The Reincarnation of Amaterasu
In the Russian United States, the war was finally drawing to a close.
Mutaguchi Renya. He had graduated from the Imperial Japanese Army Academy in 1910 and, at the age of twenty-nine in 1917, from the Army War College. In the original timeline he would have fought in the Siberian Intervention, but with that campaign rendered impossible, Renya had instead been dispatched by Japan to the Korean Peninsula. His mission was to prepare for the future occupation of South Manchuria once Russia and Japan formally partitioned the region.
Stationed with the South Manchurian Garrison Army in northern Korea, he had taken part in operations to suppress Chinese bandits in Manchuria. It was there that his path began to diverge from the one history had written for him.
One day, while leading yet another bandit extermination mission, Mutaguchi Renya received new orders from Tokyo.
Infiltrate Roman von Ungern-Sternberg’s Asiatic Cavalry Division and gather detailed intelligence on the White Army’s situation.
The task was simple enough on paper: slip into the Asiatic Cavalry Division that Ungern was recruiting and report back on the state of the White forces in the Far East. But from the very beginning, the plan was thwarted by the very Koreans whose presence he could not explain.
“This bastard—isn’t he a Jap?”
“Ahem. I came here to earn money.”
“Why? You people make more back in your own country, don’t you?”
These were the very Korean independence fighters who had rejected the Emperor’s benevolence and fled to the Asiatic Cavalry Division. And yet they were being so unreasonably difficult.
“Not every Japanese person lives well and eats well.”
“Sorry, but that’s not going to work. You’re an unidentified Japanese national. Even if you were genuinely eager to join the Asiatic Cavalry Division, do you really think you could survive among the Koreans?”
Thanks to Ungern’s aggressive expansion, the Asiatic Cavalry Division had grown massively, extending its influence into North Manchuria and even Jilin. As a result, large numbers of Koreans had poured in—including Hong Beom-do and the independence fighters under his command.
Unlike in the original history, Hong Beom-do had joined the division while still engaged in the independence movement, using it as a base to prepare for the future. He stared at this suspicious Japanese officer with clear skepticism. Could the man truly endure life among the very Koreans his country had colonized?
“Hmph! That is a matter of Yamato spirit!”
“You grow more suspicious by the second. Get lost!”
And so Mutaguchi Renya was unceremoniously driven out by Hong Beom-do, commander of the Korean cavalry detachment within the Asiatic Cavalry Division.
But Renya did not give up. It wasn’t that he was afraid—he simply concluded that observing the situation directly would be far more useful than trying to embed himself among the Koreans.
Besides, what could I possibly learn by watching the Far East? I shall meet this so-called Saint of Russia in person!
From that moment on, Mutaguchi Renya changed his approach. He would send a report to Tokyo about the Asiatic Cavalry Division’s operations and then attach himself to the Japanese diplomatic staff recently dispatched to White Russia.
In simpler terms, he intended to tag along.
Merely informing headquarters how the Asiatic Cavalry Division was being run would be enough. The rest he would handle himself.
“What’s this Jap doing here?”
“Beats me. Says he wants to see the civil war for himself.”
“What a character.”
And so Mutaguchi Renya traveled by rail alongside American troops delivering supplies to the White Army. Upon reaching Yekaterinburg, he was granted an audience with the equestrian Empress, Anastasia.
So this is the Empress of Russia? Truly remarkable for this era. Yes… she is exactly like Amaterasu!
To see a woman personally riding at the head of her troops and commanding them in the twentieth century was deeply moving. Especially when that woman was a princess.
Of course, if Anastasia—who had been forced to grab the White Army by the collar and drag it back from the brink while trying to win back a populace that had fled to the Bolsheviks—had heard such nonsense, she would have called it utter drivel. But that was how Mutaguchi Renya saw her.
She truly appeared to be the reincarnation of Amaterasu in Russia. It had nothing to do with Anastasia once calling him a man destined for greatness. No, heroes recognize heroes. Just as the Russian Empress had seen something in him, he had seen something in her.
Her majestic bearing was in no way inferior to that of His Majesty the Emperor of Japan. A woman who could ride into a hail of bullets and artillery shells could only be the reincarnation of Amaterasu.
If that was the case, then surely His Majesty the Emperor of Japan should personally lead the Imperial Army into South Manchuria, exterminate the Chinese bandits, and conquer China?
Boom! Kwaaang! Boooom!
The Battle of Moscow, personally commanded by Charina, had been equally spectacular. Thanks to Charina Anastasia, the White Army’s morale had soared, and the Reds had been no match at all.
Mutaguchi Renya reported everything he had witnessed back to Japan. The news that a figure previously dismissed as a mere figurehead was personally leading troops and crushing the Bolsheviks convinced Tokyo that competing with Russia over Manchuria was pointless. Instead, the partition of Manchuria was finalized without delay.
After the recapture of Petrograd, the new regime had been busy dealing with internal Bolshevik elements. Those who had been forcibly conscripted by hardcore Bolsheviks were pardoned and released. Those who declared they would remain Reds even in death were executed en masse by the White Army’s furious gunfire.
Executions of hardcore Bolsheviks were taking place across every recaptured region. In some cities, men who had been coerced into the Red Army now fought alongside the Whites, beating down the very Bolsheviks they had once served.
Every city in Russia was now stained with hatred and rage toward the Bolsheviks. The new Russia was born from the blood-soaked sea of civil war, its destiny forged in the hatred and extermination of the Bolsheviks.
“What of Makhno?”
“We are currently negotiating with the British to establish the eastern part of Ukraine, east of the Dnieper River, as Makhno’s Anarchist Free Territory.”
