My Romanov Fan Fiction CH1

[TheAce1918]

14 July 1918


      Siberia was the last place Charlie Andrews had expected to be assigned to.  In these times of world war and political problems, he figured he would be placed back on the front lines, shooting down the Germans at every angle.  After all it was what he was most used to; he had actually made it enjoyable for himself, amongst its shortcomings.  
      The United States had entered the Great War earlier in mid-1917.  She had finally submitted to international pressure and the possible threat from German spies. When President Woodrow Wilson asked Congress to declare war, the world changed immediately.  The French and British were relived that finally their sympathetic ally across the Atlantic finally decided to join in the stalemate that was currently taking on the Western Front.  The Germans had nearly made it to the gates of Paris, had successfully bombed London from her zeppelin raids and along with the Bolsheviks in Russia, helped force the behemoth Slavic empire and its aristocratic government to fall.  
      Charlie joined the army in 1916, spending a year of training back and forth between camps in Georgia and North Carolina.  Being a native Clevelander, he felt out of place down south.  Some people still called it Dixie Land; a few farmers had called him and several other privates, “Damned Yankees.”  But they shrugged it off; let the poor bastards rot in the head swelling heat.  
      By the mid 1910’s, the airplane was still a new technological concept, though the Europeans were quick to exploit the marvelous machine; America still had wry feelings towards it.  Already there were stunt pilots, risking their very lives to impress the masses with their reckless tricks.  When Charlie had seen a stunt pilot perform at The Lake Erie Exposition in 1912, he decided his future then and there.  He wanted to be a pilot, he didn’t care what any stiff neck critic said, he wanted to stretch his wings out and soar with the angels.  
      When the first combat force of America landed in France in late 1917, Charlie was assigned with a mixed fighter squadron, the Lafayette Escadrille. He was the only person there with more flying experience than any of the fresh ‘doughboys’ from the states.  He soon made friends with Englishmen, Frenchman and Americans alike, but he soon regretted doing so.  Time after time, he would get the unfortunate chance to watch one of his comrades fall to the Earth either on fire or shattered to pieces by the Boche’s machine guns.  By February, 1918, he had shot down twenty German planes, a full-time legend.  The rookies had a hard time believing it, twenty airplanes fell victim to Captain Charlie?  Not possible!  Already his friends, old and new were calling him ‘Dime Spot Charlie’, because he could shoot down a Fritz looking through a target no wider than a Mercury dime.  
      When Russia signed a peace treaty with the Germans in 1917, she was officially out of the war as a nation, allowing the Germans to turn their war machine onto the Western Front in France, where the bloodiest of the fighting was taking place.  As the war continued to drab on, Charlie didn’t figure life would get any smoother, until he received a call from his superior, Major Bill Thaw.    
      “Charlie, how would you feel about going to Russia?”  
      The question stunned him.  

“Um, Russia…sir?”  Charlie stammered as he sat down in his new office chair. The month before he was made a captain by the army and had an office of his own.  He heard the major laugh into the speaker.  
      “Yeah, Russia.  A few of our Army regiments are being shipped over to Siberia…deep in the heart of the country to help the Brits and Frenchies ward off the Bolsheviks and keep Western influence fluxing.  I recommended you to them and you were gladly accepted. Were heading over there by next week…sound like you’re up for it?”  
      Charlie didn’t answer; he held the phone to his ear, the world around him frozen in time. Up for it?  Russia?  He had heard stories about the Russians, growing up he used to think that it snowed all the time there, the men wore big fur hats and danced silly to wicked music while the women made delicious but hard-to-pronounce food that would spoil their children’s appetites.
      “Charlie?”  The major asked.  
      “Y-Yeah, sir?”  Charlie finally spat out, back in reality.  
      “Listen with your flight record we could really use you over in that hell…the new boys can’t even say the word ‘airplane’ much less fly one!”  
      “Yeah, sure sir I’ll be there.”  
      “Great!  Be ready at noon tomorrow, a company car will be there to pick you up and take you to some port on the Channel.”  
      “Will do.”  Charlie said as he took the phone away from his ear.  
      “Wait, Charlie!”  Thaw hollered into the earpiece.  
      “Yes?”  
      “Thank you.”  

