The March on Moscow
Moscow-bound ***
Trotsky’s ambitious plan had once again ended in failure. What an idiot. I’d pushed the Soviets to the brink, but this was beyond mere incompetence. Still, their infighting on the eve of national collapse worked in our favor. Belarus had apparently fallen to the Red Army, which aligned with actual history. The absence of the Polish-Soviet War was the real anomaly. British intervention must have altered the timeline considerably. Once we crushed the Soviets, we could naturally absorb their territory. Stalin would be busy trying to seize Trotsky’s position.
A report had just arrived from the Black Baron: Nizhny Novgorod had been retaken. Ukraine should now be secure as well, though negotiations with Makhno and the British remained. Even the British would realize they couldn’t hold Ukraine indefinitely. News had also come from the Baltic states, which had gained independence from the German-backed United Baltic Duchy. In Finland, Nikolai Yudenich was reportedly preparing to advance on Petrograd with the Northwestern Army, supported by British forces.
Before that, however—
I looked at Ungern standing before me with a satisfied expression.
“I hear General Ungern distinguished himself greatly in the Battle of Kiev.”
“I could hardly contain my excitement. My only regret is failing to capture that traitor Yegorov, a former Imperial officer.”
“Wasn’t the battle fought without a proper operational plan? There will be other opportunities. The important thing is that it proved the Asiatic Cavalry Division’s combat effectiveness.”
Without that surprise attack, we would have faced a grueling daytime battle. This victory had been extraordinarily fortunate. Who would have thought Ungern’s five thousand cavalry could pull it off? The Red Army besieging Kiev reportedly numbered in the hundreds of thousands. He had driven straight through them in a single thrust. Amid the resulting chaos, Anton Denikin’s White forces had swept in and cleaned up. Of course, roughly half had surrendered, but the rest hadn’t all been killed either. Many had fled during the night raid. The surrendered Reds had reportedly killed or handed over their political commissars to save themselves.
The truly amusing part was the suspiciously Russian-speaking Russian troops under Patton and Walter Model—damn, even Walter Model was here. Did this man have the time to show up? Fortunately, Charles de Gaulle had focused solely on defense. What kind of civil war was this, really? It wasn’t a scaled-down World War; it was simply the Whites beating the Reds senseless from every direction.
Still, the presence of those non-Russian-speaking Russian troops had been remarkably effective. Five thousand cavalry charging through at night, followed by Russian-speaking Russians attacking and shelling from all sides, insisting they couldn’t lose. Even in small numbers, such forces would be devastating at night. Moreover, this battle had confirmed Ungern’s true ability. He wasn’t the madman of historical rumor—merely a man who wielded cavalry with terrifying skill. The Mongols’ reverence for him had been genuine.
“If General Ungern is this capable, I can scarcely imagine how formidable Grigory Semyonov, the Deputy Governor of Mongolia who granted me the title of Great Khan, must be.”
Formally, he was subordinate.
“Ah. That man is somewhat…”
“Not to your liking?”
“He believes the Russian Empire is the successor to the Mongol Empire and advocates building a grand Russo-Scythian Empire.”
“How ambitious.”
It was rather baseless. Linking Mongolia and Scythia was one thing, but claiming the Russian Empire as heir to the Mongol Empire was no different from saying Goryeo succeeded the Tang Dynasty. He seemed the more unhinged of the two. For now, he wasn’t causing trouble, so observation would suffice.
“Your Highness, the reason you summoned us today—”
Mikhail Drozdovsky, Chief of Staff of the White Army, spoke up. Yes. This was what they had been waiting for. In the original history, these men should have died. Now they could achieve the great undertaking they had failed to complete before being killed by the Reds. If they knew the true history, they would not hesitate to kneel before me.
“Indeed. It is the very thing you have all been yearning for.”
“I see.”
The moment everyone had been waiting for had finally arrived. Ukraine’s Red Army had been annihilated. That meant we could now pressure Moscow from the south. Pyotr Wrangel’s forces had already advanced as far as Nizhny Novgorod. Nikolai Yudenich’s Northwestern Army, having retreated toward Finland, was preparing to strike Petrograd—later known as Leningrad. The time had come.
“The Reds in Moscow are currently locked in a power struggle, and Nikolai Yudenich’s Northwestern Army is poised to pressure Petrograd.”
Coordination might not be perfect, but the Red Army was in such disarray that synchronization would not be difficult. Everything was ready. It was time to march on Moscow. I would not even give Stalin time to seize power. I knew Stalin; he did not know me. He had no idea what I would do. We would strike from the south and east. When opportunity presented itself, one had to strike quickly.
“Pyotr Wrangel—the Black Baron’s White forces have retaken Nizhny Novgorod and gained additional troops.”
The room fell deathly silent. Everyone had been waiting for this moment. They waited only for my words—perhaps the words of a future Tsarina. Even in actual history, Moscow had come under threat. The Whites had simply lacked the strength to hold it against the Red Army. In this timeline, the White Army was stronger than ever. Trotsky’s ambitious Ukrainian offensive had suffered near-total destruction. Had they succeeded, they might have swept through Belarus and Poland as well. They had botched the very first step.
