By All Means, Before the Reds!

The protagonist of the tricolor flag was a man named Alexander Kolchak. Originally he would have launched a coup to become head of the Russian state and, in effect, commander of the White Army. But history had changed. He had come to Yekaterinburg. What did that signify? It meant Kolchak’s White Army had joined my forces in Yekaterinburg. And not just any forces—they were joining the Yekaterinburg I led.

This guy’s incompetent. No, wait. History had already changed. Even if he wasn’t on Pyotr Wrangel’s level, he should at least be able to hold the line.

“I did not expect Your Excellency to join me.”

“Not at all. This is a war to restore everything to its rightful place. Therefore I shall follow Your Highness the Princess.”

Even the men who had escorted Kolchak here were from the Czechoslovak Legion. In the original timeline they had handed him over to the Red Army to secure their own safe withdrawal. Ironically, history had flipped. With Kolchak’s arrival, my faction had become the true rallying point against the Bolsheviks.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. My head throbbed as history kept twisting. What now? The Japanese were already salivating over Siberia. It seemed Kolchak had come under pressure from the Entente as well.

“For the time being, take command of volunteer training in Yekaterinburg.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

One by one the tangled threads seemed to loosen. Like puzzle pieces sliding into place.

Compared to the original history, the White Army’s situation was far better.

“Princess.”

“What is it?”

“A man I met on the road, Vladimir Grigoryevich Fyodorov, has asked for an audience with Your Highness.”

“Vladimir Grigoryevich Fyodorov?”

Who the hell was that?

“He is the designer of the Fyodorov automatic rifle.”

An automatic rifle. I wasn’t a gun nut, so the details escaped me, but wasn’t that the ancestor of the assault rifle? In this era he was essentially the father of the AK-47. My knowledge of the man was almost nonexistent; I only remembered that he had built some kind of automatic weapon. There were already several automatic rifles at the time, so calling it an assault rifle was a stretch, yet in Russia it would probably prove quite useful. Better to have it than not.

“Bring him at once.”

Meeting him couldn’t hurt.

“It is an honor to stand before the last princess of all Russia!”

Fyodorov’s hair was wild and his clothes torn in several places. The journey had clearly been brutal. He had been living under the Bolsheviks—could he be trusted?

“We have no time for pleasantries. You are the man who created the automatic rifle, correct?”

“Yes, that is correct. I designed the Fyodorov rifle. However, the Bolsheviks halted all weapons production—”

It would be on an entirely different level from the Mosin-Nagant.

“Since you have come here, I assume you understand my position. To fight the Bolsheviks we need firearms in quantity. Can I entrust you with both production and the development of new weapons?”

“Yes. Production will likely need to be outsourced to foreign firms.”

That was to be expected. Russia’s industrial base was pitiful. For all its size the country was little more than a quasi-great power; ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that was why it had suffered the Bolshevik Revolution in the first place.

My knowledge of the man was thin, but his work would clearly be useful.

“For now, produce at the level our current capacity allows. It won’t be long before the great powers, who have no desire to see the Bolsheviks stain Europe, begin sending aid. Full-scale production can begin then.”

“Understood.”

In any case we were still short on everything. Entente support would soon become reality, but—

“Foreign companies are the problem.”

Britain, France, America. It was about time the Entente started sniffing around.

The crucial point was that, for the time being, I alone had to keep a firm grip on Yekaterinburg.

Following Kolchak’s arrival, a large number of imperial nobles and wealthy elites had joined us. I therefore gathered the nobles who had come to Yekaterinburg, together with the major landowners and citizen representatives.

There were no particularly famous names yet. They were probably still weighing whether to throw in their lot with me.

The real problem was these nobles. If they wanted to reclaim their former glory, the empire had to be restored; they had no other choice but to side with us. Besides, the Bolsheviks were already infamous as vicious, immoral barbarians who had slaughtered the Tsar’s family without trial. The nobles had to join us if only to save their own necks.

And they would realize that, to keep even those necks attached, they would have to surrender much of what they possessed.

“Civil war is civil war, but the time has come to prepare reforms. We must move beyond an agrarian society and step forward into an industrial age.”

