Duma State Assembly
Petrograd, Russia (Modern Day St. Petersburg)
February 23, 1917
“We demand bread!”
“Higher our wages!”
“Stop this folly of a war!”
“Tsar Nicholas, step aside!”
“Food, Land, Freedom!”
The last line was repeated by all of the demonstrators in front of the state assembly during the frigid winter morning as they demanded an end to the rationing of the country’s food and resources, which were results of an unpopular war fought for an unpopular monarch. As their regiment approached the demonstrations in front of the Duma, Ruslan and his fellow soldiers from the Volhynsky Lifeguard Regiment noticed that the demonstrators consisted of a motley crew of peasants, labor strikers, and even women protestors. They numbered in the thousands, but hundreds of them bore signs that read ’Land and Freedom.” The Imperial Guardsman , under the orders from the local garrison’s commander to suppress these revolters , had boxed in the mob and raised their weapons, Mosin-Nagin rifles, to cow the angry swarm and fire if necessary. As his comrades in arms kept their fingers on the trigger, a quaint sight captured the young man’s attention.
Are those veterans of the Great World Patriotic War?
Among the women, kulaks, and metal workers, the young guardsman spotted a few men in the khaki green garb of the Tsar’s military. While he was fortunate enough not to get deployed into the disastrous war with Germany, despite his jingoistic need to serve his country during a time of war, Ruslan really felt a strong sense of respect for those that risked their loves and limbs at the front lines. True, there was a nobility that came with serving in an elite unit of the Russian military, but other than the occasional marches to flaunt the Tsar’s power or putting down a peasant uprising or even mutineers from along their own ranks, the young man who hailed from a peasant family in the Ryazan Oblast came to see very little action. Now he felt bad seeing how the troops who put their lives on the line for Tsar Nicholas were being treated like broken toys.
Bozhe Moi! Some are even missing limbs! How can the Tsar and the War Cabinet under General Alekseyev disregard the suffering of not just the common people, but wounded war veterans as well? Are they that out of touch with reality? These people are the lifeblood of the state!
“Stand down immediately or we will open fire.”
Ruslan’s green eyes landed on the leader of the guard unit tasked with protecting the Duma. On three sides, the Leib Guard regiments, consisting of his Volhynsky regiment, had the crowd surrounded along with the Semyonovskies, the latter who separated the troublemakers from the civilians on the other side of the street. More trucks like the ones who had transported his contingent of troops arrived and unloaded the Preobrazhensky infantry guards in order to augment the reserve battalions and the gendarmeries who guarded the Duma and the government officials who occupied the building.
“This is your last chance to disperse or we will open fire!” The leader of the Preobrazhensky regiment, Colonel Anatoly Mussgovski, shouted as he and his troops trained her weapons on the unruly rabble.
“In five minutes, this mob will be dissolved or there will be violence,” the Duma Guard’s commanding officer chimed in, his finger itching to press the trigger.
Distressed at what he was witnessing, Ruslan turned to his fellow military policeman to his left, Stepanovich, leaning over his Mosin, one-eyed closed as he kept his aim on the oppressed group and voiced his concerns.
“Step, this isn’t right. These people aren’t some criminal elements or terrorists. These are ordinary people making their frustrations with the war effort and the hardships that come with it known. Violence isn’t the solution. ”
Stepanovich, his weapon still trained on the rousey rabble, opened his aiming eye. “No, but we have orders from our superiors who in turn get their orders from General Khabalov. As part of the Imperial Guard and the Gendarmerie, we must play our part in observing our commands.”
“I get that, but what threat are these people? They are unarmed and only want some food for their families as well as necessary utilities. Did you forget that they had no way of getting their supplies after Germans and their Ottoman allies blockaded Vladivostok and other ports? Do you have family that is lacking in basic necessities thanks to this pointless war?”
The other Guardsman nodded. “Indeed, I have my siblings to support. My older sister and her family as well as my younger one. Hence, why I wear the patch of the Lieb Guard.” Step looked down at his elbow, which bore the golden double eagle and red E + R badge of the Life Guard Regiments.
