The End of the Civil War
The end of the civil war.
To be honest, I wish he would just run away. No matter which country he flees to, that crazy red bastard will surely try to spread communism again. Later on, we can intervene anywhere under the pretext of capturing Trotsky. We can step in under the banner of eradicating communism. It really is a solid plan. In some ways, that might even be better.
The problem, of course, is that this body belongs to Anastasia. Trotsky probably approved of killing Nicholas II. In actual history, it’s unclear who took the lead, but the odds are high that Trotsky was involved. After all, he became the Soviet Union’s Minister of Defense. During the civil war, he must have understood what the Tsar’s existence meant. It could have been a strategic move to prevent the White Army from uniting. Of course, that’s all in the realm of possibility.
Based on how things have unfolded so far, that man is my enemy. So from Anastasia’s perspective, Trotsky deserves to be torn apart.
As the White Army surged into the city like a tidal wave, the Reds couldn’t even put up a proper resistance or surrender. They simply died. Considering this place was once the imperial capital, it felt like the final stop for the red plague—a rather fitting end. Now, only the remnants of that plague remained.
We had even reclaimed the Winter Palace. For the time being, I decided to handle administrative duties from the Winter Palace while organizing the situation in Petrograd.
“Your hair has gotten quite long.”
I knew that the women of the Tsar’s family had shaved their heads during their confinement in Yekaterinburg. That had been the case even after I possessed this body for a while. My hair had been short for some time. Now it had grown considerably, and unlike the historical Anastasia, I had become a full adult.
How long would I have to keep playing the role of Anastasia? At least until the newborn Russia was fully on track. Probably not forever, but for now…
Hmm. Well, compared to the original world, this place actually seems a bit better.
Fortunately, the White Army generals were currently cleaning up Petrograd, so my workload had lightened somewhat.
Some time later, the commander of the Northwestern Army, Yudenich, and the Commander-in-Chief of the Finnish Army, Mannerheim, arrived at the Winter Palace.
“Northwestern Army Commander Nikolai Yudenich and Finnish Army Commander Mannerheim. You have both worked hard.”
“Not at all. We should have recaptured it ourselves before Your Majesty the Tsarina arrived.”
That wouldn’t have been bad either, but Yudenich had done his part. Compared to his failure in actual history, he had managed to trap Trotsky and the Reds in Petrograd like fish in a barrel.
“No. It is only right that a Romanov like myself personally reclaims it. Once the White Army controls all of Russia, you will receive ample rewards.”
“Thank you!”
“And to Finnish Army Commander Mannerheim.”
“Yes, Your Majesty the Tsarina.”
This man had been responsible for supporting Yudenich. Given the scale of the Finnish forces, it was more accurate to say he had provided various supplies rather than direct military support.
“As I said before, after the civil war, Finland may do as it wishes so long as it accepts me serving as King of Finland as well. To put it bluntly, I am granting independence, but I ask that you consider our dignity in the matter.”
“Yes. The entire Finnish parliament will be deeply moved by Your Majesty’s grace. Thank you.”
Mannerheim would have helped even without such conditions. He was a Russophile, after all. It was probably his positive review of supporting Yudenich that had made my proposal possible. Since I had added conditional Finnish independence as a reward, upon returning home, Mannerheim might even aim for the position after Ståhlberg. Probably not president, but prime minister. Having a Russophile as head of state in Finland wouldn’t be a bad thing.
Some time later, new information arrived.
“Trotsky has been captured.”
The Black Baron had come to the Winter Palace with the news I had been waiting for.
“Oh.”
And so Trotsky was brought before me. One of my mortal enemies was now kneeling in front of me. In original history, he would have fled all the way to Mexico only to be assassinated by one of Stalin’s agents. In this altered history, he was going to die much sooner.
Just look at that face—bloodshot eyes, panting with rage.
“I wish to speak with him alone for a moment.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Just wait outside. If I scream, come in. He’s tied up tightly anyway.”
Trotsky must have resisted fiercely. His entire body was wrapped in ropes. To think the real Trotsky would end up like this. Ah, how am I supposed to resist the urge to tea-bag him? No, wait. This guy… Yeah. I see.
“Hmm. Trotsky.”
“You bitch! If it weren’t for you—!”
“Why are you so angry?”
If you lose to a girl much younger than yourself, you should just kill yourself. At least then you could have died as a martyr for communism. That’s how it usually goes, right? If he was going to commit suicide, he should have done it long ago.
“If only you had died quietly—!”
“What kind of fool dies quietly? Besides, unfortunately for you, I’m not the kind of person who dies.”
Once this civil war ends and some time passes, even this invincible body probably won’t last much longer. The spot where the bullet had hit me earlier still hurt quite a bit. So this time, I had to make it count. I would torment this bastard as much as I wanted before killing him.
“What did you say?!”
I snatched the pistol from Trotsky’s waistband.
Bang!
As always, I showed him the sight of me shooting myself. Sure enough, I didn’t die this time either. A red mark remained on my temple, but Trotsky had seen it clearly. Just look at his face. He looked like he had seen a ghost. Right before his death, he had finally realized what kind of being he had been fighting. He must have felt chills all over his body. He now understood exactly who he had been trying to deceive.
“If the Soviet Union had been right, would I be standing here now? The Soviet Union is radical and violent.”
