Chapter 167
Chapter 167
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 167
Chapter Title: Albatross Operation (3)
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Petrograd's morning was still as peaceful as it had been in the days of St. Petersburg, in stark contrast to the frantic front lines.
The people of Petrograd greeted their neighbors as usual on their way to work, and merchants opened their shops to welcome customers.
It was an ironic sight considering they were at war, but this was an era when most people believed war was something soldiers fought—distant from civilians in the rear unless they were unfortunate enough to be caught in the front lines.
The residents of Russia's capital, Petrograd, were no different. They worried about family members at the front and fumed at the stalled progress, but still treated the war as something remote from their own lives.
"Hey, Mom! Look, there's a huge balloon flying in the sky!"
"Sasha, what are you talking... Huh?"
But unfortunately, this world war—brimming with all sorts of new technologies—was a conflict that defied all previous common sense.
Bwoooong───
As the sun rose, massive Zeppelin airships appeared leisurely over Petrograd, casting enormous shadows over the city and its people.
And not just one or two.
By rough count, there were more than ten.
Yet the people of Petrograd, regardless of status, froze in place, staring blankly at these uninvited guests hovering over their city.
What on earth are those?
Why have they appeared over Petrograd?
What should we do?
A whirlwind of thoughts raced through the minds of the city's residents.
But one thing they all had in common was that no one had anticipated the events unfolding before their eyes.
Whiiiiiing───
The silence didn't last.
Kwaaang───!!
The grand Leviathans crafted by the German Empire began raining steel and fire onto the heart of the Russian Empire.
One unlucky building took a direct hit from a bomb, collapsing amid a deafening explosion, and the stunned onlookers finally snapped out of it, their faces twisted in terror as they forced their frozen legs to move.
"Kyaa... Kyaaaaaaa!!"
"B-bombing! The Germans are burning Petrograd!"
"Waaaaaah! Mommy!"
"Save me! I don't want to die!"
People screamed in panic, fleeing in all directions to escape the airships.
Petrograd's streets turned into pandemonium in an instant, as if the morning peace had been a lie, and the Zeppelins gleefully dropped bombs and incendiaries, fueling the rising flames.
Whiiiiiing───Kwaaang!
"Aaaargh! Get out of my way, don't block the road!"
"H-how rude! I'm a nobleman!"
"Screw that! Nobles, schmoles—who cares right now?!"
"Kuhk!"
A nobleman, draped in expensive silk, who had always lorded over laborers, was shoved into the muddy street by the very same "lowly" workers he scorned.
Terrified children wailed for their parents, merchants abandoned their precious shops to sprint down the streets, and even the police—who should have been restoring order—joined the fleeing masses, pale with fear.
For those who had lived far from war's touch, this sudden reality was pure shock and horror.
And the Romanov family in the Winter Palace felt it just the same.
Kwaaang───!
"Your Majesty, this way. Please hurry!"
"Wait. I can't leave the children—the children!"
"The Grand Duchesses and the Tsarevich will be brought by others. No need to worry..."
"Do I look like I shouldn't worry?! Those damned Billy's airships are dropping bombs on my city—my palace!"
The Guard Captain bowed his head apologetically at Tsar Nicholas II's roar, his face flushed with rage and fear.
In truth, the Zeppelins were focused on bombing the city proper and hadn't targeted the Winter Palace specifically, but the Emperor and Empress were human too—they couldn't hide their terror at this unprecedented air raid.
And the first thought in their minds was, naturally, their children.
Stripped of their noble titles, Nicholas II and Empress Alexandra were still parents.
Of course, their excessive love for their children had led them to bring Rasputin—the harbinger of the empire's doom—into the palace.
In any case, despite the Guard Captain's anxious pleas to evacuate the imperial couple first, the Tsar and Tsarina headed toward the opposite side of the palace in search of their children.
"Father! Mother!"
"Oh, Olga! Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei too. Thank God you're all safe!"
Fortunately, the five OTMAA siblings—led by the eldest, Olga, and escorted by guards with anxious faces—were evacuating not far from where Nicholas II and Empress Alexandra were.
"You led your siblings calmly and well. Good job, Olga."
"More importantly, Father, Alexei's not doing well. The sudden chaos must have scared him."
Grand Duchess Olga spoke worriedly to her parents, who were silently offering prayers of thanks that their children were unharmed.
Tsarevich Alexei, already frail from hemophilia, had apparently worsened from the shock of this first-time pandemonium; he was pale-faced and slung over a guard's back.
"We'd better send for Rasputin right away."
The Tsar muttered, gazing worriedly at his "sickly finger," Alexei.
