The Saint of Petrograd
At this time, the hardcore Bolsheviks in Petrograd—the very marrow of the revolution’s soul—feared the White Army that had surrounded the city in multiple layers, yet they still had something to cling to. They had lost the driving force to expand their power and were now trapped inside Petrograd, but they believed Tsarina would not dare attack the empire’s capital so easily, the place where the Tsar’s palace stood. Of course, that alone could not reverse the tide of war. Still, if Petrograd held out, the Bolsheviks scattered across the country might rise again. They kept spinning that circuit of hope.
The Bolsheviks remaining in the revolutionary city were, in truth, reds to the core, their very souls painted over with communist ideology. To these dyed-in-the-wool fanatics, Anastasia’s offer of surrender was not even worth a moment’s consideration.
“The reactionary ringleader princess will never cross into this place anyway.”
“They cannot destroy the Tsar’s city. That means they’ll have to enter it directly—and that is exactly what we want.”
“Let us prove that our revolution was just.”
“Comrade Trotsky will lead us!”
In fact, Petrograd was the birthplace of the revolution, and even the dyed-in-the-wool Bolshevik citizens who had flocked here from every corner were prepared to die here as revolutionaries and Bolsheviks.
But that bravado lasted only a moment.
Boom! Crash!
From the sky, as if branding them with the words you are bombing test subjects, bombs poured down like rain, falling without restraint. On top of that, the field guns began pounding the city again. Buildings in Petrograd collapsed, people were crushed beneath them or torn to shreds by shells, and the casualties began to mount.
“Unlike her father, she has real spine. She means to uproot us completely.”
Trotsky clicked his tongue. In reality, the revolution had failed. He acknowledged it, yet even acknowledging it, he could not stop here. Imperialism and communism could never coexist. One side had to be completely eradicated. This Petrograd was the city where the revolution had succeeded. Therefore, they would block it with their deaths, even if it meant dying, to show that the revolution still lived.
He knew that if the Bolsheviks now being hunted across Russia—where the White Army had begun to take control—gathered their strength, it would become a massive wave. To block that fierce imperialist wave. To prove that the revolution had been right.
Did the princess know? That the mere appearance of the revolution’s enemy would only make the Bolsheviks of Petrograd fight with desperate, do-or-die fury.
Thus, Trotsky burned with resolve and stubbornly defended Petrograd.
Of course, separate from that will, the city was still being destroyed under overwhelming firepower.
“Comrade Trotsky. You must escape.”
The Bolsheviks urged him to flee once more.
“Where would I go? Where exactly?”
It was already too late. Comrade Lenin had been captured, and Stalin too. The attempt to bring Lenin had failed, and not only Stalin but countless comrades had been taken. Rumors said they had been executed. In such a situation, what was the point of surviving alone?
“Comrade Luxemburg of the German Communist Party is preparing the revolution in Germany. First escape through the North Sea, then with Comrade Luxemburg—”
They were talking nonsense. Finland had already sided with the reactionaries. That fox-like princess now held not only the title of Grand Duke of Finland but even served as King of Finland. Escaping would require extraordinary luck, and from the beginning Trotsky had no intention of leaving this place.
“No. I must not run any longer. The German revolution is Germany’s affair, and I will never bend my will.”
The German revolution belonged to Germany alone. The revolution had already failed even in backward Russia; if he fled to Germany, he would be nothing more than a defeated revolutionary clinging to life. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Comrade.”
“You all escape.”
Trotsky did not rise. He had no right to flee this place. Soon the princess, mad with vengeance, would drive the White Army reactionaries straight into the heart of the city. Then he would kill as many reactionaries as possible and perish gloriously. That was fine. It would be good to see the imperialist empress who had trampled upon Russia’s revolution. If the chance came, he could aim a pistol at the right moment and die together with her; that might rekindle the revolution’s flame. Thus he would remain as a martyr. That was the final task left to Trotsky.
Of course, only Trotsky thought so.
If that man leaves, the other communists will follow!
Contrary to Trotsky’s resolve, the communists who had followed him had no intention of understanding him. If not now, they would never be able to escape.
“Forgive us, comrade.”
“What?”
Trotsky was dragged away by force by the communists who had come with him. A short while later, the Bolsheviks left Petrograd carrying the unconscious Trotsky.
Boom! Crash! Bang!
Quite some time had passed since they had surrounded Petrograd and limited themselves to bombardment. They had still not sent in the infantry. They would strip the city bare first, then advance inside and hunt the exhausted Bolsheviks.
The prolonged shelling was turning Petrograd into a wasteland. Roads and buildings were destroyed, and countless lives were lost.
“Lord. Absolve the sins of those red patients through death.”
The red plague of Petrograd was being purified by death. Some said the city was being destroyed too thoroughly. But they said that by the time Yudenich attacked, everyone who could evacuate from Petrograd had already left. Therefore, those remaining were nothing but hardcore Bolsheviks. There was no answer with them—whether through surrender or any other means. Just as Lenin and his fanatics and fangirls had all been executed by firing squad, they had to be thoroughly eradicated.
To be precise, I was curious about how Trotsky would act. Did he intend to become a martyr for the reds? Or, like in the original history, did he plan to flee to another country like Mexico?
I hadn’t given it much thought. But later the realization came that if Russia was to have any influence in the future, using the reds was ultimately the answer. Trotsky had to pay dearly for the crime of killing the Tsar’s family. Still, rather than letting him die as a martyr, it might be better to weaken communism while making thorough use of him and then kill him later.