With the White Army’s adhesion, my sphere of influence now stretched from Yekaterinburg across Siberia and into the Far East. Even in the midst of civil war, it was time to act. Systemic competition. From this point on it would not be only a war of guns and swords, but a contest over who could win the hearts of the people. That was what mattered.

Only by gathering the Russian people’s support through popular sentiment could they become the labor force and soldiers of White Russia. Naturally that would let us seize the initiative in the civil war.

In the original history the Whites had beaten the Reds for a time and reclaimed vast territory, yet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠because they were merely a coalition of warlords they never won popular backing and were swept aside once the Reds reorganized.

Therefore we had to move carefully, step by step, building a solid foundation.

We had just won a defensive battle. The time was now.

“In that case—”

“It may still be a distant prospect, but let us begin with land reform.”

“Land reform? In the middle of a civil war?”

The imperial nobles’ faces twisted with open disgust. They had probably joined me precisely to avoid such measures. But this was the only way they would survive later.

“Under the present system Russia will not endure. Without land reform the red plague will keep spreading. It is indispensable for a new Russia. Or do you believe the same Bolsheviks who executed the Tsar’s family without trial will spare your necks?”

Of course they wouldn’t. Citizens might be enamored with the princess for now, but that infatuation would not last forever. If nothing changed, the people of Yekaterinburg could turn red at any ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moment.

“Ahem.”

“The great majority of Russian subjects are peasants. For the sake of popular sentiment, for the future of the nation, and to win back those who suffered under the incompetent imperial family and were swept into the red plague, land reform is mandatory. Only then will those wavering before the red plague once again support the imperial house.”

No matter how much they idealized the Tsar, the Bolsheviks had long been known as an irredeemable force that had even violated the corpse of a dead princess. The peasant reform promised by such people. A workers’ state. The promise of the last princess who had survived alone and easily earned sympathy. No—the reform that would be carried out immediately. Who would the people find more tempting?

Exactly. The key was to enact first the very policies the reds should have carried out. How much popular support we could win at this moment was everything.

“You intend to revive Stolypin’s reforms.”

“Yes. Land reform. We will declare that peasants may own land as private property. No more empty words—we will do it here and now. We will redistribute the land. In this civil war you may lose everything and die, or you may surrender what must be surrendered and receive what can be received. One or the other. It is literally a question of life and death. You stand at that crossroads. If you wish to keep your lives and remain nobles of a greater Russia, you will cease your opposition.”

The nobles could no longer resist. They had no choice but to listen. After all, who would choose to lose their heads? Between keeping minimal privileges while joining the reform and losing everything, the former was the only rational choice.

Unlike the days when Nicholas II could block reform and give them cover to oppose it, the situation was desperate. With the last princess herself leading the effort, there was simply no way out.

The same nobles who had once foamed at the mouth against reform now began to lead it. For those being swayed by the red plague, it would be another lifeline.

The beginning of land reform. It was like presidential candidates laying out their platforms. It marked the start of systemic competition with the Bolsheviks.

Regrettably, even after carrying out land reform following the revolution, the Bolsheviks had earned peasant resentment by refusing to allow private property. It showed that the birth of the Soviet Union had been far rockier than people assumed.

Here the last princess was whispering every sweet promise they wanted to hear. Wouldn’t they take the bait?

In truth we had to advance this way if we wanted to survive.

Therefore I stood before the citizens of Yekaterinburg and shouted.

There was no time to weigh every detail. I implemented the measures at once.

I knew it was reckless. But the vital point was to act before the Bolsheviks.

I placed the shrewdest nobles in Yekaterinburg at the forefront. The sight of those once-complaining aristocrats now leading the reform seemed to make a surprisingly favorable impression on ordinary people.

From what I heard, public opinion was not bad.

If these policies had come from an ordinary White warlord, the people would not have been so easily moved. The crucial factor was that the one enacting them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was the princess—the last princess. She had not merely promised reform; she had begun radical changes in the middle of a civil war. On top of that came the eight-hour workday, five-day workweek, guaranteed wages, and every other postwar promise. All of it offered as Anastasia, the last princess, rather than under the hated Romanov name.

She was the daughter of the cursed, incompetent Tsar, yet precisely because of that she strove to set things right. Moreover, the nobles themselves were leading the effort.

They can’t help but be tempted.

The reds, who had never liked Stolypin’s plan, would now be foaming at the mouth.