,
Augusto De Marsanich
President of the Italian Social Republic

by **The Knockout Gun Gals** » Wed Dec 20, 2017 10:48 pm

Islamic People's Republic of Indonesia

Soekarno rested on his bedroom, practically alone at the moment. His bodyguards are outside the Palace, while his wife was on state visit with his children accompanying. He was more or less involved with an illness, a fever. Though not very bad, it was enough for him to be sent into the bed, though doctors are available for call. For the last months, Indonesia has been troubled. Pan-Islamism movement, which is attached with DI/TII, spurred resistances to the NASASOS's expansion and pushed for a Pan-Islamism nation. Military were able to suppressed them, but they need to find a permanent solution in the future, either military or through negotiations.

Second, the rise of extremist faction, those who want the full-scale communism instead of the NASASOS. D.N Aidit and Njoto led the faction, while the government has Amir Sjarifoeddin and Sutan Syahrir, both as Minister of Defense and Minister of Foreign Affairs as the figureheads of the moderate, socialist faction. Political clashes had been happened, but the extremist have less political supports and military supports. The third issue is the never-ending corruption, though has been lessened with the foundation of Anti-Corruption Agency (ACA), aided by Soviet-trained anti-corruption officials.

With the call from the Soviet Union for an international meeting, and with him in bed, there is not much choices but for Sutan Syahrir to be at the meeting instead, representing as his and Indonesia's representative. Many things to discuss, such as the rise of capitalism in Philippines and Malaya, military assistances in the preparation of Konfrontasi operation to Malaya, and political support for the NASASOS and not for the communism, full-scale wise. The need to discuss further Islamic and Nationalist involvements at the domestic affairs are also one other thing to be discussed.

by **Sheber Ter** » Wed Dec 20, 2017 11:03 pm

Federal Republic of Japan

The morning sun rose in japan as the nation prepared for the first day of the new year. The reconstruction of Japan had continued apace and where projected to end by 1962. The Socialist Party of Japan having broken with the Communist Party fully in 1956 had just won the election of 1959, placing the young Shichirō Fukazawa into office. The nation sat uneasy with political tension between the right and left rising, with extreme rhetoric on the streets becoming more coming since the fall of the Nobusuke Kishi Ministry. Many hoped and feared for the continued stability after the chaos of the recent election.

Tokyo, Prime Ministers Office
Shichirō Fukazawa, newly elected Prime Minister, sat in his office looking over the speech he had prepared for his first opening of the House of Representatives. The intercom on his desk beeped disturbing the otherwise quite room. It was a message from his secretary Mamoru Shigemitsu and Zenkō Suzuki, Ministers of Foreign Affairs and Defense under the previous administration respectfully, had arrived to see him at his request.
The two men stepped through the door and gave a bow towards the Prime Minister who returned the gesture.

As the three men sat down Fukazawa quickly gave them the reasons for the meeting. "Gentlemen, the reason I have asked you here today is simple, I need your advice on delicate matters of diplomacy and our defense" Shigemitsu spoke next "Nobusuke was looking to expand the scope of military aid from the United States, but the vote put him out of office before anything could be done about it". Suzuki quickly agreed adding "The United States is are best ally in the region but we should not limit our options."

"What would you suggest" the Prime Minister asked. "We look to the other nations of Southeast Asia for aid, I would suggest starting with the Philippines. The former Defense Minister finished. "We both have a shared interest in containing the influence of China. Shichirō Fukazawa nodded as he listened to the men across from him before he looked back down at his timekeeper, seeing that the opening for the first meeting of the House of Representatives under his tenure. Fukazawa stood up and bid the men farewell thanking them for their time, before sitting back down and preparing for his opening speech push the notes taken during the meeting to the side for later.

Tokyo, House of Representatives
The gathered members of the Hosue of Representatives had arrived at the National Diet and where mingling for a few minutes before the meeting officially began. Iwakiri Mototsune was one such representative, a member of the Liberal Democratic Party, he sat with his fellows near the back of the room. The conversation mostly consisted of talk of the new Prime Minister and how long his government would last, with the more optimistic or foolish of them predicting a collapse within a few months. The conversations quickly ended as the Speaker rose to the platform and opened the session, inviting the Prime Minister to speak.

Mototsune watched as Shichirō Fukazawa walked to the speaking podeum and unfolded a paper from his jacket. The Prime Minister coughed and began to speak "Assembled delegates, today I speak to you as the duly elected representative of the people." "I stand before you to once again state my commitment to the democratic system we have built in our grand nation, and to ask for the cooperation of all parties for the betterment of the nation and her people." Mototsune chuckled slightly at that as both Liberal Democrats and Communist party members jeered at the remark. The Prime Minister ignored the brief interruption and continued "We stand poised to continue the work started by the late Takeru Inukai and create a truly great society." The Prime Ministers voice began to rise " We shall rebuild Japan as a shining beacon for the rest of the world as an example of the blend of socialism and democracy for the benefit of mankind." With that the room was taken up with applause and jeers in equal measure, and Mototsune simply sat quietly wondering what the fututre would hold

Iwakuni, Iwakuni Military Base
Colonel Yoshimura Yoshimi, commanding officer of the Iwakuni military base stood in his office reading the recent letter sent to him. It stated that it was from the office of Prime Minister, it read To Colonel Yoshimura Yoshimi, I wish to inform you that a visit will be conducted at your base soon, From The office of Prime Minister. The Colonel could only stare at the note dumbfounded, while their was nothing technically wrong with the visit of an elected office in such a manner it was highly against traditional protocol. What made it more strange was that coming from the Command-in-Chief of the armed forces, this letter could be damaging if it where to be released. Yoshimi ultimately decided to fold the letter back into his desk and prepare the base for the arrive, afterwards he would decided what to do with it.

by **Hastiaka** » Wed Dec 20, 2017 11:38 pm

The Republic of the Philippines
Malacañang Palace | The Presidential Study

1:45 PM | Philippine Standard Time

The Republic of the Philippines found itself alone; a lighthouse shining in the darkness. For it is now one of the sole, surviving and thriving democracies in Asia. The Red Communist Hordes had taken over its once warm and friendly neighbors, poisoned the minds of the hungry poor; deluded to believe the proletariat dream, a dream that will only be a nightmare should reality come. It finds itself isolated, and far from the western nations that had spread the very ideals and virtues of Democracy to the world. But the Philippine Archipelago remains as a chain of islands anchored with democracy at its very core. The legacy brought by the late President Magsaysay was the fear of communism, and it's effects to the the freedoms of a free people, working for a free country in a free country. The Philippines must now prepare, for the calm before the storm is almost over.

President Garcia walked over to the wooden, glazed, colonial-era desk and relaxed himself to the comfort of his soft, cushy leather chair. He closed eyes for moment and thought about a scheduled dinner with his former colleagues later that night. Being the President of one of the last free and sovereign democracies in Asia is quite a stressful one. Constant death threats loom over his head constant for twenty-four hours. At last, he was safe and alone, for now. But this brief moment of solitude was disturbed by a rather loud knock.

