Tsaritsyn Opens Wide
Tsaritsyn. Stalin probably never expected it—that the Grand Duchess herself would personally lead the White Army here. But I had no choice. I had to raise the White forces' morale. Of course, if they learned the truth, their spirits might surge with shouts to kill the Grand Duchess, but since they were trapped inside Tsaritsyn, they would remain ignorant until we seized the advantage.
"Your Highness has come in person?" Krasnov, commanding the siege of Tsaritsyn, addressed me with proper respect for royalty. History was twisting in strange ways. Pyotr Wrangel had also arrived at Tsaritsyn, bringing Anton Denikin's troops. This had only been possible thanks to the communication networks established by the Czech Legion and the Allied powers. Once we won the Battle of Tsaritsyn, we would link up with southern Russia, allowing us to pressure the Soviets far more effectively than in the original timeline.
"I left the defense of Yekaterinburg in General Gaida's hands. It will be fine." The Czech Legion under Gaida could certainly hold Yekaterinburg. Besides, even Lenin would never imagine that a seventeen-year-old Grand Duchess would personally take the field. That was why this battle mattered. I would crush the human butcher Stalin and retake Tsaritsyn. In this timeline, Trotsky might well become Lenin's successor.
"Your Highness, the Red defenses are formidable. Extremely formidable. We have them surrounded, but..."
"Of course they are. They are staking everything on this city. They cannot afford for southern Russia and Yekaterinburg to connect."
Krasnov was right. The enemy had dug trench lines and positioned troops throughout the city. Trench warfare meant a long, grinding war of attrition—tedious for the attacker, but capable of grinding down a larger force for the defender. In the original history, it had taken until the later stages of the war, when the White Army was already weakened, before Tsaritsyn finally fell to Stalin's "cosmic defense." Whether Stalin had actually fought a trench battle, I did not know. At the height of White Army advances, the failure to capture Tsaritsyn had prevented Kolchak's forces from linking with the southern White armies.
"What if we tighten the encirclement and demand their surrender?"
"No. We cannot afford to drag out the Battle of Tsaritsyn. If we simply wait for them to collapse on their own, we will only be giving the Reds time."
"Then there will be no offer of surrender?"
"Our own situation is more urgent. We must inflict maximum damage with the forces we have before they regain their senses."
Stalin would never accept a surrender offer anyway. My guess was that he and Trotsky were already locked in a power struggle over who would succeed Lenin. After all, their position was far worse than the original Soviet Union's. In desperate times, people fought hardest over power. At the very least, I could lead this Soviet Union better than he could. The man who had originally organized the Red Army was Leon Trotsky. Perhaps Trotsky had been behind the attack on Yekaterinburg as well. In the original history, opinions were divided on who had ordered the execution of the Tsar's family—whether Lenin or Trotsky had given the command, or whether the Ural Soviet had acted independently. Given the current situation, it seemed likely that someone like Trotsky had issued the orders from behind the scenes. Stalin, after all, had been the fox who waited for his chance and struck Trotsky down in one blow to seize the position of General Secretary.
If Trotsky had been responsible for the attack on Yekaterinburg, then Tsaritsyn would be Stalin's debut battle. I would not allow it. In the history where I existed, the man with the steel mustache would never live to become the great leader of the Soviet Union. I would see him die as the Georgian butcher he was.
"In that case..."
"Let us smash through the trenches with tanks."
"But our troops still need time to learn how to operate tanks. Using them immediately would be..."
That was true, but this era's defeated Soviet Union, still reeling from the Great War, would have no anti-tank guns to speak of. Simply driving tanks forward would send their lines crumbling. "They are flying the Russian national flag, are they not?"
"Yes."
"Then let us make use of the British and French volunteers. We can have suspiciously fluent English- and French-speaking Russians operate them."
