paranoianovel Chapter 931 Suppression
Chapter 931 Suppression
Chapter 931 Suppression
Early in the morning.
Molotov, commander of the Grenadier Guards Regiment of the 2nd Guards Rifle Division, the garrison of St. Petersburg, stood on a hillside outside the city, awaiting further orders from the military headquarters.
Last night, the uprisings in Peter and Paul Fortress and other places were successfully suppressed, leaving only the Putilov Arsenal still in the hands of the rebels, besieged by a Don Cossack cavalry regiment.
Molotov, a member of the traditional Boye aristocracy, was somewhat irritated as he smoked his pipe.
He wasn't worried about the troublesome rebels, but rather about the losses caused by the unrest. For example, the arsenal still in the rebels' hands was a significant loss if it was shut down for even a day. Not to mention that even if the battle was resolved immediately, it would take a huge price to restore the damaged lathes to production.
Moreover, the rebellion in the city meant that the Russian war machine was nearing its limit. If things continued like this, even if the Germans didn't attack, Russia would fall apart.
The 2nd Guards Infantry Division, to which the Grenadier Guards Regiment belonged, was the only one of the five Guards Divisions directly under the Imperial Household that did not accompany the Tsar to Mogilev. It had a total strength of over 20,000 men and was an absolute elite force.
In addition, the garrison in St. Petersburg is mostly composed of soldiers who have recovered from frontline injuries and newly enlisted soldiers.
The total number was nearly 200,000, but these wounded soldiers and newly recruited soldiers were quite war-weary, their training was severely inadequate, and their combat effectiveness was very weak.
These 220,000 men represent the entire Petrograd Military District's forces currently stationed near St. Petersburg.
"Commander, what do you think the military is waiting for?"
The captain's adjutant said with some doubt, "With just a mere thousand or so rebels at the Putilov Arsenal, we would have taken them down long ago."
"I don't know. The disputes above have nothing to do with us. Soldiers' first priority is to obey orders. Without His Majesty the Tsar's imperial decree, all our actions must be under the command of the military."
The captain wasn't stupid; he immediately realized what was going on: "Tsk, I hadn't heard of any public conflict between General Khabarov and Rasputin before?"
The military headquarters that Molotov and others referred to was the Petrograd Military District Command, which had just become independent from the Northern Front, and whose commander-in-chief was General Khabarov.
Molotov offered no explanation, which didn't surprise the captain, who was used to his superior's taciturn nature.
Rasputin considered himself a "living saint," and despite having no official title, he relied on the trust of the royal family to constantly interfere in politics, even attempting to meddle in the appointment of court officials and to mobilize military forces at the front lines based on his personal preferences.
Several high-ranking military figures and prominent members of the Boyer nobility, such as the Minister of War, the Commander of the Northern Front, and the Chief of the Army Staff, all petitioned His Majesty the Tsar to expel this "evil monk."
Rasputin offended not just one or two people, or one faction, but the entire Boyer aristocracy and the Orthodox Church.
In Molotov's view, Rasputin was already a dead man. With so many people targeting him, even if he quietly broke through to the legendary rank, he would only face certain death.
After confirming his suspicions, the captain changed the subject: "Regimental Commander, I heard that the front lines suffered another major defeat, with heavy losses in the Central Military Region. You're well-informed, so could you tell me the details?"
Molotov frowned: "Aren't you asking a lot of questions?"
The Boyer nobility had a long and well-established network of information, and Molotov knew more about the situation at the front than the captain. However, out of respect for his superiors, he refrained from commenting.
This does not mean that Molotov was a staunch loyalist; in fact, he had hardly ever even met Nicholas II.
Times have changed. With the expansion of the Janissaries, the five Janissary divisions now number over 100,000 men. It's impossible for them to still uphold the duties of "palace guards." For the vast majority of Janissary officers and soldiers, it's common to have never even seen the Tsar.
Molotov was loyal only to the "Tsar," not to any specific individual; he was loyal to whoever was the Tsar.
This was also an undercurrent that arose among the Boyer nobles as news of the defeat reached them—at worst, they could simply replace the Tsar with someone easier to control.
Molotov thought that perhaps it was precisely because of this idea that His Majesty the Tsar killed that sorcerer Palasputin. As long as that sorcerer was alive, it would still prove that the monarch's power was supreme.
The sound of horses' hooves came from ahead.
A messenger on horseback delivered a decree.
Molotov glanced at it, and his face turned ashen.
"Commander, is it our turn to go up?"
Molotov shook his head, a somewhat puzzled expression on his face, and put the order into his pocket. He then gave the order succinctly: "Enter the city!"
St. Petersburg in the early morning.
In a house facing the street, a woman unloaded the baby from her back and handed it to her daughter.
The pot lid in the fireplace was being pushed up by the steam.
She lifted the pot lid, divided the hot porridge into two bowls, and patiently instructed him again and again: "Later, take your younger brother and hide in the cellar. If I haven't returned by evening, go find Grandpa Vasily next door."
After she finished speaking, she stuffed the last two pieces of black bread into her daughter's apron pocket.
Immediately, amidst his daughter's worried gaze, he resolutely pushed open the door.
A light mist enveloped the streets and alleys in the early morning.
The woman reached out and brushed aside the wisps of mist in front of her, and saw Aunt Mary standing across the road waving at her.
At this time.
The thin mist seemed to have been blown away, or perhaps the sun had finally risen, revealing the crowds in the streets and alleys, which resembled babbling brooks.
The woman and Aunt Mary walked into the crowd together and raised the tricolor flag, which had been marked with charcoal.
They shouted, "Down with the Tsar!"
"We want bread, not war!"
"Let our husbands and sons come home!"
"Stop the persecution of the insurgents!"
One woman after another walked out of the room, and soon the number exceeded ten thousand.
Small streams converge into rivers.
A single spark can start a prairie fire.
It is hard to imagine that the women of St. Petersburg spread the news of their marches and support for the insurgents to every household through letters and word of mouth.
When Molotov led his grenadier guardsmen into the streets, this was the awe-inspiring scene he witnessed.
Thousands of women waved homemade, makeshift signs and painted tricolor flags as they marched toward the military and police who had set up roadblocks.
Even with their batons, the soldiers and police could not make these women back down an inch.
The captain's voice trembled: "The military sent us here to deal with them?"
Looking at the commander's ashen face, he forced a smile and said, "This is difficult. Using fists and kicks alone may not be enough to make these short-sighted women go back to their homes. Commander, you're not married yet, so you don't understand how stubborn these women can be."
"Why don't we clear the road first, report this to our superiors, and see what their opinion is?"
"No need."
Molotov's voice was almost squeezed out from his throat: "Precisely because it is difficult, the military has ordered that, if necessary, we can resort to any means of force."
"No!"
"Commander, you mustn't!"
The captain looked horrified: "Why are these women taking to the streets? Their husbands have either died on the front lines or are missing limbs and unable to work. They can't survive."
Almost all of the women who participated in the march had lost their husbands.
The rest are practically widowed, because their husbands have been conscripted, and the burden of the whole family falls on one person's shoulders. They are hungry and cold, and no matter how hard they work, they can only watch their children starve to death.
Molotov took a deep breath, as if explaining to the captain, or perhaps convincing himself: "This is not a simple march, it is subversion, it is rebellion, and any mercy shown to the rebels is a rebellion against the imperial power."
The captain pleaded earnestly, "Commander, have you thought this through? If you shoot your comrade's widow, do you know what the consequences will be?"
Cossacks feared community death more than court-martial.
If a Boya nobleman like Molotov were to prey on women and children, his fate would not be much better.