“That is merely part of the revolutionary process! Once the Soviet Union is properly established and the people believe in and follow it, only then can the proletarian revolution be realized on earth! Radical? Oppressive? Those are merely temporary disturbances on the path to achieving communism.”
How long do I have to keep listening to this act? I really can’t stand this guy.
“Reforms will be carried out and a communist paradise will unfold on earth? Nonsense.”
“What?”
“You claim to end Tsarism, yet in the end you simply install Lenin as the new Tsar. When Lenin dies, the Russian people will serve his successor. In the end, stagnation leads to decay. Just looking at what you people are doing, the future is crystal clear.”
It really is far too clear. I laughed at Trotsky as I spoke.
“What would a girl with milk still on her lips know?!”
“You’ll brainwash people through communist education, spouting nonsense about Lenin and his successor being the leaders of all peoples. And then? People will live stifled lives where they can’t even protest, just like in my father’s time. No freedom, nothing. It will be no different from the more oppressive and authoritarian Tsarist era—only the titles will have changed. What’s the difference between serving the Tsar and serving Lenin?”
In other words, you people are worse than the Tsar. Of course, to this guy, this was basically just me venting.
“This bitch—!”
“Don’t stubbornly insist that I’m wrong. Throughout all of history, every country has had leaders who brought about a golden age and leaders who led their nations to decline and ruin. Do you think the Soviet Union would be any different? Ah, if the brainwashing education is done well, the Russian people will be turned into idiots who don’t even realize they’re being used as disposable tools.”
“What do you think communism is?!”
“Inciting the lower classes to kill the rich, then stealing their wealth for yourselves. That’s all it boils down to for you people.”
“You don’t understand communism at all!”
I don’t need to understand it, and I have no intention of trying. Trying to understand it would be a waste of time.
“Why would I bother? It sounds ideal when you just listen to the theory, but once you experience it firsthand, communism is something you should never learn. People like you hardcore Reds wouldn’t understand that, though.”
“Stop playing word games and just kill me! Even if I die here, the revolution will rise again someday!”
I was going to kill him anyway. Honestly, there was no reason for me to waste my breath on him like this.
“Don’t worry. Thanks to you people, I will become the master of a new Russian Empire.”
“What?”
“I’m going to suck out all the sweetness you created and mix it into capitalism. Just like how you used sweet words to coax the people and bind them to the party, I’ll simply change the name and do the same.”
“You’re saying everything we’ve done has only been an advantage for you?”
“That’s right. I’m truly grateful. Thanks to you, the Romanovs will rise again.”
“!!”
This should be enough. I had played along with the loser quite diligently until now.
“By the way. I’ve been going along with you so far, but I should speak properly now. You’re not Trotsky.”
This guy isn’t Trotsky. He might look a little similar, but he’s not. I know that man’s face very well. This isn’t it.
“!!!”
“The Romanov saint Rasputin revealed it to me.”
If he were a hardcore Russian communist, this approach would be more effective. Mentioning Rasputin—who bore significant responsibility for the fall of Imperial Russia—and claiming that the new Russia would be influenced by that saint. What a shame. If it were real, it would have been perfect. How absurd it must feel for the man who thought he had achieved the proletarian revolution. The woman he had been fighting was now saying she would rebuild the country that Rasputin had dominated.
“Aaaaaaaaagh!”
Even so, the fake Trotsky began to scream. He let out a shriek unbecoming of his age and wept.
I called in Pyotr Yudenich, who had been waiting outside.
“Take this fake Trotsky away. Tomorrow, in front of the Reds, announce that the real one put up a fake and fled, abandoning you all. Then finish mopping up the remaining Reds.”
“Yes.”
Well then. The Red-White Civil War was finally drawing to a close.
After this civil war ends… what will become of me? In the worst case, if a Russia that no longer needs me is born, then I suppose I’ll just have to go to America or Britain.
Kaiser Wilhelm II of the German Empire was closely watching the situation of the Russian Civil War. Naturally, if Russia turned red, the next country they would target would surely be Germany. For that reason, Germany had been paying close attention to the Russian Civil War.
And now, the end of that civil war was finally in sight.
“Princess Anastasia has occupied Petrograd? Impressive. As expected, our German weapons truly are magnificent.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.”
Strictly speaking, they had only received some assistance. The battles for Moscow and Petrograd had largely been won through the strength of the White Army. But that was none of Wilhelm II’s concern.
“Once this civil war ends, perhaps it would be worth proposing a marriage alliance. Don’t we have Prince Joachim, who is divorced?”
Joachim of Prussia. The sixth son of Wilhelm II. In actual history, shortly after the end of World War I, his wife Marie Auguste had filed for divorce to run away with another man. In 1920, he committed suicide by gunshot in Potsdam.
In this changed history, the Hohenzollern imperial family, whose bloodline had been preserved, had instead cast out the unfaithful wife Marie Auguste, and Prince Joachim was still alive. Wilhelm II was plotting to attach this Joachim to Anastasia.
But before that—
“Now then, it is time to raise the army once more. With France off its guard, now is the perfect opportunity.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
However, Wilhelm II did not know. Many within the military were dissatisfied with his previous independent behind-the-scenes negotiations. These men had joined Rosa Luxemburg’s revolutionary forces. And that the day of revolution was not far off.