Joyful, all Ye Nations Rise: a Holiday Timeline

Now that's an image I didn't expect to see..

Nice timeline spanishspy

You learn every time something you did not know before.

December 24th, 1949
Romanian Airspace

Santa Claus was, frankly, worried about the current geopolitical climate. The North Pole Blitz and the German invasion of Claus' own base had shaken his faith in the intervention that he had originally undertaken after being shot down over Manchester.

But it was the season. And in this day and age, as from Stettin on the Baltic to Trieste on the Adriatic, an Iron Curtain had descended on the European continent, the spirit was needed more than ever.

His relations with the Eastern Bloc were cold. They accepted each other as wartime allies, and Stalin honored Claus' request to keep anonymity. Even so, they were often at each other's throats. The American ambassador to the North Pole had requested, insistently, that Claus cease present deliveries to the Eastern Bloc and support the Truman Doctrine. After the war, Stalin had ceased any contact with the Pole, but allowed the sleigh in every Christmas. There would be occasional Yak patrols, but no threats.

Claus had been involved in one big war, and a smaller one in Russia some decades before.

He had had more than enough of this particular human peculiarity.

Now he was in Romania, en route to deliver presents to the good people of Suceava. He was already done with Poland and Czechoslovakia.

A whirring sound emerged right behind him. It became louder and louder as it came closer and closer to the sleigh. Claus looked over his shoulder, Rudolph's red nose providing the only light, other than the lights on the planes.

There were five of them. The two on each end, flanking a central plane, were Yaks. That was to be expected. All over the Eastern Bloc he was getting shadowed by planes; however he got much the same elsewhere. The RAF, to name but one, was also curious.

The center plane was a bizarre contraption, a metallic mockery of Claus' sleigh. Its body was the shape of the sleigh, but in front there was a propeller. Two wings jutted out of either side, and on the bottom there were blades for snow instead of wheels. A red light shone brightly on the tip of the nosecone.

Claus received a transmission from his radio.

"Mr. Claus," said a gruff voice, "this is Mos Gerila, your replacement in this country as per the orders of General Secretary Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej of the Communist Party of Romania. You are ordered to leave Romanian airspace. We are willing to give you safe passage to Bulgaria."

"And what if I prefer to give the children of your country their presents?"

"Bucharest will handle this," grunted Mos Gerila. "Otherwise we have permission to shoot you down."

The reindeer on Claus' sleigh whinnied and shook as the planes fired warning shots. Despite what the likes of Claudius Bellringer had insisted upon, this sleigh was unarmed.


North Pole
1985

Whenever Washington called the North Pole it was never pleasant. Claus had learned that soon after the end of the war.

"Yes, Secretary Shultz, I assure you that I am following events in Moscow with interest. Gorbachev seems eminently reasonable."

"My intelligence tells me that Gorbachev wants normalized relations with the Pole," Secretary Shultz stated bluntly. "I trust this means you will exchange ambassadors and nothing else."

"I don't intend to let the Communists take over the Pole, if that's what you're asking."

"Well, after the stunt you pulled in Hohman you're on thin ice, and I don't just mean North Pole ice. Reagan wants you NATO, but you know that. I've said that for the past several years."

"I intend to do business with the Communist states as I have since the War."

There was a pause. Claus could almost feel Shultz shaking his head.

"Well, the president finds your lack of faith in democracy disturbing. Whatever you do, don't do anything brash."

Shultz hung up without bothering with a farewell.

Joseph Stalin Park
Bucharest
New Years' Day, 1948

The state-permitted newspapermen crowded the park, surrounding the gaggle of children that the Communist Party had corralled together. Somewhere in the crowd were their parents.

Mos Gerila, or Petru Constantinescu, stood in his ridiculous costume. Beside him was Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej, the General Secretary of the Romanian Communist Party. He looked pleased with himself, as if he believed his own propaganda.

Given that he had spent the war in one of Antonescu's prison camps he probably did.

Gheorghiu-Dej bloviated about some ideological thing, and gestured to Constantinescu. The latter nodded, and the dictator handed him a present.

The children were almost bursting the seams out of sheer joy. They had formed themselves into a line, waiting for the wrapped gifts.

It was a simple thing. Constantinescu didn't have to do much at all. He simply smiled and handed out gifts and posed for the pictures that the newspapermen wanted.

Constantinescu had not fought for Antonescu; he had faked injury and gotten out of serving. However, when the Communists marched into the country he had joined up with with the forces under Timoshenko, and from there had fought the fascists.

After a war like that something so simple was so very welcome.


Bucharest
December 1965

Mos Gerila, by 1965, was not a man. He was a symbol. He was an icon.

He had been paraded around the country every yuletide. He had kissed children from Iasi to Timisoara and back. He had gone up and down the Danube and into every county of the country. He had known Gheorgiu-Dej intimately, and he had even met Joseph Stalin on one occasion.

He was happy with his lot.

But at the moment, he was not.

Being in a locked room in the headquarters of the Securitate, the Romanian Secret Police, would do that to you.

"You were a useful tool to Gheorghiu-Dej," remarked the man in front of him, "and for that I thank you. You were an icon to the people, and brought Communism down to the fields and towns, and for that I thank you."

Constantinescu nodded. The other man continued. "But Gheorgiu-Dej is no longer with us. And, seeing that he is no longer with us, some changes are afoot. You have allowed yourself to assemble something of a cult of personality, and that is something I cannot allow."

Constantinescu gulped unceremoniously.

"You'll still have a role, I guarantee you, but you will not have the glory you used to. You see, Mr. Consantinescu, our Socialist Republic cannot have its leaders lose their legitimacy to a substitute Santa Claus."

"I understand."

And thus passed the glory of Mos Gerila.

"You will, though continue your defense against the original Claus," ordered his interrogator. "You will personally watch the skies for him, and ward him off as he tends to do."

His captor stared him right in the eye.

"Have I made myself clear?" asked Nicolae Ceausescu.