Chapter 04
Alexander
25 February, 1939
When the car came to a stop, an officer walked over to the passenger door, opened it, and saluted. Alexander stepped out and returned the salute, then adjusted his clothes. He was wearing a smart uniform that had been granted him, bearing the rank of a colonel. It made him feel silly all over, because he knew, deep down, he wasn’t truly a colonel. He was an “honorary colonel” to the 28th Udarnaya Division, which meant little more than visiting the troops every now and then and keeping their spirits up, showing them that the Tsarina’s family truly cared about them. Yes indeed, it meant little – after all, Olga was an honorary colonel as well.
After making certain his tunic was all set, he walked over to the nearby building, marked on the outside with the rank of a general. When he entered the command building, he was greeted at the desk by a young major. The man, upon recognizing him, immediately stood up. “Your highness. A pleasure to see you! I hope you are well.”
“I am well, yes.” Alexander took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. He mused for a moment that he would soon need a haircut. Those were often provided within the palace. “Is General Pokrovskiy here?”
“Yes, your highness, he’s in his office. He refuses to go home, even though he looks miserable. He hasn’t been well, I’m afraid.”
“Ah. I would like to see if, if that is alright.”
“Yes, it is most alright.” The major walked over and knocked on the door. A muffled voice called out from the other side, after which the major opened the door and motioned to Alexander. “You may go on in, your highness.”
Alexandered nodded a thanks, then went to the door and walked into the room. The door clicked behind him.
There, seated at a desk, was Viktor Pokrovskiy, commander of the 28th Udarnaya Division. When the general turned to look at him, Alexander immediately froze in his tracks. The first thing he noticed were those hawk-like eyes which stared right at him – no, seemed to stare right into him. Their color was cold and ice-gray, which only added to the shock of his first glance. All this, despite the fact that the man was sick. His skin was a bit paler than was normal, and some sweat had built around his temples. He held up a handkerchief and coughed into it, before standing to attention.
“Your highness,” he replied. He spoke with a commanding tone that demanded to be respected – even though he had followed proper protocol.
“G-General Pokrovskiy,” Alexander remarked. He immediately realized he had stuttered and cursed himself. Not a good start. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“And a pleasure to see you well. Forgive my state, your highness.” He coughed again, then smirked. “Or should I refer to you as colonel?”
Alexander felt a bit of blood rush to his cheeks. Another harsh reminder that he was, in fact, merely an
honorary colonel. “Your highness will do.”
“Very good.” He coughed again, then sat down in his chair. “What brings you to my office?”
“I wish to make a personal request of you, General Pokrovskiy.” Alexander inhaled deep a moment. “I wish to ask you to request permission that I join your ranks.”
To Alexander’s surprise, no emotional change came from Pokrovskiy’s eyes. He didn’t lift his eyebrows in surprise, he didn’t widen his eyes in shock, he didn’t curl his lips in condescending laughter or mild amusement. No… he just stared at him. It unnerved the tsarevich, for once again the hawk-like nature of the general’s eyes revealed itself. It was as if he were studying Alexander, reaching into his mind, trying to see what he was thinking.
At last, the general spoke. “What are you hoping for? Colonel? General? My personal aide?”
“Whatever rank you will suffice. I will lead a platoon, if need be.”
Once again, the general made no statement. Those eyes of his continued to stare into Alexander’s. At last he gave a great cough, and said, “What if you die in battle?”
“Then it as fate for me to die in battle.”
Pokrovskiy seemed to consider those words a moment. “Fate is often strange.” More coughs. “I was trained to be an aviator in Sevastpol. Did you know that? I commanded planes in the war. When the Civil War broke out?” The general chuckled. “I was in charge of an army unit. Now look at me – I’m commanding tanks.” The mirth left his eyes now. “Many complained because I hung prisoners. They were Bolshevik prisoners, mind you. Rabid animals, past all reasoning. They understanding nothing but destruction. You know what they did to your mother’s family. Lenin himself ordered that – what do you make of that? When the head is sick, where goes the body? Besides…” Pokrovskiy pursed his lips in thought. “A hanging Bolshevik animates the landscape…”
A chill ran up Alexander’s spine. What sort of Russia had been the Russia of the Civil War? It was bad enough to hear of the murder of his aunts and uncle, his grandmother and grandfather, all of them killed in cold blood when they served no real threat to the Bolsheviks… what else had gone on within the country?
“What makes you so eager to join the military?” Pokrovskiy asked.
“I… well I see the way the world is going, and I feel powerless to do anything. I look at Spain, and see how there are still three factions fighting one another, even after all this time.”
Pokrovskiy nodded. “The Republicans are pushing back. No sign of an end soon. And the Communists are helped by some Bolshevik expatriates… I hope the Falangelists or the Republicans hang the whole lot of them.”
“And I see the war that Germany has started. I look at the battles in Czechoslovakia, and see them fighting with no end. Did you hear about the heroic stand some of them took?”
“Ah yes, the Battle of the Liberec Pocket, as some are calling it. Five Czech divisions. They were surrounded on 25 January. Surrendered 15 February. Twenty-two days, holding out, even as the Germans pushed the front lines ever way from them. That’s almost as long as it took the Germans to take Prague.” The general coughed. “Good soldiers, wasted.”
“They shouldn’t be wasted. And now I see Italy invading France, and now they have their eyes set on Yugoslavia. Germany and Italy will declare war on them soon, won’t they?”
“They would be fools to do so – Britain shall have none of that.” Pokrovskiy shook his head. “But what matters are these to you? What will do you by joining the army?”
“Because I cannot believe Russia will be at peace forever.”
Once again, Pokrovskiy went silent. Once again, those eyes seemed to probe around Alexander’s very soul. Then, at last, a grin crept across the general’s lips. “And perhaps, in that retrospect, you are much brighter than many military officers four times your age.” The general coughed. “I cannot see Hitler remaining at peace with the Empire for long. No… we have land he could use, and I hear he has no love for the Russian people, let alone the Tsarina. If we do not go to war with him… there may come a time when he will come to war with us.” The hardness of his stare returned as he fixated himself on Alexander. “You understand, your highness, that the army is not playtime with your friends. And war is not all parades and drill marches.”
Alexander felt his hands balled into fists. “General… I’ve been held to the ground by two Bolsheviks and made to watch a gun aimed at my mother… nothing will scare me.”
Pokrovskiy’s brow furrowed, and for a moment, Alexander worried he was about to get a gentle rebuke. Then, in a low voice, the general asked, “It took two Bolsheviks to hold you down?”
Alexander nodded.
The general stood up again. With a cough, he walked over and patted the boy on the shoulder. “I shall write my recommendation. If I had more soldiers like you during the Civil War, it may well have ended sooner.”
Alexander grinned. In the spirit of excitement, he suddenly snapped his shoes together and saluted. “Thank you, general!”
Pokrovskiy waved his hand and coughed again. “Not yet, not yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that.”