''Get inside for God's sake!'' Garcia said aloud, gesturing National Security Adviser Leon Andrada to come inside.

Secretaty Andrada slowly entered the room, bringing with him a black folder. He walked towards Garcia and handed it to him. This folder of course, contained the signing statement for the so-called "The Philippine Communism Control Act of 1960", a law that formally bans the remaining legal proxy parties of the Communist Party of the Philippines such as the Filipino Workers' Union Party (FWUP) and the Peoples Laborer Unity Group (PLUG). It was to suppressed the last legal fronts of communism in the country; finally eliminating any radical and far leftist opposition in congress. Garcia smiled at Secretary Andrada as he signed the act, writing off the papers one by one with his pens. The entire signing ceremony had little to none media attention as Garcia wanted it to be as discreet as possible, possibly to surprise the Communists. But he knows that it would only be a matter of time until the communists make a scene there.

7:30 PM | Philippine Standard Time

Garcia and several of his colleagues were enjoying their time eating lumpia and grilled chicken adobo at the dining room of the palace. One of his colleagues was former Senator Guillermo dela Cruz, a member of the newly-formed Nationalist Republican Party, an allied party of President Garcia's Nacionalista Party. "Well mister President, I have to say, you do have the balls to do that." Guillermo chuckled as he dipped his lumpia into banana ketchup. "But isn't that too authoritarian? We are still a democracy, aren't we not?" disrupted Melisande Lopez, a major donor of President Garcia's presidential campaign and chief executive officer of the state-run Philippine Central Broadcasting Network (P-CBN). "If we are to prove to ourselves to their communist sympathizers that this government is not some corrupt, elitist oligarchy then we must let the people vote them out. We can do that by for example, increasing funds to my network so that our signal could reach the mountains, and create more anti-communist films and documentaries." she added.

Garcia nodded and looked at Lopez. "You're right, it does seem authoritarian but remember, look around us. Vietnam's commie, Indonesia's commie, China's commie and right now, in our very own lands, Communists are fantasizing me being killed in a thousand ways and in a thousand different scenarios. It is just that we eliminate their voice, so that they will be seen as a fringe, out-of-touch group. It's not that I hate the ideas of Communism, but it's the way they're forcing it into our lives that I hate. Even I consider myself as a democratic socialist, but these rebels, these commie terrorists? they are beneath contempt."

While they we're talking, the television was on. Then, the broadcast was interrupted by a news break. The TV showed a black and white image of a reporter standing in-front of the Congress Building. There, behind him, two elderly men were being carried out by Manila Policemen and dragged into the police cars. "Good Evening, we have breaking news for you. Tonight, as of 7:25 PM, MPD had arrived at the Batasang Pambansa and stormed it and left with Congressmen Ricardo Ramirez and Valente Urduja under police custody. As of press time, the palace says that they are closely monitoring the situation and that the two leftist politicians were arrested under the charges of sedition and inciting rebellion. Outside the building, a small but increasing crowd of anti-communists are beginning to gather; about two dozen people chanting for them to be imprisoned for life tried to break past police barriers but were stopped by the MPD before they reached the two arrested men."

Garcia and the group watched as the television scene unfolded, amused, Garcia simply said; "It's time we tell China that we've had enough of their yuan-funded buffoons harassing our nation."

by **Ace Lone** » Thu Dec 21, 2017 12:53 am

___________________________________________________________________________________

STATE OF SPAIN
MADRID, THE EDIFICIO CARRIÓN

El Claudillio Francisco Franco sat in his office alone, at his desk pouring over the files and folders of documents that lay before him. State laws for review, economic reports, foreign happenings of immediate and minor concern alike, critical needs for the military, it was a jumble of variety.

Franco was currently peeling through one of the files of less urgency, a simple social policy that needed some revaluation.

His office was smaller than one would expect but still held a comfortable yet very official air.
The floor was of a red and white square patterned marble, and a single green carpet scrolled across the floor leading to his desk and encircled it.
The walls were painted white with a gray "tint", and were decorated by ornamental candle holders and paintings.

Franco's desk itself was bare of any "decoration", holding only papers, folders, and basic utensils.

A sudden knock on the door broke his attention in the file at hand as he looked up.

"Adelante." He called.

The door opened and in strolled Fernando Maria Castiella y Maíz, the State's Minister of Foreign Affairs, at his back was a shorter man, an aid.

"El Claudillo, seníor, I'm sorry to interrupt you." He said as he approached, the aid closing the door behind them.

Maíz was a slick looking man, with a politicians smile and a loud, well pronounced voice to accompany it. He was also a man of well rounded education and was highly educated in the cultures of foreign nations, even far prior to becoming the Foreign Minister.
He was the ideal candidate to handle foreign affairs and diplomacy.

Franco straightened up in his chair and spoke, slightly waving his right hand as he did,"No, it is no issue, what is it?"

Maíz extended his left hand and presented a telegram to Franco.
As Franco took it from him Maíz said,"It's from Italy El Claudillo, it seems they wish to pursue diplomatic interests with our own nation."

Franco glanced at Maíz as he spoke, and began reading the message, his eyes rolling across the page as he read what the Italian government had wired to him.
He read it though twice, and his eyes constantly darted across the page to the different points of the message, the two men before him stood patiently as he read.

Finally he lowered the paper in front of him and looked up at Maíz.

"Their is much merit to this, it seems we have an opportunity here." Franco said.

"Si seníor, positive relations, or better yet a military coalition with Italy could benefit both states greatly." Maíz responded.

Franco nodded, what the message said was true, Communism was spreading like wildfire, and it seemed right now there was little anyone could do to stop it's spreading. Asia and South America indeed were already poisoned by the Communist revolution, and Europe too was on a fast path to subjugation by idealism, with Soviet Russia at the core of it all.

The United States, "the savior of the world", had failed in confining the communists.

And what of Spain? Since the end of the Second World War, Spain had been ostracized by much of the world for their beliefs, beliefs that Francisco Franco intended to remain instilled in the heart of Spain.

Italy shared like minded idealism, and it was apparent that the only hope for nations like Spain and Italy was to unite into coalitions of military comradery.

Franco would later that day call a meeting of legislature and advisors, and soon after an agreement was made and a response was sent to the Italian State.

TO~AUGUSTO DE MARSANICH, PRESIDENT OF THE COUNCIL OF STATE, THE ITALIAN SOCIAL REPUBLIC

by **Christstan** » Thu Dec 21, 2017 3:25 am

União das Repúblicas Latino-Americanas Socialistas

Palácio da Justiça Palace of Justice (Palácio Pedro Ernesto) | Rio de Janeiro | January 4th 1960

General Assembly of the People's Revolutionary Congress
Live Broadcast - Across all channels
6:00 p.m.

