The Romanov Rescue
- Автор: Кратман Том, Watson Justin
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Baen
- ISBN: 978-1-9821-2570-7
- Жанр: Альтернативная история
Электронная книга - «The Romanov Rescue». Краткое содержание книги:
As WWI comes to a close a German general, an escaped prisoner of war, and the crew of an airship converge to effect THE ROMANOV RESCUE. Can there be a world without communism?
Mankind’s history is bound up in the fabric of fate, a strong cloth, tough and closely woven.
It is the beginning of 1918, the last year of the greatest war in human history, to date. All the belligerents stagger on their feet. Starvation is an ever present reality, while disease waits in the wings. In Russia, no longer a belligerent but, instead, rapidly descending into civil war and chaos, a lone family—Father, Mother, four beautiful young girls, and a brave but sickly boy—await their own fate, shivering and hungry in the dark, hoping and praying for salvation.
Their relatives in England have turned their backs. The guards set over them do little but torment them. They look Heavenward, but God doesn’t answer. They know they’re a threat to the new regime, a threat that will, in time, be eliminated.
But even the strongest fabric has flaws. An escaped prisoner of war, caught, injured, and punished, but still highly capable, might be one. An airship, returned and at loose ends after a failed mission to Africa might be another. A German general, taking a wrong turn on his nightly walk and suddenly coming face to face with the reality of the monster rising in the east, would be a third.
Follow, then, as the general gives the orders, the prisoner of war raises the men from among his fellows, and the airship launches itself forward, to contest fate, to tear the fabric of time, and to effect The Romanov Rescue.
About the Carrera series:
One minute. Blagov and Mayevsky are opening the front doors, the ones facing the town. It’s still lit… AHA! That was something I missed. While the town is lit, the guards’ eyes will be used to light and less likely to see us. No lights between here and our assault positions.
And another thing; why the hell didn’t I arrange to get some vodka smuggled to the old regiment of guards to put them at ease or asleep? Am I going to lose men and Romanovs because I didn’t?
Ten seconds… nine… eight… seven… good luck, boys… five… four… God go with you… two… this is a holy cause!
The three columns left at the same time, with Dratvin’s detached third platoon peeling off half to the left and Cherimisov’s first peeling off to the right. They had the longest way to go, since they had to get at least one squad and the platoon’s Lewis gun all the way around the Kornilov House without alerting the guards.
In the center, behind Second Platoon, following Lieutenant Collan, the short Finn, Daniil and his command group trotted along, to the east-northeast. Behind Daniil, under a couple of guards, Chekov and Dostovalov simply could not keep up, given how their legs were bound. Even so, they crouched as low as possible while shuffling forward, an approach that set the guards to wondering if perhaps they could be trusted.
Daniil and his party passed across barren fields, over a thirty-foot wide patch of ice, then more fields before entering some woods. They they veered slightly to the right, following the woods to an open field.
Looking east, illuminated by street lights, he saw an open field and Cherimisov’s men past it, hard up against a building that stood perhaps ninety or so arshini west of the target. Daniil held up one hand and whispered, “We wait here.”
Still looking, Daniil was able to discern single guards, none too alert, at the corners of the stockade around the Governor’s House, plus two men at the gate. He’d seen earlier that this pattern was repeated to the east.
Well, we’ve got the ladders to get men over the stockade quickly.
After some minutes, Chekov and Dostovalov joined them.
“Now keep quiet,” Kostyshakov reminded them.
“Yes, sir,” they both said, almost as if they considered themselves part of the rescue effort.
Well, thought Chekov, maybe I do.
“Take their bindings off them,” Kostyshakov told their guards, “but watch them even so.”
South of the Kornilov House
Lieutenant Molchalin had never been the overly talkative type, anyway. Tonight, this was an advantage. He led his reinforced platoon due west, across the same barren fields and frozen streams Kostyshakov had crossed. Before reaching Great Friday Street he detailed off the infantry cannon west of Little Pyatnitskaya Street.