Before any of them could speak, something small and round sailed through the air and struck the Duma Guard captain in the chest. Seeing the yolk stain the royal blue uniform yellow and white, Ruslan figured out that the projectile was a rotten egg. Soon, a wider variety of objects were thrown at the military police as the crowd chanted slogans against Tsar Nikolai, his German-born wife Alexandria, and the mystic Gregory Rasputin, who served as the advisor to the royal family. Ruslan could only watch, transfixed with a quiet dread, as the Gendarmerie, feeling embattled from the peasant’s projectile assault, raised their weapons. The commanding officers of each unit then gave their troops permission to fire.
"Ogon na porajeniye !”
The sounds of the Mosins, echoing loudly in the crisp late morning, rang in the young serviceman’s ears as the elite troopers of the Imperial Guard units fired onto the rabble of opposition to the Tsar’s rule. Ruslan felt his heart leap into his chest as he watched several marchers fall back onto the cold wet ground. One young woman who went down looked to be about the same age as his teenage niece.
N’iet! This can’t be happening!
Rus then took note that despite dozens of squads of troops aiming their guns at the crowd, only a few in the unhappy throng had taken hits. Glancing down to his right where Step was crouched, he noticed that the military policeman had aimed toward the light blue winter sky, which was gathering dark clouds as if to foreshadow the ominous events to come, rather than at the human bodies before him. It seemed that most of the Life Guard regiments missed on purpose, at least those who fired their weapons. Perhaps some had weapons malfunctions.
Ruslan watched as Stepanovich rose from his position on the stone steps of the establishment to the left of the Duma where they were settled to monitor the riot. ”Tamarisch, what led you to disobey the commanding officer’s orders?”
The Lieb Guardsman only winked at his brother-in-arms. “Technically, I didn’t disobey. Only I missed my target.”
Rus laughed in amusement. “Step, you are something. I need to buy you a drink.”
“Let’s save that offer for a more appropriate time. We have an obligation to our brothers in the Tsar’s army who are a part of the marginalized masses to make the fools at the Duma bring the attention of their plight to the Tsar who must be off on a hunting trip in Siberia.”
“You know it!”
Rus, Step, and almost all of the elite vanguard troopers tossed their rifles and merged with the strikers to demand better treatment of their fellow soldiers and the working class of the country. After all, the unruly mob made up the backbone of the Russian Empire. It was time to make the Tsar pay for neglecting the needs of the people of the country who served him so loyally. As they shouted the slogans of the budding revolution, Rus noticed that the Lieb Guardsmen who hadn’t laid down their arms and stood their posts lower their weapons while the Duma guard reloaded and prepared for another round. The disaffected crowd wouldn’t let them get the opportunity to fire once more as they charged upon the federal police like stampeding bison.
“Zemlya I’ svoboda!"
As the crowd’s shout for land and freedom rose in unison, Rus made a run toward Colonel Mussgovski as the Preobrazhensky officer pointed his weapon at him.
For Land and Freedom!
---
At that same time at the Eastern Front, Corporal Timofey Zolotov, also known as the Scout, and his unit, the 4th Grenadiers , fought off a joint countermove from Central Powers, a combined effort by Austria-Hungary, Bulgaria, and the Germans, dozens of miles from the Ukraine/Austria-Hungary border. Perched on top of a grassy hill marked with brush, the unit, joined by what was left of the other Russian infantry divisions after the disastrous campaign in enemy territory, set up positions behind at least seven machine-gun nests to hold the Central forces at bay and prevent them from taking the war to Russia. Among these defenders was Igor Dragunov, an enlistee from a working-class family in Leningrad who was desperately trying to survive this grueling and pointless war.
“I need more ammunition, comrade!”