General Secretary Luís Carlos Prestes enters a silent room filled with the party's elite. A somber look rests on his face. Moments after he enters, the room is filled with applause. The man on the podium announces the General Secretary. "Comrades, on this occasion of the 10th Revolutionary Congress, I have the honor to present a true hero of the people. Hero of the revolution, savior of the nation, vanguard of the revolution, General Secretary Luís Carlos Prestes." Applause continues, Luis smiles and allows the applause to continue for around two minutes.

"Comrades, as we approach the tenth anniversary of the victory of the revolution, it becomes necessary to reflect upon all that we have accomplished and where we are set to go. Our second five-year plan nears its completion. The construction of Cidade da Liberdade has brought work and prosperity to many that were struggling after the oppressors drew our nation into ruin. It is from that ruin that we have emerged and the city shall stand as a shining testament to that accomplishment. We have brought justice and equity to Latin America, throwing off the yoke of our feudal oppressors, living lavishly in their estates off the backs of the masses. We have given back the wealth of this land to its people. Now we all share in its bounty. Our future is bright and our path is clear. Our next five-year plan will be a massive infrastructure improvement project, aimed to bring our nation together. Building on our new-found strength in mass construction - our new roads, airports, harbors, and highways will bring commercial and personal growth to our people and truly unite us together. Those who feared for what they would do once the city was built need not worry, your continued prosperity is assured.

Despite our great strides, there are those among us that would fester reactionary sentiments and foster counter-revolution! Disgusted by our new world where they are no longer the masters of the many they seek to destroy everything we have gained. Even worse, there are those whose minds are still polluted by the feudalistic mentality forced upon them for generations who would support their former masters! The ones who held their chains and fed off their labors like bloated parasites! I feel like a father disappointed in his children. It hurts me deeply, but like any good father, I must discipline my children. For their own sakes! Yes, some must be re-educated to finally free themselves of their mental slavery. Yes, measures must be taken to ensure they do not corrupt our budding society. And yes, this will be for their benefit, in the long run. So I ask you as a father would to his children, be your brother's keeper. If he is hurtling down the wrong path of self-destruction, let me know! Do not fear, it is far better he be disciplined now for his betterment before he truly hurts himself.

Finally, I must address those who cannot be saved, those who are too-far gone to bring back into our fold. The reactionaries who hide like rats. Fueled by imperialists and feudalists, they have taken up arms against their own people. They have taken up arms against their brothers and sisters to restore injustice and greed to this land. They are everything we are fighting against. Comrades, it breaks my heart to let you know that the reactionaries have killed 22 children in a roadside bombing in an attempt to disrupt the lawful administration of our nation. They targeted the weakest of our people knowing that these children will be the torch-bearers of the coming world-wide revolution. How can a man do this? Kill the innocents? Children? Let it be known it will not stand. As we speak comrades, state police have begun rounding up the reactionaries, the counter-revolutionaries, and those who would support them. We will cut them out from our society like a doctor removing cancer. Like cancer it must be stopped early and prevented from spreading. Sleep well, comrades, but always be vigilant for those who seek to enslave you once again.

Glory to the people! All hail the heroes! Onwards and Upwards Forever!"

Raucous applause burst through the building as the General Secretary finished his speech. The entire room stood. The people knew what the nation would do next, build and purge.

As was the norm, the speech was simultaneously broadcast in Spanish through a prerecorded Spanish-language dubbing of the speech as part of the strategy to win Spanish speaking communist allies throughout Latin America.

Across the Union
6:10 p.m.

The Comitê Revolucionário de Segurança e Segurança (CRSS - Revolutionary Committee for Safety and Security) mobilized its police and paramilitary units across the entire Union. Lists had been prepared against all suspected enemies of the state. Anyone who was associated with, supported, or sympathized with known members of the counter-revolutionaries was rounded up in a nationwide sweep that lasted only an hour. The arrests were carefully executed and timed. Targets had been surveilled for the past month to know their routines, associates, and typical locations. 23,457 suspected enemies of the state were arrested during this window. CRSS battalions took up aggressive positions in the South and Southeast regions. Elements of the army were also stationed in towns and at checkpoints throughout the region in anticipation of either a counter-attack from the reactionaries or for them to be scared into making mistakes and revealing themselves. The net was put into position. Now they hoped to catch some prey.

by **The Free Territory of Makhnovia** » Thu Dec 21, 2017 2:59 pm

[img]https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/sr/9/93/Vlad_velebit.jpg
[/img]
Yugoslavian Embassy in the USA, Washintgon

Major General Vladimir Velebit was one of the most educated Yugoslav diplomats, whose education as a PhD in international law and fluenca in six languages were only matched by his stellar career in the armed resistance of WWII, where he fought to establish communist military authority on the parts of the country that were liberated from the fascist boot. Now he served his second year as a Yugoslav ambassador to the USA, which was a hard job if there ever was one- some of the Ustashe emigre's were constantly threatening his life, and US secret service probably kept a close watch on him.

He would come to his job every morning, and as he drew the curtains and looked down from his second story office he would, every now and then, see someone snooping around. He was aware that most of the time it was UDBA agents- Yugoslav secret police liked to keep a close watch on their ambassadors to make sure that they are safe from possible assassination. Velebit was a convinced communist from his youth, loyal to his government and enthusiastic about new democratic way the country used to organize itself. He had some new orders from his government too: he knew president Nixon, despite his anti-communism didn't appreciate fascists. And it happened that Yugoslavia kept a well guarded boarder with fascist Italy. Also, council communism and workers self-management reforms could benefit from education: Yugoslav people, especially Bulgarians and Albanians spent most of their history under authoritharian regimes: to expect that they all of a sudden participate in intricate process of direct democracy and feel empowered enough to question old ways and bring innovative solutions into the socialist system was a fool's hope.

USA was a country with strong tradition of democracy and it was necessary for people to be familiar with progressive democratic thought- Velebit disagreed with most of the USA politics, but he actually thought lessons brought by FDR or Lincoln could benefit everyone who wanted democracy to come alive in his Homeland. So he managed to convince People in top eshalons of the next step. It took a lot of effort but he did convince them one by one. First Tito was convinced- he was easy to convince since he liked playing the well thought out diplomatic game. It also helped that Tito was always somewhat weary of Soviets- he trembled in Moscow during the late 1930's in fear of a knock on the door that had taken many of his friends to Gulag and he liked having back-up options. The Foreign minister, Dapčević, a staunch Stalinist Colonel that insisted on wearing his uniform everywhere was harder to convince- he was not an authority man and he despised everything America stood for. He and Hoxha made a blog against him almost managing to have him removed but no other suitable candidate could be presented and he had Tito's personal protection which meant Tito would made sure they were out of their positions if they tried purging him.

He decided this will be the morning he'll act on his orders. So he wrote a short memo to Nixon that was bound to intrigue the President.

by **Republic of the Cristo** » Fri Dec 22, 2017 1:59 pm

January 21st, Nixon Administration Day 1

by **Alsheb** » Fri Dec 22, 2017 2:37 pm

Islamic People's Republic of Iran

Office of the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Sayyid Abul-Qasim Kashani
Tehran
January 1960

Ayatollah Sayyid Abul-Qasim Kashani was sitting at his desk in Tehran, rummaging through paperwork that had been coming in lately. Nothing major right now, just more information on further developments worldwide. News of reforms in the USSR, and of possible rearmament of the Americans. Standard things, really.