“Federov, your two guns and the antitank rifle here. Is there any problem with firing on the Kornilov House?”
“Not the ground and upper floors; they’re easy. I can displace forward as the enemy gets suppressed to engage the basement windows if I need to.”
“Right. Shouldn’t. You’ll know they’re suppressed by the amount of screaming you hear as the fire reaches them.”
“Now wait a minute,” Federov said. “Did you just tell a joke? The ever so silent and serious Lieutenant Molchalin told a joke? I can’t wait to write my parents …”
He stopped his quiet little tirade only because he realized that, without a word, Molchalin had simply left him behind.
At Great Friday Street, by the opposite corner from the Cathedral of the Annunciation, Molchalin halted them, gathering the lot into a very tight lump of humanity.
“Nomonkov?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Anyone looking our way from the Kornilov House?”
The sniper, with his remarkable vision, looked northward, scanning carefully left to right and then right to left again. “No, sir.”
Taking the sniper’s word, Molchalin led his platoon pell-mell, charging across the street and into the cover provided by the church.
“Nomonkov?”
“Here, sir.”
“You and your spotter, up into the bell tower. The church is open. Don’t ring any bells. Your orientation is generally to the north.”
“Yes, sir. Come on, Strelnikov.” Without another word, his spotter and guard in tow, the sniper went to the main church door to find that it was, indeed, open.
From there, Molchalin led the rest of his platoon north. Just shy of Tuljatskaya Street he dropped off two squads and two of the flamethrowers with his platoon sergeant. He then, with his headquarters, one squad, the Lewis Gun, the other sniper team, and the other two flamethrowers, skirted wide around the Kornilov House before taking up a position to its northeast.
They found a single guard, armed but passed out apparently drunk, in the lee of one of the buildings. Without another word, Molchalin cut the man’s throat. No sense taking needless chances.
“Ladder, here,” Molanchin ordered, then stood by as the squad with him erected one ladder on the far side of a building from both the Governor’s and Kornilov houses. That squad, with the Lewis gun team, scrambled up then took station behind the peak of the roof.
Sergeant Oblonsky and Corporal Panfil went through the routine of unlimbering their guns, maneuvering the limber, and getting the ammunition chests opened. Though they’d done it for speed, and silently, many times before, this time was different.
This time, thought Panfil, we might just get our fucking heads blown off.
“Gunner,” Panfil whispered, “take aim at the northernmost window on the upper floor. Once this circus starts, we’ll put a round in every window, then start again at the northern one. Unless of course, someone shoots back when he gets his own little donation of shells.”
Meanwhile, Sergeant Oblonsky was giving slightly opposite instructions to his gunner: “Main floor, southern window.”
“And now we wait for a bit,” said Federov.
Girls’ School, Tobolsk
Billeting troops in a place that doesn’t have barracks, and where it’s too cold for tents, even if available, is a problem. Occupy the government buildings? This brings government to a screeching halt. Occupy factories? The economic costs of this can be devastating. Occupy hospitals? Not a great idea, actually. Put them in peoples’ homes? Ask the British how badly that can turn out.
So… schools. Education may be delayed, but that can be made up by shortening vacations. They’ve got offices. They’re almost always well heated. Commonly they’ve a kitchen suitable for feeding large numbers. There will be gymnasiums and nearby open fields for physical training.
It was never entirely clear if the commander of the men from Omsk, A. D. Demyanov, really understood any of this. Expelled from a seminary, his military credentials were vanishingly tiny. But he had seen the Girls’ School as a place out of the cold. This was enough.
Of course, his men ran riot in the town, creating one incident after another. He not only lacked any clue as to how to control them, Demyanov also had no interest in controlling them.
His assistant, Degtyarev, was a former cavalry ensign. Thus, while he did have some military training, he—the current Bolshevik—had formerly, some years before, in university, been a member in good standing in the Union of Archangel Michael, one of Russia’s more reactionary groups. Having held membership in both tended to indicate a certain fecklessness and lack of principle in former Ensign Degtyarev.