Igor handed Denis the gunner a round of ammunition which he and another gunner who doubled as an assistant used to load up the automatic weapon. Ahead, the enemy forces, clad mostly in gray uniforms with the trademark red trim of the Central Powers, marched over to their location from the Austria-Hungary border. As a couple of cavalry troops on horseback led the Central-aligned soldiers in attack formation toward Russian territory, he quickly found unused ammo from fallen soldiers and positions that were vacant before hurrying back to the gunners. Denis turned to the young enlistee and frowned.
"Dorachok! Use that gun before you to assist the rest of the gunners until the Scout gets back. We need all the bullets we can get to cut down the wannabe Hussars heading our way!”
“Magyars, to be more accurate,” young Dragunov corrected his fellow grenadier.
“Whatever. Use whatever grenades are left on you and anything you can salvage. If we fall, let it be known that we defended this hill to the last man taking out the Huns.”
“Such dramatization,” the gunner to Denis’s right, Ezequiel, quipped. “But what you say stands. We will take out those Austria-Hungarian barbarians or die trying.”
As the shouts of the approaching army reached their ears, the young Grenadier quickly tried to load the anti-personal gun, but his shaking fingers couldn’t insert the ammo into the chamber and some of the bullets ended up in the brush. As he searched for the lost bullets, Denis cursed under his breath and ordered Arsen, the sole survivor of the 14th Ararat Brigade, to assist Dragunov with his weapon. Once the gun was loaded, Igor took aim as the howling Huns made it to the bottom of the hill that served as their defense point.
“Fire at will with everything you got!” a nameless officer from the 24th Kharkiv Reserve forces shouted. “We have the high ground.”
“No need to tell us twice!” Ezequiel shouted. “Besides, you aren’t even an officer for the 4th Grenadiers.”
“For the Motherland!”
As they all shouted their war cries, reminding themselves that they are fighting to survive rather than for the Tsar that was off feasting on caviar andblinisas well as chomping on a cigar inside the comfort of the Alexander Palace as they fought in his battle, the guns went live. Igor felt his arms vibrate to his shoulders as the roar of the machine guns echoed through the land. Several of the Austro-Hungarians collapsed before they could make it to the hill, peppering the grass with broken bodies. The young Grenadier cadet made sure to aim at the riders rather than the horse when fixing his fire at the charging cavalry. Hoping he’d have them taken care of before the others trained their fire at the animals, the shrill screams of the dying and maimed horses chilled Igor’s blood. This was personal for the patriotic Russian chap as he grew up with horses back at his home in Peterhof as his parents were farmers. Without thinking about the consequences, he fired his remaining bullets at the beasts, putting them out of their perpetual pain. Glancing away from the disturbing site, he focused his negative feelings on taking out the enemy troopers until the bullets ran dry.
Great Ivan! What do I do now? I don’t have the luxury to reload or search for spare ammo.
Remembering the grenades, Igor frantically reached into his satchel and grabbed a handful. Pulling the pin, he rolled each one at a time down the hill where the Central troops tried to jump over or evade them. Once they went off, the ones unlucky enough to be in the way of the blast as it went off lost body parts could be indicated by their screams. Despite his battlelust, he felt oddly relieved when his comrades put the wounded Austro-Hungarians out of their misery.
Realizing that they would only be running to their premature deaths, the opposing troops stopped at the edge of the hill and took shots at the defenders. Igor threw himself flat on the ground as the bullets whizzed past. A few of the defenders that consisted of a couple of 4th Grenadiers and a straggler or two from other units, fell down screaming as the enemy fire found its mark.