But one major thing was on the Supreme Leader's mind above all, and that was the future of the Islamic world. Ever since the Islamic Revolution of 1953 beat back the coup d'état attempt of the confounded Shah Pahlavi, the fate of the Islamic world often seemed to rely mostly on Iran. Especially since the Arab nationalist uprisings that had rocked much of the Arab world, and had brought to power mostly secular regimes that seemed to want to trade the imoportance of religion and ideology for mere trifles like ethnicity or race.

Ayatollah Kashani found this new nationalist trend abhorrent, if he had to be honest. But then again, they were possible partners in the global conflict against the Imperialist Satan of the West and their puppets squatting in Palestine. So perhaps it was necessary to put aside differences for the time being.

Whatever that would bring, only time could tell. For the time being, there was actually a possibility to make a tentative approach towards this United Arab Republic's leader, president Nasser. And this new conference in Moscow could be the ideal time for it.

For indeed, the Supreme Leader of the Islamic People's Republic of Iran had decided to travel to the Soviet Union, and represent not only Iran, but all of the awakened Islamic world there.

by **Soviet Chernarus** » Fri Dec 22, 2017 5:22 pm

Italian Social Republic

Official Message from the Italian Social Republic

To: James Zellebach, U.S Ambassador to Italy, United States of America
From: Raffaele Guariglia, Italian Minister of Foreign Affairs, Italian Social Republic

Request received. The Ministry understands urgency. President Marsanich is to be available immediately. 8 p.m local time. Quirinal Palace. Exact location will be messaged promptly to U.S embassy.

Quirinal Palace
Rome, Italian Social Republic

De Marsanich walked in the meeting room. He was slightly irritated, having been roused from his slumber to address a national security concern with the United States. Of course, as President of Italy, it was only natural for such occurrences to happen with frequency. He had already adjusted his routine accordingly -- the President preferred to be awake when a diplomatic crisis struck or some unknown, faraway country experienced a coup. After briefly conferring with several of his aides and the Foreign Minister himself, De Marsanich gathered some idea of what the meeting would be about. He recalled his own meeting with Guariglia. Surely word of it must've broken out, given the significance of such an issue and America's own contacts within Spain and Italy.

Italy's own relationship with the United States had been less than ideal, helped only with their mutual hatred of communism. Italy had essentially adopted Spain's policy of "turning the cloak", with the government trying to distance itself from its Second World War actions and fascism in general. However, this was meant with considerably less success, given the widespread (and correct) belief that Mussolini had only been replaced, not removed. Indeed, De Marsanich viewed his alliance with the Western powers to be partly an alliance of convenience and had no illusions about the nature of his relationship with the White House.

Certainly, the Italian President had no idea of what to expect from the newly-inaugurated President...

by **Republic of the Cristo** » Fri Dec 22, 2017 6:14 pm

Quurinal palace

The American flags were the only color present on the black embassy limo. The security detail rolled through the security gate and drive way of the palace to the back entry way. As the embassy limo stopped in front of the entrance, a group of black suit's began surrounding the limo. One in particular opened the door promptly for a single individual to emerge. The handsome and young man to emerge was George Santiago.

Santiago was escorted by his detail into the palace.

A few moments later...

The doors to the emergency meeting room were opened without much ceremony for Mr. Santiago, which was to be expected for men woken in the middle of the night. As Santiago entered the room he stood at attention for the seated president. " Mr. President, thank you for seeing me at such a late hour. I am George Santiago - diplomat with the state department ".

by **Kash Island** » Fri Dec 22, 2017 7:24 pm

Cuban Social Republic/República Socialista de Cuba

Havana, Cuba 1500 hrs

The revolution was not a red one, but one of black, of iron and blood. The new regime of Cortez quickly had consolidated it's control, with only the cracking of rifles being heard in the mountains by desperate communists living off worms and hope that would never come. Now, during yet another victory parade near the former presidential palace, now the palace of El Supremo, the marching of boots echoed in the streets. It was time to deliver another adress to the Cuban people, whom had suffered so dearly under the recent civil unrest and revolution. El Supremo took the stand, grand in status, a prodigy of Mussolini. His outfit was flashy, a black militaristic uniform with a very wide and large officers hat. The center of the great cap was a red, black and blue star with a fasces in the middle. The rest of his uniform followed suit, only the best for El Supremo before he spoke to the crowds.

Hidalgo Cortez was an average height man with a strong face, a goatee and mustache was present on his face, neatly trimmed and professional. The strongman placed his hands on his hips in front of the microphone, looking back and forth at the crowd, to the faces of each person, fearless. The beginning of his speech began, calm and cool....

" I see it in your faces...the very faces that have seen the hardship of Batistas corruption...and the criminal bloodshed by Castros crimson butchers. I come to you again to say this. There will be more hardship before things can become better. We must continue to recover from the great struggle so that our children only know the strength of the Cuban people, in this can we forge a hot and iron heart against the cold nations of the world whom would usurp our revolution."

Cortez raised his hand into the air and brought it back down and the national anthem began to play with a rousing chorus. The noise echoed across the streets, into the homes and ears of men, women and children. Upon completion of the anthem Cortez reach over to the banner of Cuba, now steeped in black, and kissed in before returning his gaze to the people, and erupting vision.

" I see a Cuba that is the grandest of islands, a kingdom of the Caribbean and a people that will not be forgotten in the pages of history. We will not be subject to the whims of giants who would influence us, we are sovereign and we have earned that right with the sweat of the farmer and the blood of the soldier! The very soil of Cuba is stained with the sacred blood of patriots! Whom do we have to to thank for our suffering? Castro's mind was poisoned by the very well that had poisoned Asia and is strangling Europe. The specter of Communism is a threat that does not disappear with Ches death or Castro's remnants. The bear of the east will do whatever it can to devour all in it's path of misery!

They speak about revolution, but they bring old ideas by mad men. The Fasces was always destined to embrace our island, a steel band to keep us together from our greatest enemies. I show no thanks to our neighbors either, the United States supported a corrupt fool who sold the souls of our people and relished in our squalor. Make no mistake, the forces of NATO and the Warsaw Pact are two giants clutching the world in it's hands. What they fail to realize in supporting our enemies was that the iron will of Fascism is unbreakable! They may squeeze, wince and tear at us but there hands will only bloody in the attempt! In the crucible of competition we will thrive and the ghosts of empires past will look upon our Island and smile and say..."Join us..."

Larga vida a Cuba, donde los corazones de los hombres golpean con más fuerza!!! (Long live Cuba, where the hearts of men beat hardest.)