      That was two weeks ago.  When he left France he was expecting a rough and long ride.  And it was.  The ship that had taken him from the stalemate boredom of France had traveled over German infested waters in the North Sea and the Arctic Circle to the free port of Archangel, Russia.  The old city was exploding with activity, from refugees to troops from the allied nations.  The United States had established a base for the ships needed for the assault on the communist government that had taken over...

Okay, thats about a good percentage of the first chapter.  Let me know...trust me, things will pick up, a lot! This isn't even the entire chapter! Peace

[Sophia_Skymind]

Hi!

Interesting start. You seem to have studied well what really happened during WW1. I'll admit that I don't remember exactly what happened in those 4 years... too much time since last history class!

Anyway, I wonder how will your Charlie come in contact with the Romanov family...if he ever does.
Please keep writing!

And, by the way, welcome on the forums!!!  

Sophia

[TheAce1918]

When Charlie stepped off of the boat and onto the pier an officer in a black military uniform, obviously Russian ran up to him, waving his arms wildly.  
      “Captain Andrews!  Captain Andrews!”  
Charlie dropped his bags, arms ready to fight if he had to.  He had heard how different Russia was from America, but after seeing this clown, how could the Ruskies be any different?  The soldier stopped flailing his arms and casually walked up to him.  “You are Charlie Andrews…right?”
      “To some people.”  Charlie answered, his fists still balled up.  
      “Forgive me, I am just happy to finally meet you.  Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Michael Vrybovez, commanding officer for the 12th Hussars Regiment in His Majesty’s Army.  The two men shook hands.  Vrybovez showed Charlie to a limousine and ordered the driver to speed away from the port.  “Allow me to bring you up to speed.  Your government has issued a proclamation to assist the White Army in the horrible civil war that has devoured our sacred nation.”
      “Uh-huh, who are the Whites and what are you fighting against?”  Charlie asked curiously.  
      “The Whites are the loyal peoples of the Romanov dynasty.  We are a blended army of Czechs, Ukrainians, Russians and more.  With the assistance from France, Britain and now, America, we are more confident that we will destroy those awful Bolsheviks and restore Tsar Nicholas II back to his rightful throne!”  
      “The Bolsheviks are the guys you are fighting?  The communists?”  
      Vrybovez bristled at the word communists.  “Yes, they are our godless, hated enemies who vow to destroy all that the Romanov rule had brought to Russia.  It is our job, our mission from God to destroy them at all costs!”  
      “So why the hell do you need me?  I’m just an American pilot.”  
      “That is exactly why we need you Captain Andrews…you are a pilot, we need experienced flyers to combat the Bolsheviks.  And the occasional German who wanders too far over the lines.”  
      “I see…well I can assure you that I will do all that I can sir, I will give it all my best.”  
      Vrybovez smiled, staring out the window to the streets.  “I know you will Captain…Russia’s survival depends upon it.”  
16 July 1918


