Outside of Yekaterinoslav, Yekaterinoslav Governorate, Russian Empire, 24 June 1914
Despite not having much of a formal education, he had turned guerrilla warfare into a science.
Now, one may not think that Ukraine was a good place to fight that kind of conflict, with its vast tracts of flat farmland providing few, if any, places to hide.
But in practice, its terrain was actually suited for guerrilla warfare. Not its flatness, of course, but the sheer size.
Ukraine was a large region, which meant that it needed a similarly-large number of soldiers to effectively garrison it. Not just the cities, of course, but every village, town, and hamlet across the countryside.
Of course, the cities were simple enough to garrison. Plenty of people concentrated in one place were simple enough to police, after all.
But rural communities? There had to be hundreds of them for every city, all connected by roads out in the open. Which meant you had to have dozens, if not hundreds, of different garrisons to manage, reinforce, and supply.
And how did those reinforcements travel? By roads out in the wide open. Often by foot.
Men like Makhno and Arshinov weren't about to complain about that. Especially when they traveled at night.
"Do you know what the saddest part of Diterikhs' reign of terror has been, Nestor?" Arshinov asked him. "I do."
"Between the pogroms, the deportation to katorgas, and the forced russification of almost everyone? It's like trying to decide which type of shit smells the worst.""
"It's a rhetorical question," his mentor sighed. "Obviously, they're all bad."
"So besides those."
"Not exactly."
"Huh?"
"All three of these things, my friend, have two things in common: They're neither new nor unpopular."
"The pogroms and the russification?" Arshinov nodded. "I think we are living proof that isn't true."
"We are, yes, but what about the people who joined the mobs and tried to lynch their neighbors? Not all of them were part of the Imperial Army or the Okhrana."
"I don't think they are a majority, though."
"Perhaps. But the fact remains that what Diterikhs is doing isn't new. It is a horrifying atrocity done on a massive scale, yes-"
"...And condoned by the government."
"That as well. But these atrocities are effectively no different than the previous ones, albeit on a larger scale."
"Which is its own brand of terror, my friend," Makhno countered, "But I see your point."
"Good. Which brings me to our next problem," his mentor told him. "Even if Diterikhs were to die today, the sentiment that he encouraged would take years, if not decades, to eliminate."
"That it would," Makhno sighed. He knew that was likely the case, but that was nothing new, either. "That, or a fortune in manpower and resources. Even then, it would take years."
"It would. Nor would it be easy, when these sentiments have been around for so long."
"It's still worth fighting for," said the younger idealist. "You told me that."
"That I did," the older man chuckled, and peered through his binoculars. "The only question is how."
"With this rifle?"
That's what we're doing, isn't it? Killing the bastards responsible for this?
"The soldiers, yes. And I imagine you could kill anyone in the Okhrana, along with any official who had a hand in this madness."
"And we would be completely justified."
"That we would. But what about the rest of them? The civilians, for example."
"I suppose the ones who participated would have to be shot. It would have to be a popular tribunal, of course."
"And the ones who 'only' hold those prejudices in their hearts and minds? Would they also have to be shot? After all, Diterikhs was able to come to power by pandering to their prejudices."
"Are you asking me if I would give the order to massacre an entire community that committed a pogrom?"
"Seeing that our targets haven't arrived? Yes.Hypothetically, of course."
What do I say to that? Because honestly, I don't know.
These people, with the hate in their hearts, are what led to Diterikhs in the first place. Even if he dies today, who is to say that another Diterikhs couldn't come to power one, five, ten, or fifty years down the road?
"Are those my only options?"
Arshinov put down his looted binoculars and turned to him, with a proud smile on his face. Makhno had seen it once before, when his mentor had been teaching him in prison.
"No. There are other options, of course. Re-education, propaganda, exile, or finding some way to change people's minds."
"Would those work?"
"Truth be told, I don't know. But at least we have options besides killing anyone who even slightly disagrees with us."
"We'll think of something," Makhno promised him. "I'll need your help though."
"Anything for my best student," Arshinov chuckled, and looked through his binoculars again. "After we deal with this patrol, of course."
"Of course." Makhno cycled the bolt and took aim at the Tsarist soldiers on patrol. "You know how to use that now, right?"
"Only the parts that you taught me," his mentor breathed. "Which is why you're firing the first shot."
6th Marine Division Headquarters, Ishigaki, Taiwan, Republic of China, 8 August 1915
Martin Li and Michael Chen were like brothers. They grew up together, served together, and campaigned across China together.
Getting letters from Teddy Roosevelt thanking them for their participation in the Panama-Pacific International Exposition. Or rather, letters thanking them for teaching him how to operate and fire modern weapons, along with a gift of modern firearms and body armor.
Sure, the Americans would probably try to reverse-engineer the weapons and armor, but HISTINT gave them about a decade, minimum for the rifle and even longer for the kevlar.
"Of course I was going to frame it," Mike told his friend over the phone. "It's a letter from Teddy Roosevelt. Besides, I know you have yours framed in your office, Marty."
"Why wouldn't I?" his friend laughed through the speaker. "Nice guy. Pretty funny, too."
"Wouldn't know if I'd say that, Marty. This part of some report you read?"
"Actually, yes, it is. Have you read that transcript I sent you?"
"His speech from three years ago?"
"Yeah."
"I skimmed it." He could've sworn Marty groaned over the phone. "What about it?"
"Just seemed kind of interesting how he talked about us. You know, how he described our victory in the Revolution as a 'success of America's democratic values,' and a 'validation of our republican values.'"
"I mean, yeah. Sun was directly inspired by the United States. Hell, you heard him say it himself."
"No, I get that part, Mike, but it was the part where he kept calling China America's 'Younger Brother,' and saying we 'Follow in America's footsteps.'"
