April 28, 1918 – Tobolsk, Russia
“I dunno, boss”, came the timid reply from the back. “Those new orders sound unusual at best”.
In front of the large truck the main officer calmly re-read the telegram one more time from Moscow. That night had seen a particularly fierce storm shatter windows in the building with concerns for many of the documents being whisked away or made so wet as to not be easily legible. With over thirty troops between the two trucks and a large escort, he knew the Imperial Family was being moved to Yekaterinburg where they would be much safer, but something seemed out of place. Paranoia was a survival trait in Russia these days with the Civil War leaving Asia, the remaining Russian areas near the Caucasus, and the Kola Peninsula in the hands of the pro-Allied Whites while much of the rest was in the hands of the Reds. Persia joined the fray barely a month ago only to occupy Dagestan, Azerbaijan, and now the western edge of the Caspian with no way for either side to deal with the German ally without risking their intervention, negotiations would likely see Persia keep the Turkmen areas, Dagestan, and any place that spoke their language, too. Finland, Poland, the Baltic areas and the Ukraine were at the cusp of independence with long-standing grudges coming to the fore. Japan launched a full invasion of northern Sakhalin and the Kamchatka Peninsula while landing thousands of troops at Vladivostok as the Whites began to fracture internally into major sub-factions. At least the Reds maintained a unified command, thought People’s Army Major Grigory Hanstov, noting his *very* specific orders to move all four daughters, the son, and parents to the old house-turned-fort in the city across the Urals. “Times are unusual at best”, he said, “and do not think these are ordinary days. Change breeds unease, it is right to have your guard up”.
“At least we are still eating”, noted another soldier, “and still have a place to call home. Think of the poor bastards hit by the damn Germans and Austrians, right”?
All of the men in the truck nodded in agreement. A quick way to prevent potentially ‘reviewable’ conversation was to curse the Germans or Austrians or both and change the topic immediately. Loose tongues here could mean loose necks or ventilated skulls later, and everyone here knew it. “What are our orders, boss”?, came the question from a very young private in the back of the truck.
“Prisoner transfer”. No one asked who it was, the only other major prisoners involved would be political affiliates that no one outside of Moscow would likely identify.
“Yes sir”, came the reply, and everyone else became very quiet as the journey continued.
Roads were bumpy even from the train station to the area in question, this was something the new government(s) promised to work on ‘someday’ but just having the truck instead of horses and wagons were enough to satisfy many of the troops as a sign of progress. As they passed another truck, a crisp salute came as the Major’s bars were noted and the two trucks stopped to exchange information.
“How are the roads ahead”?, asked Hanstov.
“Clear for now, but there’s a good storm over Tobolsk itself, definitely get the raingear out before you get into town”.
“Got it. Anything else going on in town”?
“Yes, there was a cavalry raid by the Whites but it looks like they were trying to free…”
“Understood, how did it turn out”? No one else in the truck needed to know who they were trying to move or where until the time came.
“We got most of them, but a few remain for…questioning…and I am sure they are looking forward to having another officer on hand for just that purpose while the rest clean up”. There would be glory for getting that kind of information to Moscow first…
“Understood. Got some spare shovels”?
The figure opposite looked around, the men in the truck quietly nodding and two shovels were quickly produced. “You are lucky, but yes, and we could use them ourselves…”
Hanstov noted the Captain in the opposite truck. “Sorry, you might need them, but we need them more, so please hand them over”.
The Captain smiled dryly, but complied. Two broad shovels came into the truck, one having an oddly red color to the mud but maybe that was just the color of the soil in some areas here, and the Captain asked for permission to leave.
Hanstov had more questions but wanted to get ahead as soon as possible. “Granted”, he noted, and the trucks went on their respective ways.
It would be several hours before the troops arrived at the pickup location, but on arrival the scene looked like a massacre with at least two dozen dead still laying out on the ground as others continued to hurl the bodies of former Red Army colleagues into large piles pending the digging of the necessary pits. Hanstov hurried his men out of the truck and assembled them on the front entrance of the compound, gave one shovel to a private and another with the oddly red soil to his lieutenant, ordering most to help organize the disposal of corpses and taking his captain and lieutenant into the building with him. Upon ordering his men loose, he looked around and nodded to the entrance where his men followed. On entrance to the building, Hanstov found the stairwell and proceeded down the basement as people stared at him uneasily. At almost two meters tall his height alone was intimidating, but with a Major’s rank this was magnified that much more. Upon arrival to the basement, the guard of the room stopped the three officers and asked for identification papers, which each man easily produced and the guard nodded after slight hesitation. Hanstov ordered the two men to wait outside as he entered the poorly-lit room alone, one light descending from the ceiling directly over a single person I a seated position. Upon entering Hanstov noted at least eleven dead men on the floor – one much younger and oddly missing a bullet wound easily visible from this angle – and a younger man nervously sitting in a chair covered in his own blood and perhaps that of several other men as well. His face was gashed from multiple angles, his wrists and legs bound to the wooden chair, and another pair of men reviewing what was already discussed. “Greetings, comrade”, came the bellowing almost-laugh from a…Colonel, Hanstov thought…”Are you here to help with the information gathering process for the Motherland”?
