The Pride of the Germanic Peoples (2)
The man had never even met me before, so why would seeing me remind him of Princess Louise? What game was Wilhelm playing? Fine. We were at the point of grasping at straws anyway. The Bolsheviks were no fools; they would scramble to develop tanks or anything like them through whatever channels they could find. We needed to land the first blow before they managed it. I turned my attention to Kolchak.
Kolchak stood as one of the pillars of the Duma, current commander of the Siberian White Army, and the man responsible for Asian diplomacy. Why was a soldier handling foreign affairs? Because there simply weren’t enough people. These men should have been overflowing with questions about how I was even running the country. We could start making proper appointments once the civil war ended. In any case.
“What is the situation with China?”
They had to be seething after losing Mongolia and North Manchuria. Even we felt a twinge of guilt over it. North Manchuria was one thing, but Mongolia had been Roman von Ungern-Sternberg’s impulsive conquest followed by an after-the-fact report. Of course, that didn’t mean China would dare try to seize it back now. After all, it was the Chinese army itself that had been routed by Ungern’s Asiatic Cavalry Division even after occupying the territory.
“They lodged protests, but what can they do? They’ve shut their mouths.”
“That’s a relief.”
Yes, naturally. Even if China complained, it would amount to nothing. If the land had truly been ownerless it might have been different, but White Russia—backed by the great powers—had already secured Mongolia and North Manchuria. Besides, China could barely manage its own house; it had no room to pick a fight with us. Even Japan was staying quiet. What could China possibly do?
And what were the fallen revolution’s idols—Lenin and his eager flatterer Trotsky—doing right now?
As I read through the incoming reports, one thing became clear: my presence had twisted history beyond recognition. In the original timeline, provisional governments had sprouted like weeds even among the Whites—the Siberian Provisional Committee, the West Siberian Provisional Committee, Komuch, the Ural Provisional Government, the Idel-Ural State. The Ural Provisional Government that had risen around Yekaterinburg was now effectively replaced by me. The rest had faded from view. After all, no matter how thoroughly the empire had been ruined, how many factions could claim legitimacy as ironclad as a surviving Romanov princess? In real history they had fought one another for dominance, but even they would have recognized that much.
Next came Ukraine.
“The situation on the Ukrainian border looks suspicious?”
Red Army forces were massing near the frontier. It seemed Ukraine would soon become the next sacrifice for our revolutionary idol Lenin.
“Yes. A bloody wind appears ready to blow.”
“What is the internal situation in Ukraine?”
The internal picture mattered most. Geographically, if Ukraine fell to the Soviets, we would be in immediate danger.
“Hetman Pavlo Skoropadskyi, elected under the title of Honorable Otaman, faced a coup from the anti-Skoropadskyi faction led by Symon Petliura. He was nearly driven out but managed to cling to power with British assistance.”
What names. This was exactly why I liked Korea. Three simple syllables—Kim Cheol-su—how refreshing.
“So it went from a German puppet to a British one.”
Our Britain intervening all the way in Ukraine? Wasn’t this greed getting out of hand? Yes, to summarize, that side was also five minutes from total chaos.
“Indeed. We must prepare a response.”
“Instruct Lieutenant General Anton Denikin to remain vigilant. If possible, he may expand our influence gradually. In an emergency, we will have to intervene.”
It would be unacceptable for the Soviets to swallow Ukraine. If we could not have it, neither could they. Something would happen soon. Even if only half-formed, the Bolsheviks had raised five million men during the civil war. They might not field that many now, but human-wave tactics could still threaten Ukraine. Britain might beg us for help, and if Ukraine fell, our southern flank would lie exposed. So the next battlefield would be Ukraine?
“And this is the rifle newly produced at the arsenal established in Yekaterinburg.”
A rifle suddenly appeared on my desk, placed there by Fedorov.
“Oh. So this is it.”
“We have modified it with a cooling kit to resolve the previous overheating issues. Mass production is scheduled to begin soon at the German-built factory.”
Why Germany again? I did not believe Germany posed an immediate threat to us, yet it was obvious they had some scheme. I simply could not see what it was.
No—wait. These people couldn’t possibly… I had heard they were desperately begging Britain for peace. Hadn’t they called it an “armistice negotiation”? The British described it as an armistice, but in reality it had been the capitulation of an allied power. The Germans, however, insisted on calling it merely an armistice. These bastards. They couldn’t be planning to bleed Russia dry of materials, smuggle them back to Germany, and then try for another round, could they? While Britain lowered its guard, they would craft a bamboo spear and drive it straight into Paris?
For now they were pretending to support us while catching their breath.
“No. They wouldn’t be that insane.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.”
I knew little about this new automatic rifle, but Fedorov’s overflowing confidence suggested it was trustworthy. At the very least it would be far superior to the clunky Mosin-Nagant.
“You intend to mass-produce this weapon?”
“Yes. It is feasible. Germany is cooperating with enthusiasm.”
