Chapter 20
Alexander
29 June, 1938
Ever since his mother had taken the throne, Alexander had been trained every day to be the future tsar.
You’re the heir, he was reminded over and over again. He had to learn how to act like a ruler, how to understand statecraft, and how to lead his people even in the most dire of times that might befall Russia. He didn’t like much of the talk, since it seemed to consist of his mother being dead, and he had already experienced one dramatic moment where she had nearly been taken from him forever. You don’t forget a thing like that as a young man: when men barge into your home, drag you and your sister into the main room of the house, and point a rifle at your mother’s head. He was grateful the Okhrana agent came when he did, but you still didn’t forget a thing like that.
He also didn’t like the talks – as rare as they were – that he would need to marry and produce heirs of his own. This meant introducing him to every young lady who came to the palaces and, at times, “incidentally” leaving them alone together. He barely remembered any of their names – to him, they were all Grand Duchess La Dee Da, Countess Da Dee Da, and just plain Da. Some of them were certainly pretty to look at, and a few had forms that were quite nice for his youthful eyes to look at, but otherwise they were a bore, and carried little interest with him. It made things worse when Olga would gloat and fawn over every moment, talking about how handsome he looked with the various women, and how she just knew he would marry some ravishing young princess and have a dozen children. He wanted to stick his tongue out at her whenever she did.
Strangely enough, one of the few people he found comfort with, besides his parents, perhaps, was Brother Isaac. The strange monk had grown on him, and Alexander didn’t mind his company at all. Behind those rantings and strange smiles, he had noticed a strange glimmer of intelligence. There was something about the monk that made him more than meets the eye – Alexander just couldn’t put his finger on it. Even now, as they walked along the edges of the palace, he found the elderly monk far more approachable than many his own age. They had been walking along, with Isaac leaning forward on his walking staff, gently stroking the large, white beard that draped down from his face.
“Brother Isaac,” began Alexander, “do you think they would let me volunteer to serve elsewhere?”
“Hm? Ooooh, the Son of Sparrow wishes to fly! But it seems a hawk has laid the egg. Ah! But where would the hawk-sparrow fly, with one great wing and one weak one? In circles?”
“To Spain. I’ve heard that Germany and Italy sent some volunteers there. And I’ve heard the Communists have stormed Gibraltar! Gibraltar, can you believe it? They’re about to overrun the south. I could help there, and stop them. I can fight the men who helped murder my grandfather, aunts, and uncle.”
“Hmm…” Brother Isaac nodded, his gnarled hands still stroking his beard. “But a hawk does not leave eggs, the cuckoo does. And I see you do not sleep in clocks. You are a sparrow – best a sparrow tends to its own nest before seeking to fly elsewhere.”
Alexander frowned. “You’re saying that I should stay here and continue my studies.”
“Ah, my boy! I never quite know what I’m saying until my mouth quits moving!” Isaac chuckled.
“I just feel like I should be out there in the world somewhere. I have this opportunity now. Other nobles have fought, haven’t they? What about all the great Russian tsars who fought in the past? Like Ivan the Terrible?”
“Ooooh, Ivan the Terrible! Alexander the Terrible… no, perhaps Alexander the Melancholy. No…” Isaac waved his hands about and shook his head. “Ah, they will come up with a title for you. No doubt one shall be though up for your mother.”
Alexander let out a sigh and turned his face away. There would be no understanding this. “I just feel like I do little good here.”
“Ah, you must wait a few years before saving the world, I see. Our Blessed Lord had to wait thirty years before saving the world – imagine how He felt! And I must wait an eternity before I am any good.” Isaac chuckled.
Off in the distance, the sound of a large bell began to sound. Alexander gasped at it. “Oh my! It’s time for me to meet the Black Baron!”
“Oh my. You mustn’t keep the Black Baron waiting, even if you are speaking with the White Rooster. Now go, go my boy!”
