Prologue: Archangelsk: Extraction. ​

6th army forward artillery position



HMS Brooke



HMS Queen Elizabeth.

Tsarevitch Alexei in 1917. ​

HMS Brooke makes its escape

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The Broke’s engines groaned as the ships boilers pumped energy into the screw propellers in a frantic attempt to slow the ship down. The destroyer bore straight down on the dock at 28 knots, 26 knots, 24 knots. Everyone aboard the Brooke strained mentally and desperately willed the ship to slow down. All of them hoped that the captain’s orders to slow had not come too late.--At the last moment Warwick watched the seemingly ballistic vessel veer hard to his right. The solid steel construct spun parallel to the pier and slammed into the stone structure with a metallic echo.--Warwick slumped on the deck as the destroyer powered away from the mooring, leaving behind the titanic storm of shot and shell that had slowed to a steady beat now that the Bolsheviks were mostly either dead or retreating. Icy spray cut across the deck burning against his almost numbed extremities.It was over. He almost smiled as he saw the navy crew smarm around the frazzled royal party. The young Alexei almost ran back to the stern and yelled back at apocalyptic scene. The lieutenants Russian was far from something to brag about but he could get the general meaning just fine.--Comrade Yuri Glazkov grunted as he ripped the inch long shell fragment from his left arm and doused the wound in spirits. The burning sensation coalesced with the agony of a hundred different injuries across his battered body. His face resembled a charred mess, shards of steel having sliced their way across his visage but somehow...somehow he was alive.The smoke from the murderous bombardment was at last thinning and there, in the harbour he could see it, a lone British destroyer steaming towards the task force.Hauling himself to his feet Yuri staggered over to the last gun in his annihilated battery. A cursory inspection revealed that unlike the others it was still, by some miracle in (semi) working order. With a firm yank the weapons breach opened and the spent shell fell onto the blasted ground. Levering it as best he could with his battered hands the Petrograd party member slung a new shell into the weapon and shut the breach. Eyes to the sights he dialled the weapon into the aimed position.The Shell smacked into the Broke’s aft section and detonated with a deep concussion. Shrapnel ricochets slapped across the deck cutting down a pair of crewmen. Warwick rushed forward to check the royal party; for the most part they seemed alright if a little rattled. The women were quickly ushered into the interior of the destroyer soaked and shaken but the Tsarevitch was nowhere to be seen.Then came the cry from the spotter.The first thing Warwick noticed was a small white figure emerge in the immediate wake of the destroyer.The second thing he noticed was the sound of heavy boots hitting the deck.The third was an all too familiar figure running past and diving over the rails.Nikolai Alexandrovich Romanov arced into the ocean with the mooring line in hand. The smack of the water against his body was brutal, the frigid waters instantly saturating his clothing. The crew on the destroyer watched in shock and awe as the 5’6” Russian royal fought his way tooth and nail through the churning white waters and hooked the rope around the flailing boy and gestured frantically back at the ship. Not waiting for an order, the British sailors began the process of pulling in the now taught line.Beatty’s XO had trained his optics on the Brooke as it broke away from the bay and responded immediately to the hit.The ever indomitable admiral was far more concerned than he appeared. His orders were sharp and in quick succession.One of the burly ratings from the forward gun position hauled the 14 year old Alexei aboard and laid him out on the deck where what passed as the destroyers medical staff moved rapidly to get him inside. As far as Warwick could tell the boy looked almost frozen but otherwise uninjured.The boy’s father was not as lucky, While his son had been hauled aboard successfully , Nikolai was being buffeted against the hull by the near arctic waters having progressively given up his hold on lengths of the line to reduce the weight and allow the Tsarevitch to be hoisted aboard extremely quickly. Now the battered and fatigued ruler was at last slowly but surely hoisted up the side of the destroyer.Yuri watched one of his fingers snap backwards under the strain of shutting the damaged weapons breach behind a shrapnel shell. Perhaps he was mad or perhaps the blood loss had robbed him of his senses but he could feel no pain from the broken digit... Once again he dialed in his gun.The gun boomed one more time.Nikolai felt the hypervelocity fragment slice into his torso. Propelled by the force of shell exploding many meters away, the slug carved a path through flesh and muscle before embedding itself in the hull of the vessel. As the man who had once been Czar of all the Russia’s was hauled aboard the destroyer he felt the warmth of his royal blood soak into his frigid clothing. As the sailors and Russian volunteers carried him towards the ships interior he turned his hazed vision upon the spectre of Arkhangelsk...Then everything faded into blackness.Captain Ramsey could hardly believe his eyes as the mighty dreadnought HMS Queen Elizabeth cut along his stern forming a steel bastion against the sporadic enemy fire. Three more shells smashed into the side of the vessel but failed to make any impression against her 12 inch steel belt. As a wall of destroyers sailed across the bay spewing thick black smoke into the air the Captain at last relaxed slightly.Within minutes they were out range and on their way to join their escort home.