“Your Highness. Petrograd is now virtually stripped bare. The infantry may enter.”
Yes. Then it was time to go in.
“Let’s enter.”
“Wouldn’t it be too dangerous for you to enter personally?”
It would be dangerous. But I had to prove that the Romanovs still lived, that at least the princess named Anastasia was not merely a puppet Tsar put forward by the White Army. There were probably still many who saw me as nothing more than a hothouse flower of a girl.
I had to stand at the forefront and fight myself.
“If I enter personally, it will show that the Romanovs have ended the revolution, won’t it? Above all, I do not die.”
“If you truly insist, you should at least enter together with the soldiers.”
“I understand.”
Unlike before, bullets felt somewhat painful now, but at least it still seemed I wouldn’t die. I simply felt that way.
After the bombardment had largely ended, the entire White Army surged toward Petrograd like a wave, descending upon the city that now lay naked, its defenses shattered. At the front, I too advanced on horseback, shooting down the Bolsheviks who had hidden from the shells and were now popping out.
“Th-the princess! Gah!”
The patients of the red plague—who at best thought they could win if armed with the Yamato spirit or the spirit of revolution—died one after another from single bullets.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I shot and killed every Bolshevik not wearing a White Army uniform as soon as I saw them. Petrograd was isolated. They lacked even proper food and weapons. The starving. Those who had barely survived the bombardment were helpless before the bullets I fired.
They could not even charge first. They were too busy hiding from the White Army’s attack; attacking first had never been an option.
Of course, it was not that easy.
Once we entered the city and urban warfare began, the fighting grew far more intense. The Bolsheviks now knew their end was near. With that resolve, they threw their lives away in a do-or-die frenzy.
Naturally, there were occasionally brave reds among them.
“It’s the princess! Kill the princess!”
Some rampaged with the sole purpose of killing me.
Bang! Bang bang!
As we pushed into the city, several reds burst from an alley and sprayed me with submachine-gun fire.
“Ouch.”
Still, the enemy’s bullets did not permit my death. It was truly a little painful, but there were no wounds. It felt like being rapidly flicked all over my body and then stopped—like a light beating.
“Your Highness! Huh?”
The problem was that this time the White Army infantry following me had all seen it. Uh, but isn’t this actually dangerous? The princess is completely fine even after being hit by a barrage of bullets. It looked like another strange deification was about to occur.
Ah, a good idea came to mind. A good way to lower the Bolsheviks’ morale as well.
I spread both arms wide and shouted confidently between the White Army and the enemy forces.
I am a saint, therefore bullets do not work on me. It was revealed that Russia’s thousand people stand with me—Anastasia—not with the reds.
“Ah. That makes sense.”
“Why did those guys even start a revolution?”
“They’re nothing but idiots.”
“They call it a revolution, yet the Bolshevik bastards cannot defeat the saint even with the bullets of their precious Red Army! This means the reds are incompetent! If those kinds of people had ruled Russia, Russia would have become the laughingstock of the entire world!”
The Bolsheviks are incompetent. As expected, the Bolsheviks are destined to lose. The princess has received the Lord’s blessing—and so on. It served to raise the White Army’s morale considerably.
“Fuck, what is this? Are these even bullets that can kill people?”
“Look, the princess is completely fine!”
“With no proper bullets at all, what kind of revolution are they talking about!”
Whether they had tried to raise morale by killing the princess, many enemies had gathered around the Bolsheviks who had fired at me. They were shocked, claiming that even without God’s blessing, military supply corruption had produced bullets that could not even kill a person properly.
In an instant the White Army’s momentum surged even higher as they poured bullets upon the Bolsheviks. The reds, who until moments ago had been desperately hiding in the ruins and fighting, now seemed completely drained of strength and could not even resist properly.
The Bolshevik resistance gradually died out. After all, even if they fought, they had no weapons, could inflict no damage on the enemy, and would only die—what could they do?
“Surrender. We surrender.”
“If you were going to surrender, you should have done it from the beginning. Die!”
The White Army, their blood fully up, refused to accept the Bolsheviks’ surrender. I simply watched in silence. I had clearly offered them the chance to surrender, but they had not taken it. A surrender offered only after realizing there was no point in fighting was no true surrender. In the end, it was only to save their own lives. The White Army did not forgive such enemies.
Across the entire city of Petrograd, the Bolsheviks were wiped out without exception. Some had tried to take citizens of Petrograd—those who had failed to evacuate—as hostages in order to escape, but they failed.
Then a question occurred to me.
“Weren’t they all supposed to have evacuated?”
“These are people who tried to evacuate late but were taken hostage and forced to work for the Soviet!”
To inflict maximum damage on the White Army in Petrograd, they needed the factories running, so it seemed they had forced people into the factories to prevent them from leaving.
“Aren’t they insane?”
Now they were simply going all out. No—they had already gone all out long ago. They had already killed everyone who opposed the Soviet. In Petrograd as well, the Soviet had done what the Soviet does. As expected, the reds had to be purged. If we eliminated every red on Russian soil, there would be no Red China and no North Korea, would there?
“Purify every red you see.”
“What about Trotsky?”
Trotsky, huh. Right, that bastard was here.
“Capture Trotsky alive. If that proves impossible, kill him.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
I wonder if Trotsky will manage to escape again.