With that El Supremo stepped off with the cheering crowds following his steps. It wasn't long before he was escorted to his personal car, followed by members of his personal blackshirt guard. He had to take off his wide brimmed cap to be comfortable as he slid into the back seat. Only the most trusted revolutionary's were allowed to be his personal escort, they carried grease guns for close quarters battle, a reminder of the past regime. He was being taken to a more remote area where he was going to conduct some contemplation. There were rumors of a rising tide in Italy and Spain, two nations with similar ideologys. The Falangists and the blackshirts of Italy were becoming closer friends. There was no reason Cuba could not embrace the heirs of Rome and it's father Espana...

by **The Assorted Saharan Outposts** » Fri Dec 22, 2017 8:07 pm

Picture of Greenland soldier, standing in watch of communist attack

The entire State of Greenland was taken by surprise when the small town of Igaliku, with a population ranging only about fifty people, had risen up in a small communist rebellion. More than half of the citizens in the city had gone up in arms. Claiming to be supported by outside communists, they claimed they would be the founders of the People's Republic of Greenland. A bastardized version of the Greenland flag, bearing communist symbols, rose high above the town.

Shortly afterwards, a small military force was sent to face off against the communists. They had the commies hold up for several days before marching into the town. Thankfully only one person had to die before the reds lost their will to fight and surrendered. They have been arrested for crimes against the state, and holding hostages at gunpoint, and firing upon the military. Odds are they'll be executed for their crimes, or imprisoned for life. Either way, this is a blow to population that Igaliku couldn't afford. In the mean time, volunteers have come in to fill in roles that were to be empty by the now imprisoned citizens.

Later on, the president, Hans Mathiassen, would have something to say about the uprising, a meeting with the press being called the day after the shoot out.

"This uprising has pained me deeply," the president had commented at the interview. "I am so shocked to hear that there are those in this state that would be willing to destroy what we've all been seeking for years now. However, I will not have this stand. We will take more measures to make sure that these communist terrorists aren't allowed in our nation."

When asked about what he was going to do to stop this threat, he responded rather confidently. "We will pull a thorough background check on immigrants coming to our lands if they happen to have connections with the communists, we will reject them. We will make allies with other, non commie nations. We will work together to stop this inner threat. We will not have these reds take our freedoms and ruin what we stand for."

Already invitations have been sent towards Iceland, and rumors have said even Norway and Sweden, to try and hold a meeting to form an alliance against internal communist threat. We will be sure to cover more as the story unfolds.

by **Soviet Chernarus** » Sat Dec 23, 2017 1:03 pm

Italian Social Republic

Quirinal Palace
Rome, Italian Social Republic

De Marsanich still felt a sense of unexplainable unease, which he tried his best to ignore. There was nothing to worry about...nothing at all. Yet the President remained nervous. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he quickly stood up and began to pace around. Should his suspicions prove correct, the meeting would have massive ramifications. He felt frustrated at its urgency -- he had little time to consult with his advisors or the Council of State. Regardless, as the leader of his great nation, he needed to stay strong in such situations. It was a great balancing act -- Italy couldn't afford to distance itself from its NATO allies, while at the same time it needed to remain a sovereign world power that could project its influence and authority abroad...

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. De Marsanich sat back down again, calling for one of his aides to prepare food and drinks in the kitchen. Another aide entered only to announce the diplomat's arrival in a black limo. The Italian President adjusted his suit, taking several, deep breaths to calm his nerves. Minutes later, a young man walked in. The diplomat. He introduced himself to the President as George Santiago.

In accented English, the President replied, "It is a pleasure to meet with you, Mr. Santiago. Please, sit," Smiling, the President beckoned towards the seat across from him, "Would you like anything to eat or drink?"

by **Republic of the Cristo** » Sun Dec 24, 2017 1:26 am

As Santiago took his seat he raised up a single hand and smiled bashfully. " My inner Italian would love some, but I am afraid I can't partake during diplomatic matters. " As he took his seat he placed on top of the table a thing black suit case. Taking a moment to enter into the case a three digit code, the sudden sound of the case opening filled the room with a resonating snap. " Now, Mr. president. My amiable demeanor may be a bit deceiving in regards to the actual nature of my visit. "

The young energetic face of before was now suddenly replaced by a very serious and dark stare, directed squarely into the now open briefcase. " On the tenth of this month, US intelligence intercepted a transmission, sent from your office to that of Francisco Franco in Spain. " Santiago pulled from his briefcase a manila envelope. He slid the envelope across the table over to De Marsanich.

" When our intelligence first realized what the message actually was and what it entailed, it was instantly brought to the attention of the State Department... and then directly to the president. " Santiago's hands folded tightly between each other, and he stared intensely toward De Marsanich. " His reaction was one of significant... concern. My mission was actually ordered directly by him and not by secretary of state Kasich - if that at all conveys to you the seriousness of the matter. " Santiago raised an eyebrow in anticipation of an answer.

by **The Frozen Forest** » Sun Dec 24, 2017 4:04 am

In the cold, freezing cellar of Old Man Josef several men huddled over a crude map of Brazil. The eldest let out a feeble cough as he placed a pin into the spot where RIo de Janeiro sat. Police purges weren't something they were unfamiliar with. They happened after any attack and were always aimed at the same groups, the same old enemies. The youngest of the men looked to be about 45 with grayed hair and a weathered face. A twisted beard rode down his chin and across his face, he appeared older than he was. None of the group spoke, merely listened as the man upstairs shuffled around with his cleaning. It must have been 7:45 PM before the homes resident finally opened the door and announced with a croaky voice "Zarigüeya" or Possum. It was a code word of course, as the possum merely pretended to lay dead, the Black Leaf Party would as well.

It had been 6:00 PM precisely when the General Secretary Luís Carlos Prestes gave his speech. It was the usual garble, denouncing the Vile reactionaries as well as building whatever drizzly achievement the party had made up to seem much greater than it was. It should have been a night for many, the speech would have met nothing if not for the phrase "Like cancer, it must be stopped early and prevented from spreading." For a few agonizing moments Érico had pondered the meaning of it. For weeks Black Leaf spies had reported an upcoming purge though they never mentioned a date or how large, or even where it would be concentrated. These sorts of reports were common and so usually dismissed, since they were generally based on rumors or vague documents. Whether this was the predicted purge or not, it mattered little as he'd sent of horse bound messengers throughout Rio to warn his compatriots of a potential purge.

One could argue that his warnings (as well as Radio-Warnings from different locations) saved some important figures in the Party. 35% of those arrested were members or supporters of the Black Leaf Party, and none of them were high ranking. There were of course rescue operations one could preform and it was likely that they would be preformed in time. There were battalions stationed everywhere and the strong police presence was lost on no one. Rio itself had been against the government since they had invaded the city. No one could forget the brutal shootings of unarmed government generals that had happened only some years earlier. They would also not forget the generosity paid to them by the Black Leaves, it was the entire reason why Rio was under siege now, for being a hotbed of rebel activity.