"You sure that's not just politician talk, Marty?"
"It is, but there is just something more. Despite all the horrible shit he has said about non-white people in the past, he treats us like equals." Michael understood that part, but he didn't expect Marty to sigh. "I kind of realized something last night."
"What's up?"
"I think he respects us because we're living proof of the White Man's Burden."
"I don't see where this is going."
"Think about it, Mike. The White Man's Burden is that the only way people like us can be civilized is if we become like white people. And we live in a society that openly embraces what guys like Roosevelt would call 'American Values.'"
"Capitalism and democracy?"
"Probably. Just a funny pet theory I've been working with, Mike: Basically, people like Roosevelt like us and treat us like equals; not because of our humanity, but because we act like they do."
"Ah." Honestly, Michael didn't know what to say. Not for sure, anyways. "I mean, I'll take it over another Yellow Peril."
"True. Plus, it's not like America's the most insane ally-"
"We aren't really allied with them."
"You know what I mean, Mike. Between the Ottomans who just banned slavery less than a decade ago, the Japanese Emperor who basically wants to replicate what we've done, and the French, who I should remind you are run by socialists who actually like us, America is somehow our strongest (and most-normal) international partner."
Okay, when you put it that way,it sounds nuts.
"But the idea that a lot of Americans like us because they think we followed their example just doesn't sit right with me, you know?"
"Yeah, I get it. Eh, don't let the speech get to your head. Condescending as he may be, at least guys like him see us as equals. Hell, there's a pretty good chance he does for all the 'right' reasons, too."
"Thanks, Mike. For what it's worth, I liked your 'Children of Heaven' speech more."
"The one from Beijing?"
"Yeah. You basically insulted three thousand years of monarchy on public radio and got away with it. Chad shit, man."
"...You recorded it, didn't you?"
You're also grinning like a madman right now, aren't you?
"'Course I did. It's history. Hey, have you ever thought about getting into politics?"
"Fuck no."
Office of the Prime Minister, Moscow, Moscow Governorate, 25 October 1915
Coups and plots were hardly a new thing. Not when he'd been part of one only a few years ago. Still, the very thought of what he and Kornilov were about to do sickened General Pyotr Wrangel to his stomach.
It was the right thing to do, of course.
There were the pogroms, of course. Bloody affairs that had killed countless Russians and sent ten to twenty times that many running for the borders.
One would think that the sheer loss of millions of manpower would be enough to dissuade Diterikhs from these idioticpolicies he embraced. Necessary evils he could understand, but this was complete and utter stupid evil.
How in God's name were they supposed to modernize Russia when all these people were not only leaving, but Diterikhs was actively encouraging them to go?
This has to be done. There is no other way to save Russia from this madness.
But if that were the case, he should be confident, not nervous. Sure, he was overthrowing the Russian government, but in fairness, almost everyone had agreed with him and Kornilov. Besides the Okhrana, of course, but they would be dealt with in due time.
Instead, Wrangel straightened himself as he walked into the office.
Everything had gone according to plan. Diterikhs' bodyguards were incapacitated, with their weapons on the floor. The man himself was held at gunpoint by Kolchak, Brusilov, and Kornilov.
And the rest? Well, he'd seen the column of disarmed guards being walked out the front door.
"Treason, Pyotr Nikolayevich?" Diterikhs spat. Even his current predicament wasn't enough to cow Diterikhs. "YOu would turn your back on Russia?"
"Says the man trying to run the country into the ground."
"'Run it into the ground?' Can you not hear yourself?" Diterikhs asked, his voice as fanatical as ever. "I was- am trying to save Russia!"
"How in God's name does running around and running millions of Jews from our borders, many of whom are educated or trained professionals help save Russia?"
"By-" Diterikhs began, but Wrangel wasn't finished yet.
"I'll go a step further and ask you a different question? How the fuck does going after random minorities help us? Does it industrialize the country? Does it put more food on the people's tables? Will it give us back the territory we lost? Because quite frankly, Mikhail Konstantinovich, I do not fucking know!"
"That's all it has been these last few goddamned years! Mindless cruelty and slaughter that you and your lapdog Denikin have been reveling in while the rest of our problems go unanswered. Tell me, how is burning books supposed to deal with all the homeless? How is prosecuting teachers supposed to create new jobs? Like I said before, this seems to be cruelty for cruelty's sake disguised as a 'Necessary Evil!'"
"I don't know what the fuck is going on through your head, and quite frankly, I don't give a damn anymore. But what I know for sure is that you are a goddamn moron if you think that going around clubbing random people and making people's lives a living hell is going to do more than fuck-all for the same people you swore to lead!"
"Do you think," Diterikhs snarled, "That I did this for no rhyme or reason? I did this, all of this, to strengthen Russia."
"That's it? The same old shit that you've rambled on for years?"
"Do you honestly think that I decided to go along with Denikin because I agreed with him?"
Yes. I actually believe that you are that much of a fanatical lunatic.
"Russia is the sick man of Eurasia," Diterikhs continued, "It is under-industrialized, under-educated, and now Asia, of all places, is leaving us in the dust. The people are tired and frustrated from a decade of humiliation. So tell me, Pyotr Nikolayevich, would you rather have those people be frustrated and angry at us, or somebody else?"
"That's it?" Wrangel couldn't believe his ears. "You would rather blame others for Russia's problems than actually fix them?"
"Take him away," he said to the soldiers, who dragged him out. To Wrangel's surprise, Diterikhs offered no resistance. "Get him out of our fucking sight."
"Know this." Diterikhs' voice was different this time. Instead, his words sounded sharp. almost venomous. "Denikin and I may have our beliefs, but we worked with what we had. Take us away, and our followers will remain. And they will remember what you have done."