The British and French had sent their tank crews as "volunteers" to train White Army officers. However, the White forces still lacked sufficient training to operate the donated tanks themselves in the Battle of Tsaritsyn. In any case, the Reds inside Tsaritsyn would never see the British and French crews inside those tanks. Unfortunately for them, no force was coming to aid the Reds, and with their shortage of weapons, they would have no way to counter the tanks. All they would see were Russian soldiers who happened to speak suspiciously good English and French driving tanks across their trench lines. After all, that was precisely why Britain and France had sent them. As long as the foreign troops were not exposed, the Bolsheviks would have no opportunity to rally public sentiment.
Now the time had come.
"Tsaritsyn suffers under the Red plague! Warriors of the newborn Russia's glorious White Army! Cross those filthy Bolshevik trenches and liberate Tsaritsyn!"
The White Army advance began. Tanks led the way, with infantry following to provide support. The tanks of the Great War—the British Mark series and the French Renault FT—rolled proudly at the front, their tracks grinding forward toward the trench lines.
Rumble, rumble, rumble.
It felt like watching the grandfather of all tanks. I had come in person just to witness this. Look at them rolling forward, so heavy and unstoppable. These early tanks swept machine-gun fire down into the trenches, clearing the lines as they advanced. In the Great War, Britain and France had earned their title as the birthplace of the tank through its development, and they had gained rich combat experience during the conflict. There was no way the hastily assembled Red forces could stand against them.
Rumble, rumble, rumble. Listen to those tracks turning. The sound was heavier and more destructive than any modern tank I knew, as though it could tear up the very road beneath it.
"Your Highness seems quite knowledgeable about tanks."
The British and French officers who had brought the tank divisions as "volunteers" asked with shining eyes. I did not know who they were. I shook my head in denial.
"No, I know very little. But at the very least, those tanks will protect our infantry."
What did I know? I was only acting on things I had heard somewhere. For the Russian White Army to rise again, the Battle of Tsaritsyn had to be won.
"For someone who claims to know little, your understanding of tanks seems rather advanced."
"It is only natural to send forward something as sturdy as a tank rather than fragile humans who die so easily, is it not?"
"I hope Your Highness wins this civil war. My superior, Marshal Philippe Pétain, also wishes for White Russia to prevail."
What? Philippe Pétain?
"May I ask your name?"
"Captain Charles de Gaulle."
What was this man doing here? And as a captain, no less? The Great War must have been an absolute mess. The British officers who had come were also loudly praising the greatness of their tanks while openly hinting that they expected repayment after the civil war. Typical of those ungrateful nations. I intended to drag this civil war out as long as possible anyway. Once they were exhausted from the Great War, I would simply ignore any demands for scraps.
Charles continued explaining the tanks for a while before climbing into a French tank.
"The reactionaries are advancing to seize our workers' city! Hold the line!"
"Our Yekaterina is watching! Liberate the city and offer it to the Tsaritsa!"
Among the White troops, I had already become the Tsaritsa. Not all White soldiers were monarchists, yet my actions so far seemed to have paid off handsomely. Tsaritsa, was it? If it was Yekaterina, they must have meant Russia's famous empress. I did not know her achievements in detail, but I had heard she had done both many good and many terrible things. They must have been trying to give me some kind of epithet.
"You look displeased."
Kolchak, temporarily appointed commander-in-chief of the Yekaterinburg and Siberian White forces and now following me, was carefully watching my expression.
"I am not the Tsaritsa yet. We do not know whether an empire will be restored at the end of this war. It could become a republic, or perhaps a milder socialist state than the Bolsheviks. A United States is also possible."
After the civil war, no one knew what Russia would become. For now, the White Army simply needed a rallying point to crush the Bolsheviks first. If there were enough head-broken fools who still longed for the empire, I could always establish a Duma and step back. All possibilities remained open—whether I would flee abroad, become a figurehead Tsaritsa, or simply live comfortably somewhere with the title of Grand Duchess.
"What they need right now is a Tsar. Even if there is no empire at the end, it would be better for morale if you accept whatever they call you for the time being."
"Is that so?"
"Though he ruined the country, the Tsar remains an important symbol to them."