Germany itself seemed suspicious. It sounded as though they were relocating all their military factories to Russian soil for their own use. If Germany truly intended to forge that bamboo spear, what would the consequences be for Russia? We needed to end the civil war before any such move. What would be the ideal timing? At minimum we should act while the Czech Legion remained. As expected, Ukraine remained the key.
“Arm the border units of the White Army with current production. Continue weapon development at the arsenal.”
“Understood.”
Fedorov withdrew. I sent for Mikhail Drozdovsky. For matters like this, he was the one I needed to consult. After all, he was the man currently overseeing tank development with German support.
“Chief of Staff.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Please speak.”
“Germany’s behavior strikes me as suspicious.”
“In what respect, Your Highness?”
“Are they not helping us far more than necessary? We were enemies until recently.”
Perhaps the military restrictions of the Versailles Treaty in real history did not exist here. If so, Britain and America likely intended to turn Germany into a bulwark against the red plague. A newly independent Baltic state, Finland, Poland, or an internally fractured Ukraine would be far less useful. Germany had accepted British naval supremacy, surrendered its colonies, and watched Austria-Hungary—its half-hearted ally—be carved apart. There would be no one left willing to aid Germany.
Still, the situation felt off. I wanted Drozdovsky’s seasoned opinion.
“Today’s enemy often becomes tomorrow’s friend. It is certainly unusual, but I understand that aiding us was a condition of their negotiations with Britain.”
Yes, that was the ordinary explanation. If the Bolsheviks were such utter bastards that Germany wanted them destroyed at all costs, I could understand the generosity—but there were limits. This was too open-handed.
“Could they be deceiving British and French eyes, producing weapons on our soil to rebuild their strength and strike France again?”
Leaving aside whether Germany even possessed the capacity, it did not seem impossible.
“The possibility exists, yet I doubt they would attempt it. They are already obligated to pay reparations. Planning another war seems unlikely.”
“They could simply print money.”
In real history the Weimar Republic’s reckless printing had been one of the roots of the Great Depression.
“Even if Germany harbors such plans, we are currently fighting our own civil war. We cannot interfere.”
That was true enough.
“I suppose you’re right.”
Yet the idea of quietly investigating still tempted me. If the aid was genuinely given without expectation of repayment, that would be ideal. In other words, I wanted to pocket everything. Should Germany later reveal impure intentions and attempt to stab France with that bamboo spear, we could declare war unacceptable and confiscate it all. Perfectly justifiable.
Germany required watching, but White Army weapon production had finally reached full stride. Unlike real history, we would not be overwhelmed by a rebuilt Bolshevik force. I would set the German question aside for now. The fact that our Mr. Wilhelm had somehow preserved the imperial title carried new significance. In the original timeline the November Revolution had birthed the Weimar Republic. Since Versailles had become little more than a reinforced armistice, the German Empire continued to exist at least through the end of this year. Would that make it harder for our toothbrush-mustached art student to seize power?
Whatever. My own house was on fire—what did another man’s roof matter?
“Setting Germany aside for the moment, it is a good sign that the people under Bolshevik rule are growing increasingly dissatisfied.”
“Yes. In terms of troop quality alone we hold the advantage. The Bolsheviks are attempting to rebuild their army, but it does not appear easy for them.”
The power gap was considerably wider than in real history. Military reform remained sluggish, and nearly all imperial-era officers had joined the Whites. Most of those who had gone over to the Reds had been opportunists; they had smelled the Soviets’ inevitable failure. As a result, army reconstruction kept being postponed. The decisive moment was approaching.
“The time is drawing near. The more they expand their forces, the more Soviet supporters will defect to our side.”
Every Red soldier they lost made us stronger. In the end, they would fail.
“Understood.”
“General Gaida. Has there been any progress with the Basmachi Movement?”
The Basmachi Movement—a Turkic uprising in Central Asia against both the Russian Empire and the Soviets. It had begun in 1916 during the Great War when Russian conscription of Muslims ignited anti-Russian violence. The October Revolution spread the revolt across all of Turkestan, developing into full rebellion in the Fergana Valley. Years of guerrilla warfare followed, but in real history it ended completely once the Red Army won the civil war and Sovietized Central Asia. In this world, however, the insurgents were still rampaging across Central Asian territories belonging to White Russia. I had assigned the entire problem to Gaida. He would have plenty of work under me until I left for Czech territory.
“Yes, Your Highness. Per your orders, we have permitted a Turkic representative to sit in the Duma and agreed to cooperate within reasonable bounds.”
“This time we will not conscript them. Offer formal employment to their Muslim fighters. Sound them out on whether they are willing to assist in the civil war.”
“And if they refuse?”
If they refused… well, I had never expected acceptance. The movement had been born from an explosion of anti-Russian hatred. They were unlikely to trust an offer of mercenary service; they would probably accuse us of trying to deceive them. In that case, there was nothing to be done. We would simply leave them alone. There was no reason to invite guerrilla harassment in our rear while facing the Bolsheviks at the front.
“Then we leave them be. No need to stir up a hornet’s nest.”
“Understood.”
There were no fighters as tenacious as guerrillas. If they were Muslim as well, the tenacity only increased. At worst we could attempt limited appeasement. That would have to suffice.