Leninator
2nd March 2012, 23:40
Is this story I'm writing any good? If so, why? Please be very open in your criticisms, please.
It is an alternate history where the Russian revolution is crushed by the German military in 1918. Enjoy. :)
Prologue
1918
Lenin's voice was barely audible amid the sound of incessant gunfire and artillery outside the walls of the Tauride Palace. “A year ago, we brought vibrant life to a revolution that would light the world afire. Today, the death of us all will be the life of more revolutions abroad soon to come!” Lenin banged his fist on the podium for effect in front of the convention hall, from which sat members from all parties, whom had hastily assembled for a last meeting.
Lenin continued just as a stray bomb shell burst near a window, causing a whole row of party members to cower in panic “Our revolution's death will strike a mortal blow to German imperialism once and for all. The workers of Germany and indeed all of Europe know where their sympathies lie. With socialist revolution! So, let the imperialists crush the revolution. Let them liquidate all revolutionary socialist parties and enslave the Russian proletarian masses. There will come a time when the people of Russia will be avenged.”
By the time Lenin had finished speaking, the gunfire and artillery seemed to die down, if only for a moment. The men and women who had fought for a whole year to make and ultimately defend the revolution sat in the many rows of seats, serene looking. It was decided that they would all go down with the sinking ship. There would be no metaphorical life boats. Everyone knew that their fate was sealed.
As Lenin walked back calmly to his seat, next up to speak was Leon Trotsky, who as he neared the podium was meant by a round of awkward, subdued applause. He adjusted his glasses as he prepared to speak. “Today is a glorious day, comrades! Death awaits each and everyone of us. As revolutionary Marxists, we should embrace it, not fear it.” He was forced to raise his voice over the recommenced din of gunfire and artillery, which shook the floor above the party members' feet once again.
“I place my faith firmly in the belief that the proletariat of Europe will awaken in all countries, as they already have in Germany and Austria. Petrograd shall be looked upon my future generations of revolutionaries as a great red flame-” Trotsky paused for a moment as the artillery momentarily got even nastier, drowning him out almost completely. He continued as the artillery died down once more. “Petrograd shall be seen as a great red flame that burned twice as bright as the Paris Commune, and that served as a beacon to all oppressed peoples of the world, but ultimately burned only half as long. As the flame of revolution begins to weaken and ultimately become extinguished, we can take solace in the fact that our revolution will not be in vain! And so I say, the revolution will soon be dead! Long live the revolution!”
People cheered and clapped, some of them rising from their seats to get a better look at the man they would see for the last time. Trotsky was a great man to many of them, a man whom was an example of a true revolutionary. Surely he would go down in history as such, immortalized by such a glorious death.
Before Trotsky was able to step off away from the podium, another bomb shell burst, only nearer this time. Broken glass and pieces of the wall flung forward in all directions and with a powerful force, wounding and killing many instantly.
Lenin ran back up towards the podium, and speaking furiously said “Yes, long live the revolution!” As he spoke, other party members were rushing to their comrades' aid, many of whom were moaning in agony, least of all concerned with Lenin's gloomy words of encouragement. “Long live the revolution!” He repeated in earnest, taking a mere glance at the wounded party members, bloodied and badly bruised. He quickly turned away from such a gruesome sight as he let out a deep sight to himself. Russia's revolution was done for, and deep down he knew all might be lost. All was lost. He turned towards Trotsky.
“Comrade Trotsky, it has been an honor to have served the revolution with you alongside me.” Trotsky smiled thinly, his face paled and ill-looking.
“And I am glad to now have the ultimate honor to die alongside you with the revolution.” Lenin noticed a distinct quiver in Trotsky's voice. Despite his rhetoric, Trotsky was afraid to die. Screams could now be heard from the throngs of people who now scurried for cover amid a third bomb shell blast, which had ripped apart a whole section of the wall opposite the podium. They were all doomed.
Away from the drama displayed inside of the convention hall, German forces had made short work of the hastily erected Petrograd city defenses, and were advancing towards the Tauride Palace without delay. The Russian revolution was at an end...