As the gunfight raged on for nearly 25 minutes, the Austro-Hungarian forces started to make headway on the hill, marching up like ants as the defenders numbers gradually diminished. Preparing for a last stand, Igor gripped the pistol and fired at the throng of field gray, green, and brown uniforms. He downed a handful of gray fighters, along with a couple of their German and Bulgarian allies, but the Central Powers still had the numbers advantage despite their troops dwindling. He watched Anatoly’s, a fellow gun runner, head slump to the side, the lad’s blood squirting over the vicinity, staining the dead man’s Maxim gun, Igor’s uniform, and anyone else unlucky enough to be near him. Private Dragunov didn’t have time to fret about having another soldier’s brains over him as Ezequiel took a hit a hit to his upper right thigh and went down on the grass. Several Austrio-Hungarians , eager to get a taste of Russian blood, converged on a wounded Denis. The lead gunner let out a high-pitched wail that lasted for about five seconds before it died down. The enemy combatants, their bayonets soaked with fresh blood, turned on Ezequiel next as the wounded ammunition runner tried to crawl away from certain death.
No, I must not let them finish him off. It’s my duty not only as a soldier of the Imperial army, but as a human being to help him escape his doom.
As Igor desperately sought for a weapon, he would have been satisfied with a pistol, a shadow blocked out the early morning sun, the color of an egg yolk thanks to the smoke from the battle. He glanced upwards to see the burly form of a bearded soldier bearing the dark brown of the Bulgarian military tower over him. The eyes narrowed in a murderous trance, the soldier raised his rifle to smash the young soldier’s head in. Thinking it would be the end of him, the lad closed his eyes and muttered a prayer for his salvation.
Dear God in Heaven, I will be at the gates of Heaven soon. Please look over Yelena and give her the strength to look over Viktor and the upcoming baby. I believe I have fought with all I have, giving it my all.
A crack of a rifle sound was heard and once the blow to his noggin never came. Opening his eyelids, Igor saw the Bulgarian crumple before him. Moving away, he turned and an inspiring sight greeted his blue eyes. A group of riders, dressed in the dark blue of the Cossacks, rode forth, raising their Shashkas, and charging at the Central Power soldiers. Then the unmistakable howling sound of artillery shells shooting through the air were heard and a second later, a massive explosion on the tip of the hill scattered the Central troopers steaming forward toward their positions. Glancing ahead, the young Russian trooper spotted the advancing battalion of soldiers in khaki uniforms bearing different insignias as they sallied forth, the artillery cannons set behind the tall weeds. His heart leapt with joy as the relief force arrived.
Seeing a German soldier, noticeable by his pointed helm and dirty green garb, who was after Ezequiel had fallen onto his back, Igor decided to capitalize on the advantage to rid themselves of the threat to his comrade’s life. Glancing for a weapon, he spotted a gun that was laying beside Arsen and collected the weapon, training it on the prone enemy soldier, only to be disappointed by the possible jam when the rifle failed to fire.
"Chert!" he cursed. “No wonder he’s dead. His gun is useless!”
The last statement died in his throat when he spotted the bayonet on the end of the weapon. Letting out a cry of fury, the impassioned Russian plunged the sharp end of the rifle into the enemy combatant’s chest multiple times. He would have gone on for who knows how long had a hand not gripped his arm. Igor turned to face a bearded Russian soldier facing him, a stern look in his eyes.
“Would you rather keep killing a dead man ten times over or would you concentrate your fervor against a new enemy?” he boomed.
Igor Dragunov blinked in confusion. “A new enemy?”
“That’s right. We have been ordered to pull all troops back from the front and deploy all available units to Petrograd. Once Volhinsky Division and Jager Company finish cleaning up the Huns, you and the rest of the survivors of your platoon will join us in our new objective. The Czar has ordered all hostilities with the current enemy to be ceased so we can focus on this new immediate threat to the monarchy. Do you have any injuries?”
Private Dragunov glanced over at Ezequiel , who was being tended to by a medic, while the reinforcements chased off the invading Central troops and rounded up those that were captured to be prisoners of war. As a couple German troops, noticeable by their dirty green battle regalia, too injured to retreat or be of any use were executed on the spot, the bearded Russian officer tapped him on the back.
“If you have functioning limbs or are able to fire a weapon, double time to the trucks! Our foe won’t wait for us to catch our breaths.Davaj, young soldier!”
Igor wondered what this new threat was that the czar had to call off battle with the invading forces. There was only one way to find out.
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