      When Vrybovez loaded Charlie on a train with one hundred and fifty other international troopers bound for Siberia, he instructed them to remain silent and still at all times.  When Charlie heard the word ‘train’ he pictured nice boxcars, decent cots and food.  Instead there was Russian black bread and water, and hay for sleeping on.  They had been moved to a cattle car to disguise the troop movements.  Since the Reds had nearly control over more than half the country, the best thing to do was sit quietly and wait until their train reached wherever it was going.  
      Charlie was rather eager to get behind the cockpit of a fighter plane again.  But he was also dreading it.  He counted the hours in prayer.  
      Several times, the train stopped for several minutes but not to refresh the troops locked in the cattle car like sardines.  Instead the conductor was being asked questions by the local Soviet or his officers who would demand where the train was going, what its business was and where it was coming from.  The minutes were tense and never dull…every second seemed to take longer and longer.  The stale, sticky air inside the cattle car was electric; the White soldiers could anticipate their meeting the Red communists.  
      The train steamed into an unknown village in the Ural Mountains, deep in the heart of Russia alright.  The officers yelled out orders as the men stretched, yawned and urinated anywhere suitable, as there were no bathroom breaks on the seven hour train ride.  
      “Please make your way towards the officer’s tents immediately for sign-in’s and then report to Major Wilkes tent for briefing.”  An officer preached to the weary soldiers.  After signing in his name, rank, country and capabilities, Charlie made his way to the Major’s tent.  It was filled with cigarette smoke, only light by oil lanterns.  Soft chatting filled the air.  Charlie felt around, trying to find a seat, when he did, the Major began.  
      “Gentleman…thank you much and welcome to Siberia.  In case you do not know, we are an allied armada of troopers here to assist the White Russians and Tsarists against the Bolsheviks.  Now before I go on, is anyone here a pilot?”  Charlie raised his hand, so did three other men.  “Good…you men will be dealt with later on…we have special orders for you.”  
      For over an hour the Major talked about the conditions in Russia, the differences between Tsarism, Democracy and Communism, where and what they would be doing until a grand army can be built up for a series of attacks on Red strongholds.  When he was finished Wilkes yelled out.  “Will the four pilots here please come up?”  
      Charlie made his way up the dirt isle, three others followed him.  Saluting in unison, they stood proud.  Charlie obviously was the only American.  There was a Frenchman and two British.  
      “At ease gentleman.  I am assuming now that you already know…but if your commanding officers hadn’t mentioned before you got on the train, your use here in Siberia will be vital to the war effort.  Is there a…Captain Andrews here?”  
      
Still have more left to write!  Thanks for the lovely words Sophia.  Sorry for all of the history mumbo-jumbo...I want this story to be as historically accurate as possible, plus it is backdrop for future writing!  

[TheAce1918]

“Sir!”  Charlie said standing stiffly.  
      “I’ve heard a deal about you Captain…one of the finest the Yanks have sent over here.  Good, very good…you can definitely have a nice position here.”  Wilkes moved to the French pilot whose name was Boris Rennet.  Boris was a man from Reims, deeply patriotic Frenchman and pilot with sixteen kills to his name.  The British pilots were rookies straight from London.  On the Western Front, England needed her finest in the direct heat of action, at least according to the British War Cabinet.  Michael and Alexander were their names.  The two looked like twins, twitching their shoulders to ward off the gnats that had accompanied them on their journey.  After excusing the two rookies, Major Wilkes took Boris and Charlie by the shoulders.  
      “Gentlemen…you both have an assignment tonight.”  