Throughout most of the nation it would remain quiet as the Black Leaves knew better than to attack without proper planning. There was a single exception in the tiny settlement of Bela Joana, where hidden black leaf insurgents got into a firefight with armed members of the CRSS which led to the deaths of 12 Black Leaves and 8 Government troops. Once news got to Rio the Liberty Paper, the official newspaper of the Black Leaf Party, would be at work telling of the brave sacrifice of Black Leaf Freedom Fighters against the tyrannical Latin Union. There was also the shipment of various sweets and candies from the United States. It had been purchased by a collective of mothers and fathers whose young children had only tasted the much lower quality Latin Union candy's, or had never had candy before in their lives. It was of course a morale thing, it was the job of the Black Leaves for them to build morale and distribute resources to the populace, earning their respect and admiration. There were plenty of guards willing to look the other way for freely distributed candy, even the hardliner Communist's.

by **The V O I D** » Sun Dec 24, 2017 8:02 pm

The Great Kremlin Palace
Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic
The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

Nikita Khrushchev was now sitting in a meeting room, as today was the day of the meeting. The meeting room had some food available, as well as drinks to have in case people were hungry or thirsty during the course of the meeting. A knock came for the door, and Nikita gave a brief 'enter' call.

A Soviet solider entered the meeting room. “Chairman and General Secretary, sir. The guests have arrived.”

“Good. Once this meeting is over, our comrades will be aware of the future of the Communist World.” Nikita offered a smile. “Bring them in, make them feel welcome.”

The soldier gave a salute, and left. Nikita moved to sit at the table. There was no 'head' of the table, at either side, because to imply there should be a head to the alliance between communist brothers would be against their ideals. He sat at a chair such that he would likely sit next to one of the other diplomats.

Meanwhile, the soldiers moved outside, beginning to escort the arriving guests and heads of state from other communist nations.

by **The Free Territory of Makhnovia** » Sun Dec 24, 2017 8:43 pm

The Great Kremlin Palace
Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic
The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

Tito, as always impeccably dressed in long coat and tall fur hat, got out of his Black Mercedes with slow deliberation of a man who is comfortable in foreign situations. Moscow was like another home to him and he felt more at ease now then in the old days when Stalin reigned behind doors of Kremlin. Red Tsar, as they sometimes called him, filled Yugoslavians with respect, but also with fear. They knew his cunning paranoia and ease with which he cast away old allies. It was no secret to Tito that Stalin always considered Yugoslavia too powerful and independent. Tito thought Khrushchev will be easier to negotiate with- he showed a lot of ambition, but no paranoid streak that had characterized his predecessor.

For his visit to Moscow Tito had minimal security: only two trusted agents followed him, both of them armed only with handguns. Tito entered the Kremlin palace and cordially greeted Soviet soldiers that came to meet him. He smiled widely as he shook hands with Khrushchev, taking his seat next to the fireplace:

"Comrade Khrushchev, it's been a while since we met! How are you? How's your wife doing? " Tito went through the small talk with ease, speaking Russian perfectly, only sometimes raising his hand and snapping his fingers as he tried to remember some phrase. He asked for permission to smoke, and took from his breast pocked a golden cigarette case filled with hand-rolled cigarettes. Smell of Macedonian Tobacco soon filled the Kremlin room. One of his bodyguards gave him a folder with meeting's agenda that he barely looked at, focusing instead on greeting other officials as they arrived.

by **Costa Fierro** » Mon Dec 25, 2017 2:25 am

Çankaya Köşkü, Ankara. January 2, 1960. 10:00 am.
The guards outside the main gates to the Çankaya Köşkü complex in south central Ankara stood to attention as a black Cadillac Series 62 sedan glided through the open gates. The Cadillac made its way up the tree lined avenue before stopping in front of a large residential building. On the main steps, the President of Turkey, Cemal Gürsel, waited. Although he cut an impressive figure, Gürsel was not nearly as imposing as first impressions implied. He was easy going and had a fine sense of humour and had carved himself a father-like figure within the military. Gürsel was popular both in Turkey and internationally. The circumstances in which he found himself residing in the Çankaya Köşkü were strange enough that they were without precedent. The coup which had overthrown President Celal Bayar and Prime Minister Adnan Menderes was orchestrated and carried out without his knowledge, consent or even his involvement in the planning. In fact he was still in his pajamas when he was escorted to a C-47 aircraft and flown to Ankara. He had spent the last year establishing and passing a new constitution and organising new legislative elections. In the meantime, he had decided to appoint a former President and well known political figure in Turkey, İsmet İnönü, to the office of Prime Minister. Although not officially sworn in, İnönü did have the experience and capability to be able to bring together a cabinet of ministers that would oversee Turkey's transition back to democracy.

İnönü stepped out of the Cadillac and approached Gürsel. They both shook hands.
"Merhaba İsmet," Gürsel greeted. "It is good to see you."
"It is good to see you too, Cemal." İnönü replied. Gürsel gestured for them to move inside. The two walked through the palace into one of the sitting rooms within the interior of the palace. They both sat down adjacent to an impressive mahogany table. İnönü produced a briefcase and then placed it down on the table. He opened it and removed several folders and files, containing final selections for his Cabinet of Ministers. These were to be approved by the President before he could officially form cabinet. İnönü intended on also discussing other issues, namely the upcoming independence of Cyprus, which had a substantial Turkish population living there.