The very Rasputin, meanwhile, hadn't spared a thought for the imperial family's safety; he'd been frolicking with one of his many lovers since morning when the Zeppelin raid terrified him into hiding, trembling in a closet and abandoning all dignity.
Of course, the Tsar family—who had blinded themselves to Rasputin's lechery, dismissing criticisms of his massive lower endowments—remained oblivious.
"First, let's all head to safety. Staying here is dangerous."
"Yes, Father."
Grand Duchess Olga nodded obediently.
She worried for her brother, but evacuation came first.
As the imperial family made their way to a safe shelter, the Zeppelins—having dropped all their bombs—departed like office workers clocking out early, heading back to base as if they had no further business here.
The people of Petrograd sighed in relief as the German airships that seemed poised to raze the city withdrew, collapsing exhausted onto the ground.
War was no longer just the soldiers' affair.
They had learned that the hard way.
"I am disappointed in you all."
The next day.
Though a cool breeze was starting to blow, the summer heat hadn't fully faded—yet the Winter Palace lived up to its name, swept by a chill as biting as Siberian midwinter.
Petrograd had been set ablaze.
His wife and precious children—whom he wouldn't trade for the world in his eyes—had been in danger.
Nicholas II's fury was greater than ever, and the generals trembled, fearing he would hold them accountable.
"Your Majesty, they were simply caught off guard by the unexpected German air raid. The actual damage isn't severe."
One general mustered the courage to speak.
Indeed, numerically, the raid's damage to the Russian Empire wasn't that high.
A few dozen unlucky buildings collapsed or were damaged, property losses were less than expected, and casualties numbered only about two hundred.
"Is that what you call this?! Petrograd was attacked. The imperial capital—untouched by any foe since Peter the Great built it, not even by Napoleon—defiled by those German barbarians!"
But no amount of "minimal damage" talk could quell the Tsar's rage.
Unlike the Germans' expectations, the physical wounds to Petrograd were shallow, but the scars on its people's hearts ran deep.
Even Nicholas II had lain awake, haunted by the thought of what might have befallen his wife and children.
With reports of citizens' fear and panic reaching the Tsar's ears—and even refugees fleeing to rear areas like Moscow—how could minimal direct damage bring reassurance?
Especially when those cruel Germans might send more airships anytime.
No matter how incompetent Nicholas II was, he could see this would further unsettle the already fragile imperial morale.
"Those German airships came from the Imperial Navy—the same Kaiserliche Marine that ravaged Riga and the Gulf of Finland just days ago!"
"Your Majesty, that is..."
Admiral Essen, uneasy at the mention of the Imperial Navy, hurried to speak.
But before he could, the Tsar's command rained down on him.
"Admiral Essen, sortie the Baltic Fleet!"
"Your Majesty!"
"I will not tolerate refusal. I can no longer abide the German Navy's arrogance. This concerns the pride of our Russian Empire and the safety of its subjects!"
All eyes in the audience chamber turned to Admiral Essen at the Tsar's furious shout.
He had no allies here.
"...As you command."
The admiral could only groan and bow his head.
"Your Majesty, the Baltic Fleet has sortied from Kronstadt."
"Good. Now everything rests on Heinrich."
"Prince Heinrich will handle the Russian fleet admirably."
Wilhelm II nodded at my words.
He might be obsessed with airplanes, but he was undeniably capable as an admiral.
Prince Heinrich would surely return victorious.
"That said, the airship raid's results are disappointingly meager."
Zeppelins weren't some overpowered Soviet game boss with plot armor; they couldn't defy real-world limits.
"And these incendiaries are useless too. Nothing like what the Navy and Admiral Tirpitz hyped— they barely lit a few campfires in Petrograd."
"Well, we achieved our goal of drawing out the Baltic Fleet."
Besides, the psychological shock to the Russians from the Petrograd raid was far from negligible.
Of course, to the kill-efficiency-obsessed Germans, psychological effects were secondary to raw destruction.
In real history, the Zeppelins' poor performance heavily influenced the Luftwaffe's shift to tactical air forces.
The British, facing the unprecedented bombing of London—untouched since William the Conqueror—went mad for bombers in response.
They were so fixated that during World War I, they developed the Handley Page Type O bomber, capable of striking Berlin from British soil.
No wonder bomber invincibility theory flourished in interwar Britain.
"Still, it's too early to dismiss strategic bombing entirely. Zeppelins have clear limits, as you say, but Gotha is developing bombers to replace them. Technology holds us back, but it's worth watching."
I'm no bomber zealot, but an air force reliant solely on tactical bombers without a proper strategic one felt lacking.
"Hmm, if you say so. In any case, now we await news from the Baltic."
"Yes."
The Kaiser and I gazed at the cloudless sky.
May Prince Heinrich bring tidings of victory.