It is an alternate history where the Russian revolution is crushed by the German military in 1918. Enjoy. :)
Prologue
1918
Lenin's voice was barely audible amid the sound of incessant gunfire and artillery outside the walls of the Tauride Palace. “A year ago, we brought vibrant life to a revolution that would light the world afire. Today, the death of us all will be the life of more revolutions abroad soon to come!” Lenin banged his fist on the podium for effect in front of the convention hall, from which sat members from all parties, whom had hastily assembled for a last meeting.
Lenin continued just as a stray bomb shell burst near a window, causing a whole row of party members to cower in panic “Our revolution's death will strike a mortal blow to German imperialism once and for all. The workers of Germany and indeed all of Europe know where their sympathies lie. With socialist revolution! So, let the imperialists crush the revolution. Let them liquidate all revolutionary socialist parties and enslave the Russian proletarian masses. There will come a time when the people of Russia will be avenged.”
By the time Lenin had finished speaking, the gunfire and artillery seemed to die down, if only for a moment. The men and women who had fought for a whole year to make and ultimately defend the revolution sat in the many rows of seats, serene looking. It was decided that they would all go down with the sinking ship. There would be no metaphorical life boats. Everyone knew that their fate was sealed.
As Lenin walked back calmly to his seat, next up to speak was Leon Trotsky, who as he neared the podium was meant by a round of awkward, subdued applause. He adjusted his glasses as he prepared to speak. “Today is a glorious day, comrades! Death awaits each and everyone of us. As revolutionary Marxists, we should embrace it, not fear it.” He was forced to raise his voice over the recommenced din of gunfire and artillery, which shook the floor above the party members' feet once again.
“I place my faith firmly in the belief that the proletariat of Europe will awaken in all countries, as they already have in Germany and Austria. Petrograd shall be looked upon my future generations of revolutionaries as a great red flame-” Trotsky paused for a moment as the artillery momentarily got even nastier, drowning him out almost completely. He continued as the artillery died down once more. “Petrograd shall be seen as a great red flame that burned twice as bright as the Paris Commune, and that served as a beacon to all oppressed peoples of the world, but ultimately burned only half as long. As the flame of revolution begins to weaken and ultimately become extinguished, we can take solace in the fact that our revolution will not be in vain! And so I say, the revolution will soon be dead! Long live the revolution!”
People cheered and clapped, some of them rising from their seats to get a better look at the man they would see for the last time. Trotsky was a great man to many of them, a man whom was an example of a true revolutionary. Surely he would go down in history as such, immortalized by such a glorious death.
Before Trotsky was able to step off away from the podium, another bomb shell burst, only nearer this time. Broken glass and pieces of the wall flung forward in all directions and with a powerful force, wounding and killing many instantly.
Lenin ran back up towards the podium, and speaking furiously said “Yes, long live the revolution!” As he spoke, other party members were rushing to their comrades' aid, many of whom were moaning in agony, least of all concerned with Lenin's gloomy words of encouragement. “Long live the revolution!” He repeated in earnest, taking a mere glance at the wounded party members, bloodied and badly bruised. He quickly turned away from such a gruesome sight as he let out a deep sight to himself. Russia's revolution was done for, and deep down he knew all might be lost. All was lost. He turned towards Trotsky.
“Comrade Trotsky, it has been an honor to have served the revolution with you alongside me.” Trotsky smiled thinly, his face paled and ill-looking.
“And I am glad to now have the ultimate honor to die alongside you with the revolution.” Lenin noticed a distinct quiver in Trotsky's voice. Despite his rhetoric, Trotsky was afraid to die. Screams could now be heard from the throngs of people who now scurried for cover amid a third bomb shell blast, which had ripped apart a whole section of the wall opposite the podium. They were all doomed.
Away from the drama displayed inside of the convention hall, German forces had made short work of the hastily erected Petrograd city defenses, and were advancing towards the Tauride Palace without delay. The Russian revolution was at an end...