      “What do you suppose he meant by ‘strict reconnaissance only’ Monsieur Charles?”  Boris asked catching up with Charlie who was busy making his way to the makeshift airfield where two old French Nieuports were parked. Charlie had flown the funny little planes in France until the Escadrille was equipped with Sopwith Camels and more modified Spads.  The Nieuports were a few years old, their battle damaged scars still evident. They were turquoise with white wings and engine cowls.  Like many of the older models, they were not fitted with machine guns.  
      “I don’t know…I guess we just fly over Red territory and take notes on what’s going on down there.”  Charlie said shrugging his shoulders.  The two pilots stopped over by an ammo tent, picking up Colt pistols, trench shotguns, several grenades, survival kits with the basic essentials, knives and a pair of Browning Automatic Rifles.  All of the major precautions were ordered by Wilkes.  He had informed them of how merciless the Reds were and wanted them to be well prepared.  Picking up the new rifle, the two pilots were amazed to discover that it supports infantry and is not suitable for air combat.  It was indeed an impressive piece of equipment and heavier than the old Lewis guns.  
      “You are an ace…the Dime Spot Charlie.  No?”  Boris asked, loading his shotgun, setting it in the corner of his pilot’s seat.  
      “Yep…to be frank Boris…I’m um, not happy over it.”  Charlie admitted looking out to the horizon.  He always regretted ending another man’s life.  But it was his duty, as bad as it was, he couldn’t help it.  Boris understood this all too well and offered,
      “C’est la guerre.”  
      “Amen.  Well, let’s get flying my friend…the sun’s setting.”  The two pilots wriggled in their iron seats, straightening their goggles.  Crew chiefs and mechanics raced to the Neuports tugging on their wooden propellers.  They sputtered at first, dying after one rotation.  Then in unison, the mechanics dragged the props down harder, causing the engines to vomit fumes of exhaust and thus, forced them to come alive with a start.  Charlie taxied first, driving the plane down the dirt runway, specs and pieces of dirt flew up when he turned the rear of his aircraft in a certain direction.  Boris followed after a few seconds, his engine screaming into the night as they made their last turn onto the stretch of land.  
      With a signal from the wooden watchtower in the center of the airfield, the two pilots waved a ‘thumbs up’ and sped down the runway.  Once they were airborne, they met up, buzzing the airfield and soaring off into the unknown Russian wilderness.  


      “Papa…do you know what the date is today?”  Olga asked as she entered her parent’s tenement-like bedroom.  
      “I’m not sure my dear.”  Nicholas said not taking his eyes off of the sunset.  This was the second time he caught himself gazing hopelessly at the large golden disk.  It seemed to beckon him to freedom, to restart his life after it had been horribly altered by the effects of revolution and war.  The Bolsheviks had them imprisoned ever since he abdicated the throne of Russia months ago.  They were moved in between cities until they were placed in the city named after Empress Catherine the Great…Yekaterinburg.  If he could only have changed everything that went wrong, maybe, just maybe things would be different.  
      “I know the date Olga…it is the sixteenth of July.”  Aleksey said looking up from the toy tin soldiers, strewn about his bed.  Olga smiled at her godson and baby brother, kissing him on the forehead.  
      “Thank you Aleksey!”  She walked out of the room, leaving the boy, his father and mother who was just waking up from a nap, alone.  
      “Are you alright Alix?”  Nicholas asked his aging wife.  
      “I just find it amusing Nicky…every time I close my eyes, I pray to God almighty that when I wake up, all of this was just a dream.”
      Nicholas looked at her sadly, thinking the same thing.  Though he was facing reality, there was no way that this was a dream.  
      
      “Is Mama awake Olga?”  A voice interrupted the young woman’s thoughts as she was writing in her journal.  Looking up she saw her nineteen year old sister Marie looking over her shoulder.  
      “Yes, she just woke up, are you going to see her?”  
      “In a while…I just have to finish writing something down first.”  She said as she sat down next to Olga, writing something in her own journal.  The Romanovs were keen on keeping such records of their daily lives, including as many pictorial accounts as well.  Marie scribbled something in her pink laced diary.  

-I'll post the other half in a minute

[Holly]

Wow! Thats really good! Please post more soon!  

[Margarita Markovna]

Keep it up! It's VERY good!

[TheAce1918]

When Olga accidentally looked over Marie’s shoulder she saw a red heart in the center of the page, the last words written in her log.  

Marie
And

      She never wrote down whom…instead she slammed her journal shut and walked out of the room, hopelessness filled her eyes.  