Well then, I supposed I should check how the situation was developing.
Thud, thud, thud, thud. The tanks crossing the trenches were crushing the Reds who had been defending from their holes, mowing them down with machine guns. Yes. That was it. Look at those trenches being torn open so cleanly. It was quite a sight.
"What the hell is that?!"
"The Grand Duchess brought something strange!"
"Stop them! Stop them!"
I could not see clearly, but from the way the tanks advanced without pause, it seemed the Reds could not stop them. It would have been better to see it up close. Should I follow them forward?
"Absolutely not. You have already done more than enough simply by coming this far."
Kolchak desperately tried to stop me. As the idol and mascot of the White Army, I could not be allowed anywhere near the fighting. Besides, when he heard I had personally fought in trench battles, Kolchak had nearly foamed at the mouth. Whatever his true feelings, if the White Army's center of gravity collapsed, it would be disastrous for him. So there was nothing to be done.
"Your Highness! The trench line has been breached!"
Why was this so easy? I had expected at least several days of bloody fighting even while betting on the winning side. As far as I knew, the Battle of Tsaritsyn had ultimately been defended by Stalin. Only in the later stages of the Red-White Civil War had the White Army barely managed to break through. That was how impregnable Tsaritsyn was supposed to be. United strength and warlord factions truly were different. Moreover, the Bolsheviks had already been defeated at Yekaterinburg, so their morale must be in shambles. The mere fact that the Grand Duchess herself was leading the charge had already given them greater combat effectiveness than in the original history. When combined with German troops and British and French tanks that had fought in the Hundred Days Offensive, the outcome was obvious.
But they were collapsing far too easily. Wait. Perhaps I should revise the strategy. If they were being pushed back this quickly, it might look as though I had been posturing when I declared I would stake the White Army's fate on retaking Tsaritsyn.
"No. Wait a moment."
If Trotsky had truly been in charge of the attack on Yekaterinburg, he would suffer a political blow. Stalin might use that opening to advance. If the attack on Yekaterinburg had succeeded in dismantling my forces, stopping the southern White Army at Tsaritsyn would have been trivial. But the attack had failed, and instead I had advanced on Tsaritsyn. Yes. This would give Stalin a certain justification. It was something of a gamble, but just as Germany had dropped Lenin into Russia, what if I forced Stalin to retreat to Moscow? Defeated, Stalin would surely try to win his power struggle with Trotsky. I could simply crush Stalin here, but it might be more entertaining to let them tear each other apart.
"Your Highness?"
"The Bolshevik in charge of Tsaritsyn's defense, a man named Stalin, is currently engaged in a power struggle with another Bolshevik named Trotsky."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. I heard it from a former Bolshevik who was liberated from the Red plague."
"He must be quite an important Red. We should definitely kill him."
Yes. Normally, killing him would be the right move. It would even be satisfying to slit Stalin's throat with my own hands. But if I killed him now, he would become a martyr. The final battle—when we recaptured Moscow—had not yet come. If I killed him here, Lenin and Trotsky could use him as a revolutionary idol to rally their forces.
"What if we let him live and let their internal conflict play out?"
"You mean to release him?"
"Let us deliberately leave a clear path toward Moscow. Rather than killing a man who would fight to the death and turning him into a martyr for the Reds, it would be better to make him think, 'Ah, there is a way out. Should I return to Moscow?'"
"That is a pity."
It was a pity. I felt the same. But I had to look further ahead.
"Trotsky was behind the Red Army that was defeated at Yekaterinburg. He failed, and as I joined forces with you, our strength grew even greater. That is how we were able to advance this far, is it not?"
"So if Trotsky fails to stop us, Stalin may try to shift the blame for the defeat at Tsaritsyn onto him."
"Yes. While those two fight each other, we will consolidate our rule using southern Russia, Siberia, and the Far East as our base."
Well then, human butcher. I will spare you this once. Do me the favor of destroying yourself along with that bespectacled rival of yours. And while you are at it, take Voroshilov with you.