“Anton Denikin’s Southern Russian White Army has also begun its northward advance. The Bolshevik forces, which had boasted of their invincibility on all fronts, have been annihilated. The great powers support us, and Jewish capitalists support us as well.”
The White Army had granted Jews various privileges in exchange for their support against the Reds. There would be no more antisemitism. Anyone who fought for the Russian Whites—whether on the front lines or in factories—would become a citizen of the new Russia. This was guaranteed in the name of the Romanovs. As a result, Jewish capitalists had dramatically increased their support. Compared to the Russo-Japanese War, when Jews had sided with Japan, this was an enormous leap forward. Perhaps later, once the fighting ended, we could grant them a large territory in Asia and help establish Israel. Promising that might allow us to extract even more aid.
Everyone present understood what I was about to say. The central figures of White Russia swallowed hard and waited for my words.
“Everyone is helping us, while the Bolsheviks stand isolated. Their army can no longer venture beyond their lines.”
They were likely too busy defending. “Then finally—”
“Yes. The road to Moscow has opened. We must lead all White forces—except Anton Denikin’s Southern Russian Army, Nikolai Yudenich’s Northwestern Army, and the Black Baron’s Cossack Whites—toward Moscow.”
“Yes.”
Excluding the generals at the front, those present—Mikhail Drozdovsky, Roman von Ungern-Sternberg, Vasily Boldyrev, Anatoly Pepelyayev, Alexander Kolchak, and the Duma members—watched as I drew my dagger and stabbed it into Moscow on the map of Russia. Then I made the declaration.
“Let us reclaim Moscow, the Third Rome, and put an end to the Red plague.”
The time had come. We would retake Moscow and execute every last one of those accursed names—Lenin, Stalin, Trotsky. The White Army’s total forces began to concentrate. Modern rifles produced in factories across Yekaterinburg, Central Asia, and Southern Russia were placed in White soldiers’ hands, along with matching uniforms. It was a situation the historical White Army would have envied. Though they had not yet seen action, the Russian White Air Force had also been newly organized, distinct from the old Imperial Air Force. The Reds would surely try to seal off Moscow. Their weapons and training were inferior, but they would attempt to hold out through sheer numbers. They still dreamed of a workers’ paradise, pushing the people toward death to preserve the Soviet. How hypocritical. Did they realize that every action they took destroyed the very legitimacy of their revolution? This was the true face of communism. The world’s communists would be greatly shaken by this alone. So this was what communism amounted to. Hardcore Reds would ignore it and continue shouting “Communism!” even as their heads were split open, but at least their sympathizers would dwindle. Perhaps even the Chinese Communist Party would never emerge. In that case, would Chiang Kai-shek’s Republic of China unify the country? Given China’s potential, it would be best to intervene and fragment it into a Warring States period. Obstructing unification during the warlord era would be ideal.
“What nonsense are you dreaming about now?”
China was a problem for later. Eventually, we would clash over Mongolia and Manchuria anyway. After all, we had effectively seized China’s Manchuria. There would be time to think about it later. First, we had to secure Moscow and establish a new Russia.
As I prepared to mount my horse and join Pyotr Wrangel for the advance on Moscow, I noticed Oriental officials. They weren’t Chinese demanding the return of Manchuria—those would not be so neatly dressed. There were no independence activists here either. That left only the Japanese.
Among them was a man in military uniform whose appearance struck me as strangely familiar.
“Who are they?”
“They appear to be officers sent by the Japanese. They’ve come as military attachés and wish to pay their respects to Your Highness.”
It wasn’t merely a courtesy call. They wanted to probe us. With the Siberian Expedition now impossible, Japan had to watch North Manchuria fall into Russian hands. They needed to determine whether Russia would be friend or foe. The memory of the Russo-Japanese War lingered. In actual history, Japan had lacked the capacity to control Siberia and had suffered at the hands of Red guerrillas. Would Japan, unaware of that suffering, attempt to seize Siberia depending on the White Army’s appearance? If so, we could not afford to show weakness.
The Japanese diplomats were figures I did not recognize. Though some might simply be unknown to me due to my limited knowledge of Japanese history, one man in particular—the one in uniform—continued to feel familiar. Sensing my interest, the Japanese officials bowed as I approached. The ambassador to White Russia introduced himself, along with the soldier accompanying him. The more I looked, the more familiar he seemed. There was no helping it. I walked toward the man. He was someone I knew very well. Yet I could hardly believe he was here. He was the only person from the Japanese Empire I liked and respected. I approached the man who might be him.
“Who are you?”
At my question, the man presumed to be respected by Koreans stood at attention and carefully opened his mouth.
“I am Captain Renya Mutaguchi of the Imperial Japanese Army, dispatched to the Russian Empire from the Empire of Japan! I offer my greetings to Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Anastasia, the Holy Maiden of All Russia!”
Of course. Renya Mutaguchi. Yes. That had been his name.