      The light drizzle didn’t seem to bother Charlie much, though from time to time a drop would get into his goggles, messing up his vision slightly.  He signaled for Boris to take his right wing in cover, looking out for any potential threat and or information.  They had been flying for over an hour now and were running pretty low on fuel.  He couldn’t make heads or tails of anything more than forty yards ahead of his plane.  After a few minutes of worthless searching, he waved to Boris, calling an end to a rather odd mission that was more of a waste of time.        
      A thread of lightning ripped through the clouds, illuminating the ground below.  Charlie looked down to the ground one last time; he shook his head in disbelief.  No way in hell could this be possible, and on the first mission!  He waved to Boris who followed his every move.  Charlie made the sign that caused Boris to grin with delight.  
      Troop movements below…
      The two Nieuports dove over and passed the terrified masses of Bolshevik troops who were making their way down the only cemented road within several hundred miles.  Naturally the Reds began firing on the two defenseless aircraft.  Bullet holes ripped through the thin, paper-like wings.  Charlie maneuvered his plane, trying to avoid serious damage.  He heard a loud clinking in his engine, a bullet had struck his fuel tank, causing it to spark and start burning.  Before he knew it, the whole front of his Nieuport was ablaze.  He looked over at Boris who had torn out his pistol and was frantically trying to shoot while flying at the same time.  Down below, a machine gun crew opened up on him, littering his plane with bullet holes.  Two bullets went through Boris’ neck, splitting his main arteries on contact.  Boris grabbed his neck, trying to stop the bleeding and still managed to squeeze off a few rounds into the terrified sea of revolutionaries.  His plane began to spin out of control, stalling twice before it crashed into a nearby wooden house, engulfing itself in red and yellow flames.
      “Boris!”  Charlie screamed as he witnessed the whole disgusting example of aerial combat.  He quickly turned his attention back to his enflamed Nieuport, its engine long dead.  Thinking quickly, he grabbed all of his weaponry stashed below around him and jumped from the burning airplane.  Pulling on the parachute wire as soon as he hit air, he watched the burning craft sail into the ground below him, erupting into a giant ball of flames.  He saw several soldiers run after Boris’ wreck, paying hardly any attention to anything else.  He grabbed his Colt pistol, clicking the safety off. Charlie had recognized a woodland area, not far from where his plane had crashed.  Before he knew it, he was floating into sharp tree branches, yelping in pain, desperately dodging branches and limbs.
 He looked to the ground terrified, hoping to see some kind of road where he could try and drop down on.  But he couldn’t see anything at all, the darkness engorged all around him.  Looking back up, he saw a fat, dark object slam into his face, he moaned in pain and let go of his ammo bag, and it fell to the ground with a clunk.  He let go of his parachute ropes, his arms hanging lifeless at his sides.  His eyes fluttered a few minutes before he passed out cold.  Before his eyes completely shut, he could have sworn he had seen a street sign, lit by the nearby fire that had taken his plane.  Then, darkness.  

Okay y'all thats chapter one...lemme know if I shall continue on to 2

[Holly]

Yes, please!!!

[Historybuff_262]

I concur with Holly. By all means. Totally. Please keep on with the story. It's great.

Just on minor question.

Was Olga N. godmother to her brother. Or was Olga A. Alexei's aunt his godmother. Or were both of them or neither? I was just curious because I have never heard of a sibling being a godparent (but I guess of course it's possible.)

[TheAce1918]

I've never heard of it before.  But I am positive Olga N. was.  There is a thread on here...somewhere about it.  

[TheAce1918]