The approval of İnönü's cabinet selections was more of a formality rather than a serious discussion, and so it was conducted within a reasonable amount of time. After the approvals were given, İnönü reclined in his chair and looked at Gürsel with a serious look on his face. Gürsel requested that fresh coffee be brought to the sitting room by the palace staff, and two people quickly shuffled away into the interior of the palace.
"What are we to do about Cyprus?" İnönü asked. Gürsel reclined and thought about the question for a few seconds.
"Well İsmet," he began. "What we do depends on what the Turkish nation wants, what the people want. We have a duty to look out for our fellow Turks and if it means becoming involved, so be it. However, I would like to be reminded of the current situation."
"Things are starting to become concerning," İnönü replied. "Our sources within the TMT have stated that things are increasingly becoming hostile towards ethnic Turks and that the British colonial forces do not have the means to keep the peace, or keep the Greeks at bay. They fear the same fate as the Turks that once lived on Crete." Gürsel nodded. He was more than aware of the deteriorating situation in Cyprus, one that threatened to essentially result in more ethnic cleansing of Turks. Turkey had been sending weapons shipments and specialist soldiers to Cyprus to train the Cypriot Turks in unconventional warfare. Gürsel was happy that the military had bothered to brief İnönü about the situation in Cyprus rather than keep the intelligence specifically for him. He began to speak.
"Once your government has been sworn in," he said. "I'll have the military draw up contingency plans for Cyprus, addressing numerous scenarios and reactions by both the Greeks and the British."
"Contingency plans?" İnönü enquired.
"Invasion," Gürsel replied. "Our brothers and sisters in Cyprus are once again threatened by the Greeks. We're not going to idly stand by and watch them lose their homes, their property and their lives. I would rather we did something to protect them, even if it means war with Greece."
"Not the British?" İnönü asked.
"It is my impression that the British want to get out of Cyprus as quickly as possible," Gürsel said. "They've been fighting various colonial conflicts around the world for the last decade. They've had enough. They wouldn't intervene after Cyprus becomes independent because it would not be their problem anymore. That means we can act in accordance with our interests and the will of the Turkish people." Palace staff returned with tea and coffee, offering both Gürsel and İnönü a drink of their choice. Gürsel had a standard Turkish coffee, İnönü had a dark tea. Both took sips and continued their discussion.
"What would be the objective of an invasion?" İnönü asked.
"In terms of objectives, the prevention of the union of Cyprus with Greece," Gürsel replied. "I would like to see a safe area carved out for the Turks in Cyprus. If need be, we will have to consider the idea of annexing part of Cyprus in order to safeguard Turkish lives. However that carries its own risks, and a nation such as ours that is striving to forge an independent path cannot afford to take very many risks." İnönü nodded in agreement.
"I have been briefed on the current state of the insurgency," İnönü commented, changing the subject. "I am right in saying that we have a good grasp of the situation?"
"Somewhat," Gürsel replied, taking another sip of his coffee. "From what I understand, the MAH has begun to infiltrate most of the cells in the west but is finding it difficult to establish any sort of picture with regards to eastern cells. According to Karasapan, they believe that the communists have the greatest support in the west due to the greater number of workers and working class people, as well as educated communists and sympathisers. He suggests that it'd be difficult to establish networks in places populated by conservative and more pious Muslims. Karasapan also mentioned to me that his agents have noted that the Kurds in the southeast are up to something, although he cannot confirm what it is."
"Do you think they're cooperating?" İnönü asked.
"I don't know," Gürsel replied, taking another sip of his coffee. "There's nothing to suggest that any cooperation would be the case, given that there's no clear indication that they're even planning anything."
"My suggestion would be to keep an eye on them," İnönü said. "We know that they have sympathisers in Iran that could potentially be a source for weapons, ammunition and money. I would suggest that we start actively patrolling our southeastern borders with Iran. I believe we can no longer trust them." Gürsel nodded in agreement.
"I don't trust them either."

Somewhere in northern Cyprus. January 2nd, 1960. 8:30 pm.
The house commanded a grand view of the surrounding countryside, being located at the top of a large prominence. It was a somewhat colonial style house, with two floors. The bottom floor, facing southward, had a covered walkway with three large arches that supported a balcony above. French doors behind the central arch gave access into what was assumed to be the sitting room. Two windows with wooden shutters were either side of the doors. Another part of the house was recessed further back at the far right side, although the two men sitting inside a Morris Oxford in a layby area not far from the house could see part of the recessed area. Previous reconnaissance of the house had revealed that there was another single balcony at the far end of the house, with a door opening out to it. Adjacent to the balcony was a wooden lattice which was covered in clematis. The grounds surrounding the house were fairly typical. The house itself was surrounded by a lawn, which was ringed by a stone wall. Beyond the stone wall, was a large grove of olive trees. The men could not see beyond the trees in front of them, and felt that their shadows would be good cover to approach the house from the south.

There were three ways the men could enter the house. The first was through the main gate a little further down the road, which gave access to a short driveway up to the house. There were two problems with this. Firstly, the gate was not covered from the road beyond a low stone wall topped with an ornate iron fence, and therefore anyone in the sitting room at the front of the house could see a car approaching from the road. Secondly, there was a low chance that the gate would be unlocked. Another route was to vault the stone wall and approach the house before entering through the sitting room. Again, the men would be exposed crossing the lawn and there was the issue of whether or not the doors were unlocked. The men figured the third approach, coming through the olive trees and climbing the clematis, was their only realistic option. It was a lot more likely that the door at the balcony was not locked, and therefore presented a viable way to enter the house quietly.

As the sun dipped below the horizon to their left, the men watched to see which windows would emit light, and thus be able to determine if the occupants were home and where they'd be. The occupants themselves were the targets of interest for the two men. The house was the property of a local buisnessman, Georgios Antoniadis, who was a known financier and supporter of the Greek Cypriot group EOKA, which had spent the better part of a decade killing Turks and British soldiers in the name of Greek nationalism. Antoniadis was known to have provided the EOKA with funds for firearms and ammunitions with which they used to kill friends and family of the two men inside the Oxford. The both of them had been apolitical about the future of Cyprus although they shared concerns about the future of themselves and of the Turks in Cyprus. One of the men had lost his brother, who was a police officer. The other had lost his best friend, himself a member of the TMT, the Turkish group established to counter EOKA. One of the men watched the house while another cleaned a Sten submachine gun, carefully making sure it was in working order. The darkness outside increased to the point where the men could see which windows had light eminating from them. The sitting room doors were lit, the bedroom, from what little they could see, was not. The man watching the house turned to the man cleaning the Sten.
"It's clean, Mehmet." he said.
"I'm making sure, Adnan," Mehmet replied. "I don't want to get in there and have it jam on me. Just keep an eye on the house." Adnan shrugged and went back to observing the house.

It didn't take long for darkness to completely fall the hillside. A half moon shone down on the Cypriot countryside. The light from the sitting room had disappeared. Adnan began to speak.
"We should move now, get a better view of the other balcony." he said. Mehmet agreed. They both got out of the car and quickly crossed the road, vaulting the wall. Their path took them down a slope into the olive trees before up the hillside to low wall outside the house. There, they had a full view of the whole side of the house. They both could see that there were no longer any lights on inside the house. Memhet looked at Adnan. Adnan nodded his head. They vaulted the other wall and began creeping up to the wall. Mehmet handed Adnan the Sten and began to climb. Once he got close to the top, he climbed over the railing and walked to the edge, gesturing for Adnan to throw his Sten up. Adnan flung the submachine gun up and Mehmet caught it. Mehmet pulled out a magazine from inside his jacket and slotted it into the receiver. He pulled on the bolt which cocked the submachine gun and loaded the first round into the chamber. He held it up with his right hand and tested the door, seeing if it was locked. It wasn't, and the door creaked open. Mehmet carefully stepped inside. Through the curtains he could see two figures in bed and the sounds of snoring. Mehmet raised his Sten at the two figures and pulled on the trigger. The Sten clattered into life, muzzle flashes lighting up the room. Soon bits of shredded pillow, mattress, bedsheet and wood were flung into the air and the smoke from Sten filled the room. Only the clicking of the Sten signalling the magazine no longer contained any rounds did Mehment remove his finger from the trigger and lower the weapon. He turned around and stepped out onto the balcony, heart pumping. He could taste a bitterness in his mouth, which was the adrenaline pumping. He threw the Sten down to Adnan and climbed back down the clematis. Both of them ran back the way they came, back to the Oxford. They jumped in, started the car up, put it into gear and drove off into the night.