Hanstov did not like torture but would do his duty for his country. “Yes sir, I am”.
“You were the reinforcements we were expecting, yes”? The Colonel had a fairly thick Caucasian accent, maybe somewhere in Georgia, Hanstov could not quite place it.
“Yes, sir, we arrived only a few minutes ago”.
“Your timing is rotten, Major”.
“What happened here, sir”?
“Well, it appears we had a small search-and-rescue mission of some kind, except they came very well equipped and killed most of the people on site. They took over the area briefly and even managed to bury a few things locally before the troops from the garrison managed to catch up to the site. We managed to capture four of them, three of whom are now dead in the information extraction process and the final survivor is as you see here. Your papers, please”.
Hanstov handed them over immediately. “Ah, Major Hanstov, I have heard of you. You will be welcome here, your actions near Rostov are already preceding you”.
His forces were fresh from battle there having recaptured the city from a White offensive. “Yes sir”.
“Our few surviving men reported the survivor here and his comrades speak German, though this one knows at least a little Russian - so how is your German, Major”?
Hanstov spoke loudly and harshly at the prisoner, who nodded. “Excellent! Grigori”, the young man next to him snapped to attention, “ask your last question for our prisoner, whose name escapes me, and have him ready for the Major in ten minutes. Major, please come with me”.
They entered an office at the top floor of the building where hot tea awaited next to a small cup of sugar and some biscuits. “Please help yourself, Major, I will join you shortly”. Hanstov poured himself some tea, added the sugar, and ate a biscuit as he waited on the Colonel occupied with another sort of waste disposal. A few minutes later he returned, the biscuits tasting as wonderful as the tea was fragrant.
“Excellent provisions Colonel, my compliments”.
“You are of course quite welcome. Tell me, what of the Rostov situation”?
Hanstov nodded and briefly recapped the story, minimizing his own role though the Colonel knew he had been instrumental in retaking the city. His promotion to Colonel was already all but assured at the next Commissarat meeting next week, the rapid climb of a former Imperial sergeant so dedicated to the cause astounded those there to witness it. “I note your play yourself down, comrade, no need to do that here”.
“But I must sir, we moved as individuals but functioned as one group. Change thinking by changing language, and if I make one person stand out the others might not get due credit”.
“A true believer is always welcome, comrade, not everyone would do the same for their men”.
Hanstov noted that. “Thank you, the food is a welcome reprieve”.
“We liberated it from the stocks of the Imperial Family, I have already sent word out to find those who would sequester them away. In a few hours I would anticipate the return of our guests though conditions at their next location might be a bit deteriorated”.
Hanstov noted the fatigue of being on the road for so long, the strength finally starting to come back with the refreshment. “How many casualties”?
“Well the Tsarevitch was killed in the fighting, I believe you saw his body in the room. Rifle butt to the head, honestly poor Ivan thought he had not hit the boy so hard. Apparently he bleeds very easily, or so his mother cried before we shot her. Their oldest daughter was also killed”.
“That leaves the three younger daughters and the Tsar himself”.
“Yes it does. Unfortunately the man himself escaped but with two good bullet wounds in his belly I do not think he will live for long. One of the girls was shot in the arm, but it is a lighter wound, the bleeding for her was also difficult to control I think. And about a third of their staff were also able to escape”.
Staff people could present issues as it would let the various escapees blend in more easily. “How many are we talking about altogether”?
“Five staff, four royals, three dozen soldiers, two pets, and a prisoner”.
Hanstov stopped. “They took a prisoner”?
“Indeed, apparently a Major like yourself”. Grigory walked in, spoke quietly into the Colonel’s ear, and quietly left the room. “Ah, the prisoner is ready for you, Major. Let us proceed”. Hanstov took three of the biscuits down with him after the Colonel turned his back.
Five minutes later the Major nodded to the guard behind the door as the prisoner remained silent. He saw the biscuits sticking out of the Major’s pocket. “May I have a last request, sir”?
Hanstov noted the German, probably a Rhine dialect, and made a mental note of it. ”Sure”
“Those look like almond biscuits, which are a favorite of mine. May I have one or two of them”?
Hanstov held the biscuits out for the man to eat, watching him do so ravenously as he felt the long hours catch up with him again. He gave the prisoner the third biscuit for good measure, noting his only having had one himself. The door slammed open. “What have you done, Major”?!
The prisoner spoke quickly in Russian, “I told you my men would come back for us…” before trailing off, his breathing becoming erratic.
“Major Hanstov, I would kill you myself except you have already done me the honor, it seems. Your men brought two shovels with them, one of which has blood mixed in with the clay out back. It matches the color of the soil next to a buried body of a scout sent out two days ago before his capture. Apparently the foreigners got in and poisoned the biscuits before assuming the roles of Red Army Officers and troops”. Hanstov felt the weakening progress long enough only to make a final statement, “But how do we know, my colonel, that you are not the one…who poisoned the biscuits…after all…how are you still alive…”?
Grigory then pulled out a pistol and arrested his former commanding officer on the spot. No one could question the incredible coincidence, for even with the evidence that the Colonel was with his local mistress at the time of the attack it was still gross dereliction of duty. Knowing his fate was sealed, he simply turned to Grigory and asked, “May I have a biscuit”?