Makhno’s Anarchist Free Territory. The Ukrainian lands currently held by Russia consisted of the modern-day Donetsk and Luhansk regions plus the Crimean Peninsula. West of the Dnieper lay the pro-British Ukrainian Republic. In other words, Makhno’s Free Territory was tightly sandwiched between the two.
It would be swallowed up at the appropriate time. The British were no fools; they would understand why Russia had allowed the anarchists to survive. Effectively, Ukraine had been split roughly in half between Russia and Britain.
I felt a twinge of sympathy for the Ukraine of my old world, but considering the real history in which it was trampled by the Soviet Union, this outcome was surely far better.
“Your Highness. General Brusilov’s forces have also completed the suppression of the remaining Red Army units that participated in the Western Offensive.”
In the convened Duma, Kolchak spoke as representative.
“I see.”
By now the Communist Party leadership had essentially been fed through the guillotine—or rather, firing squads. The remnants of their army had joined Trotsky’s defense of Petrograd only to be wiped out. With their remaining numbers, further resistance had been impossible.
It was a shame about the three newly independent Baltic states, but there was nothing to be done. While Makhno could be used to swallow eastern Ukraine, extending influence into the Baltics would require treading carefully around British interests.
In that case, perhaps it was time to turn our attention to China.
No. In truth, my time in this place would not last much longer. The Duma would soon reach a conclusion on what kind of Russia it wished to build.
“Should we not settle the matter of the capital soon?”
The capital. My opinion on that had not changed. Of course, there was no better choice than Moscow. Yekaterinburg was certainly a fine city, but it felt somewhat inadequate as the capital of all Russia.
“Is not Petrograd’s location far too vulnerable? Even though I also serve as Queen of Finland, it lies too close to foreign soil. In the event of war, it would be exposed to naval bombardment. Moreover, aside from the palace, the city suffered considerable damage. The same is true of Moscow. Until both cities are rebuilt, it would be wiser to keep the capital in Yekaterinburg. And there is a more urgent issue to address.”
There were matters more pressing than the location of the capital. As I had mentioned earlier, the future direction of Russia itself.
I had proposed a federal constitutional monarchy—a Russian United States. On the surface it sounded reasonable, but given that it was an ideological amalgamation carrying faint traces of socialism, I fully expected an ending in which the United States became exactly like America and I was driven out.
I tried to calm my pounding heart.
If there was no Soviet Union, what would emerge instead?
“Yes. We have already gathered the prevailing opinion.”
Already? How fast. It seemed the time had come to steel myself.
“Very well. Let me hear it.”
Yes. I had always been ready to shed a single tear and depart for another country. Go ahead. You’ve done your duty. The future Russia is destined to become a democratic republic. Or perhaps: The imperial family must not exist in the new socialist Russia. Please go into exile in another country.
If my exile was decided here, I would immediately throw away the Finnish queenship and flee to Britain—
“The prevailing opinion of the Duma is unanimous. We ask that Your Highness become our Charina.”
What?
Had I heard that correctly?
Yes. On something this important, one must be precise.
If only the people who supported me were asking me to become Charina, it would make no sense. I rose from my seat, placed a hand over my heart, and spoke with dignity.
“I am the daughter of a father who ruined the country. If there is merit in my efforts to clean up the civil war, should it not be considered merely the repayment of my father’s sins?”
“Already, millions of White soldiers across Greater Russia have sworn loyalty to Your Highness. You have announced various reform measures and stand at the forefront of resolving Russia’s immediate problems. In the current situation, no one who becomes head of state could possibly surpass Your Highness.”
So that was what they were saying.
Had I truly heard them correctly with my own ears?
Wondering if it made any sense at all, I asked again.
“Then you are asking me to become your Charina. Does that mean the Duma has accepted the proposal for a United States?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“At least it is a constitutional monarchy. That is fortunate.”
There was a Duma, and I intended to grant it real power. Even if I became Charina, under a constitutional monarchy Russia would become something like Britain.
Whether I liked it or not, the symbolic value of my Romanov name had grown far too great to discard.
“Yes. Please ascend to the position of Empress and become the Charina of all Russia—from the British seas to the taiga.”
They certainly had a way with words.
But had even the socialist factions agreed to this? The Green Army might not be Bolsheviks, but they were still socialists at heart.
“Is it unanimous? Not a single person may hold objections.”
“Everyone shares the same thought. To overcome the current crisis, a strong leader is necessary. Kerensky was too weak and lost power to the Bolsheviks, but Your Highness personally suppressed the Red rebellion.”
I had suppressed the Bolsheviks to survive. Honestly, judging by the way those Bolshevik bastards behaved, even if I had gone into exile they probably would have sent the NKVD to kidnap and kill me. After the Russian Civil War in real history, White Russian organizations formed abroad were frequently infiltrated by the NKVD, with members kidnapped and executed in the Soviet Union. If they wouldn’t even spare the imperial family, then leading the Whites to victory in the civil war had been an exceptionally good choice for my own future as well.
And now they wanted me to become Charina on top of that.
Would the German-Soviet War become a German-Russian War? I didn’t know whether a German-Russian War would even occur, but I had to crush Hitler before he grew strong—just as in real history. I would have to oppose the remilitarization of the Rhineland or use General Gaida to smash Germany when it tried to tear apart Czechoslovakia. But that was still a distant matter.
For now, the immediate reality was that I had ascended to the position of Empress against all odds.
The Tsar—Tsarina—of all Russia.
“I am relieved that you think so highly of me.”
Ah, there was no escaping it. Truly.
Why did I have to play at being Emperor when it was never in my fate? I had never seriously intended to stay here. Even if it meant being cursed, perhaps I should have fled during the civil war. But no, even then that would have been wrong.
“Let us hold the coronation on an auspicious day in Yekaterinburg.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
It was the moment the Russian United States—or the Federal Empire, as it would also be called—was born.