16 July 1918


      Explosions woke Charlie up.  He frantically looked around, realizing he was still suspended in the large tree.  Reaching down at his flight pants he took his Bowie knife out and cut the cables to his chute.  He braced himself as several more branches slapped him hard on his way down.  Moaning in pain, Charlie prayed to God that no one was nearby to hear him. Finally being able to sit up, he recognized only the tail of his plane.  The Nieuport’s mangled body was definitely buried, by the size of impact from the crash; Charlie was able to guess that it had pretty much disintegrated.  He stood around a large tree, the same one that took his parachute, knocking him out in the process.  
      “Nice job cowboy.”  He cursed at himself hoarsely.  “Go chasing after the Reds and where does it lead ye?”  He looked about his surroundings, trying to identify some buildings, a church, something.  The only thing identifiable was a dirt road; its rocks glistened in the early morning dew.  “Well, headquarters won’t like this mission report!” He walked down the road slowly, careful with every step.  The rocks below his feet crunched and melted into the soft wet mud.  He held his Colt pistol tight, ready to aim and fire if needed.  The handles left stinging imprints to the palms of his hands.  He had taken the Lewis gun with him, even though he despised the damned thing, it still held a purpose.  He swung a large pack over his back, loaded with various types of ammo and a few grenades.   A sudden crack and pop of gunshots in the distance froze him.  He squatted down to the ground, trying his best to blend in with the shadows.  A soft rumbling echoed not far away, he heard it louder now, before he knew it, he was jumping in a group of bushes on the side of the road.  
      Two large trucks groaned past him, huge clouds of smoke piped from their mufflers.  He heard scattered Russian being exchanged by the men aboard the vehicles.  He breathed as low and as slowly as possible, hoping he wasn’t giving his position away.  When the trucks were long gone down the road, Charlie peeped out of his hiding spot and began to trek after them.  
      The night’s rain had given off a humid breeze that stifled even the bravest soldier.  And for Charlie, the passing minutes were no exception.  Coming across an intersection he found beside the street signs, the city limit sign as well.  He squinted at its direction, pointing west.  It read Yekaterinburg in Russian.  
      “At least the map reading paid off.”  He thought to himself with a smirk.  “If I recall briefing that’s where Wilkes had rumored that was where some royal family might be.”  Before he and Boris had left. Wilkes had informed them of communist insurgency in the Ural Mountain area.  The Soviets there were brutal and tough to the bone.  He remembered back to his wingman, the two had run into combat all gung-ho, and now, like his plane, poor Boris was gone.  Buried in Russia.  
      He walked past the sign; he had a couple more miles to go before he was actually in the town named after Russia’s Catherine the Great.  Checking himself, he remembered his ammo and felt a little more at ease.  
      “Still, I hope it can hold off some of the bastards.”  

      His watch read five in the morning when he entered the woods east of Yekaterinburg.  Charlie hunkered down for the rest of the night, taking periodic naps, only being awakened by the sounds of those annoying trucks and slob Red soldiers.  Sneaking up a little, still camouflaged he spied a large white mansion.  Surrounding it was a large wooden-spiked fence.  At each entrance was an armed guard.  Every now and then a man would pass them; exchanging salutes as he entered the house.  Sliding his binoculars in his pocket, he let out a quiet sigh.  “That’s where they have to be…no other building in this town is this heavily guarded.”  He started to crawl back to his original napping spot.  But something stopped him, something firm and hard against his back, his head slowly turned only to meet a pair of eyes and a rifle staring right back at him.

      “Papa, how far are the Whites?”  Aleksey asked from his cot.  The Tsarevich, due to his illness had shared a room with his parents while his sisters, the grand duchesses slept in another across the hall.  
      “I do not know my child.”  The former Tsar said, staring out the window idly.  “They don’t sound like they are too far from the city, last night I could have sworn I had heard the sound of airplanes in the sky.”  
      “Let us only pray to the Lord God that they will be here soon.”  Alexandra said amidst her knitting.  Her frail old fingers were shaking from her poor health and anxiety.  Nicholas looked at her; he still loved her no matter what.  His beloved ‘Sunny’, he would follow her to the end, even unfortunately if that was to come.  

[TheAce1918]

Sorry, started CH2 on a new thread :-/

[Holly]

I concur with Holly. By all means. Totally. Please keep on with the story. It's great.

Just on minor question.

Was Olga N. godmother to her brother. Or was Olga A. Alexei's aunt his godmother. Or were both of them or neither? I was just curious because I have never heard of a sibling being a godparent (but I guess of course it's possible.)

Actually, I think Olga Alexandrovna was godmother to Alexei as well as Olga Nicholaievna. It was common back then for the eldest daughter to be godmother to the younger children. Okay...back on topic lol. I love your story Ace. You're a very good writer.