İzmir, Turkey. January 2, 1960. 10:00 am.
It may have been a sunny day outside, but a brisk wind was blowing from the west which kept the temperartures down. Mustafa Celal stood outside the door of his apartment, inside the recess in which the door was situated. He watched as a black Opel Kapitän pulled to the kurb. The man at the wheel was Adnan Gökçek, the man he had met yesterday. Celal walked across the footpath and got inside.
"Günaydın Mustafa." Gökçek greeted.
"Günaydın." Celal replied, reluctantly.
"You seem a bit off this morning." Gökçek said.
"Just the weather," Celal replied. "I don't like the cold very much." Gökçek eased the Kapitän out into traffic and headed for the waterfront. They drove to the end of Fevzi Paşa Boulevard before turning left onto Cumhuriyet Boulevard.
"We'll use the time to get to the cadre's office to explain your role," Gökçek said. "You will be the person that is in charge of transferring all messages to the cadre's office. The messages will be coded for the most part. We'll give you a small notebook containing the codes, which will be changed every six months. We have informants around İzmir who will pass you information which you will then pass onto the cadre's office."
"Why don't they pass it directly?" Celal asked.
"Some of our informants are in sensitive government organs," Gökçek replied. The road transitioned into Mustafa Kemal Sahil Boulevard. Before long, Gökçek turned the wheel left and pulled off the boulevard back into the city. "We want to avoid suspicion and we don't want to lead them to the cadre's office."
"Makes sense." Celal commented. The Kapitän turned right onto Mithatpaşa Avenue and began following it. "How much do I get paid?"
"Fifty lira per message," Gökçek replied. "We want you to be decently paid but not enough that people begin to notice. It should be enough to cover your rent, and allow you to continue working in the bakery and newspaper vendors." Celal considered it to be a reasonable amount of money, but not the "handsome sum" he was promised. The Kapitän continued down Mithatpaşa Avenue. They entered into the district of Narlıbaçe, where the Kapitän made a left turn onto Güngören Avenue before making a right turn a short distance later. This put them onto Uyanış Street. Another turn was made, this time into Papatya Street. They began driving towards the hills. The road eventually turned into Altınvadi Avenue, which led through the southern fringes of a poor slum area. They followed the avenue back into the hills to the south. Eventually, the asphalt ended and the road turned to a gravel track, winding its way back. There were a few small houses beside the road, most of them built from bricks or cinderblocks. They found themselves out the front of a ramshackle building built similarly to the others around it. It was built from bricks and mortar with a corrugated tin roof. Gökçek pulled into an unmarked layby at the front of the building, just down the hill from it. They walked the remainder of the distance. They approached the front door, and Gökçek knocked on it.
"Who are you?" a voice rang out from inside.
"Gökçek," Gökçek replied. "I've brought the courier." The door opened and a young man appeared in the doorway. He stepped out and shook Celal's hand.
"Merhaba," the young man said. "I am Özer Gönül."
"Gönül here runs the cadre's office," Gökçek said. "He collects information and disseminates it to the regional command and individual members." Celal somewhat recognised this young man, but he wasn't sure if he'd tought him before. They both stepped inside.

The interior of the house was spartan, with basic wooden furniture. They sat down at a table.
"So I get stuff and I pass it to you?" Celal asked. Gönül nodded.
"That's basically it," Gönül said. "I'll also keep in contact with you outside of the message system. We need to ensure that you haven't been followed or approached by agents of the state."
"Fair enough." Celal commented. "One question though. How am I to go from my apartment in town to here? I have no means of transport, limited income and taxis are expensive."
"We'll provide the transport," Gönül replied. "You'll be picked up and brought here and returned. It won't be the same vehicle every day and it won't be the same time."
"How will I know when I get picked up?" Celal asked.
"We'll let you know."

Later that day:
"You've done well for yourself, Salim" Celal said admiring the view from a house that was a stone's throw from the sea. The house was probably one of the most modest of the properties along the waterfront in the district of Denizli, west of the main urban part of İzmir. The house was little more than a cottage, constructed out of bricks and covered in a darker mustard coloured plaster. The wooden windowframes were painted white and the roof was typical of all residences in Turkey: orange terracotta roof tiles. There was access from both the street out the front and the street at the back of the property, where vehicle access was possible, as the cottage itself took up the entirety of the width of the property. Salim Doğan joined him at the window overlooking the narrow road that clung to the shore, waves breaking across it.
"It's not bad," he said. "There's better places."
"You always were a misely bastard." Celal joked.
"It's better than your aparment," Doğan retorted. "At least the cockroaches here are friendly." They both finished chuckling. Doğan returned to his ever serious look about himself.
"Are you sure you don't know where it is?"
"I haven't got a clue," Celal replied. "I knew a couple of the streets but as soon as we came out this way, I got lost. All I know is, it's up the back in the hills."
"Well at least you can pass the information on," Doğan said. "That's more than we were expecting."
"I'm still not comfortable with this," Celal said. "It just...it irks me."
"As I said when I came to you," Doğan said. "You have no choice. Besides, at the end of all of this, you'll be back home in Istanbul." Celal sighed. Doğan was right. He didn't have a choice.

Somwhere in southeastern Turkey. January 2nd, 1960. Midday.
The battered Ford truck bounced and rattled along the dirt road that lead to a remote village in the mountains of southeastern Turkey. The village was located not far from the Iranian border to the east. It lay on a somewhat steep slope, with the mountainside rising behind the village transitioning to sheer cliffs. A cluster of trees marked the edge of a small mountain stream, with the village itself shrowded in trees and shrubs. The road, hacked into the mountainside, likely by hand, wound it's way to the village just above the stream. A few white dots on the mountainsides behind and opposite the village indicated the presense of grazing sheep, who quietly munched on what available grass there was. This was the Turkey that had remained untouched for centuries, throughout the Ottoman and Republican eras. But this was the Turkey that wasn't Turkish. This was Kurdistan.

Gulîk looked over to Arêz in the passenger seat. He had fallen asleep during the trip back from the border town near the Soviet Republic of Armenia. The trip had been largely uneventful save for a couple of refueling and toilet stops along the way. The truck itself was on it's last legs, and it had a slow leak in one of the petrol tanks. As the truck entered the village, a few people came out. The truck pulled in front of one of the houses and some younger men dressed in less traditional clothing emerged from inside. Gulîk jabbed Arêz awake.
"We're here." he said with all the charm of a Russian police officer. Arêz looked around, then got out of the truck. He walked to the back, where Gulîk already was, unlocking the rear tail gate. Gulîk hopped aboard the back of the truck and then pulled Arêz up. They began passing crates out of the truck to the people gathered at the back of the truck, who took them inside the house. Arêz went inside. The house was nothing more than a shell, with each room filled to the roof with crates and boxes. Some of them had stenciled writing, although few of them were legible. Gulîk appeared beside him.
"It's our cupboard," he said. "The cupboard of freedom."

The Red Peace [IC/AH/OPEN]

The Red Peace [IC/AH/OPEN]

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