Alexander hugged Brother Isaac and wished him well, then darted towards the palace doors. As soon as he entered, he cleared his throat and adjusted his clothes. His tunic had shifted a bit, and his belt and tilted, making him look unkempt. A few adjustments, and this was rectified. With slow, methodical steps that his military tutors had taught him, he continued down the halls. Guards were posted along the way, and each time he passed by one, they snapped into salute. He nodded to each one – it had been a strange experience at first, getting saluted wherever he went, but he had grown to become accustomed to it. When at last he came to the meeting hall, he turned the doorknob and entered.
Pyotr Wrangel, the famous Black Baron, stood there at a table, with maps and reports laid out before him. He had recently been appointed as Chief of the General Staff, which meant he came with a new title and specific duties. No doubt this was partially to give him more of an “official” role in government, since the full transition of power granted to Empress Anastasia had been all but accomplished. Although he still gave advise to the empress, Alexander had the feeling that Wrangel was happy to have some of the burden lifted off his shoulders and shared with someone else – he had clearly been holding the weight of all Russia on his back for far too long.
Wrangel lifted his eyes and smiled at Alexander. “Your highness. Right on time. Please, come in. I’ve been reviewing some reports from China.”
Alexander closed the door and walked over. “What is happening in China?”
“Well as you know, Japan took Beijing not too long ago. However, they are still bogged down along the line where they’ve started.” He lifted up a sheet of paper and read it over once. “Our intelligence reports say casualties have risen quite high on both sides. China’s enemies have lost over 97,000 – 84,000 of those being Japanese. The Chinese, meanwhile… have lost nearly one and a half million people.”
Alexander’s eyes widened at that news. “One and a half million? They’ll lose the war.”
Wrangel grinned at the tsarevitch. “Ah, your highness, war is about more than numbers. At Verdun, in the last war, the French lost more men than the Germans, and yet they won the battle. Consider this: Japan’s alliance has lost 97,000, with very little to show for it. Now, China has a wealth of a population to draw from for soldiers… Japan does not. If Japan does not try to do something soon, their offensive will become a quagmire.” Wrangel lifted up another report. “Intelligence reports from our troops in Mongolia report that the battles are often one-sided. In one battle observed by our troops, the Japanese brought up approximately three divisions, while the Chinese had nine. As I said, the Chinese have manpower, and while the Japanese may be better armed and trained, they do not have the affordable manpower.”
Wrangel lowered the report to the ground and looked more intently at Alexander. “I know the Japanese mindset, your highness. Their generals probably thought this would be an easy war. They probably swore up and down to their emperor that they would wipe the Chinese off the field in a matter of weeks, and the war would be over before the snow fell. Now? It has been a little over a year, and they are still stuck at the border, with little more than the capture of Beijing to celebrate. This is why I say war is more than just casualties. Do you understand?”
Alexander nodded. “I think so.”
“Let me tell you this: how do you think our armies would do if we invaded Poland and the Baltic States?”
“Poland and the Baltic States? Why, we would box their ears, for sure!”
Wrangel chuckled. “Why? Because we have a larger army? Your highness, our army is not yet ready. It is still adapting and adjusting to the war. Our weapons are still being modernized, and our troops still being better trained. We have done some war games, in the event of a war with Poland and some of the nations in the Baltics… and each one shows a hard fought struggle that would have little to show for it besides many Russian coffins.”
Alexander frowned. “Then what are we supposed to do?”
“Work on making an army that will do far better. That is what we are attempting to do here. And that is why I am training you – if you are to rule the Empire one day, you must learn that the military is not a toy to be thrown about at will.”
There was a sudden knock on the door. When Wrangel gave permission to enter, an officer came in, carrying a slip of paper. He handed it over, saluted, and was dismissed. Wrangel read it as the officer left. As he read the slip, his lips slowly curled into a frown. “I can’t believe it. They finally did it…”
“What’s wrong?” Alexander asked.
Wrangel dropped the report onto the table. “Germany just invaded Austria.”
“What? Do you mean there’s a war?”
“I doubt there will be. There’s no reports of resistance. Hitler is preparing to speak in Vienna about how he intends to incorporate Austria with the rest of Germany.”
“What will happen next?”
“I’m not certain… but I fear he will not stop there…”
