October 1907
Major Zakharov rubbed his face, trying to shake off the sleep threatening to overtake him. It had been nearly four months since he began working on the shooting competition that the Tsarevich had so casually entrusted to him after an interview and background check. He was truly grateful for the opportunity to be entrusted with such an event, but the sheer amount of work had begun to wear him down, especially now that the event was only a week away, and the workload had nearly doubled.
As he sat behind his desk, resting for a moment, he couldn't help but think back to a few months ago, when he had been on the verge of being sent to the Far East to handle the logistics of the Imperial Army in Vladivostok. Instead, he had been spared when the Tsarevich intervened and arranged for him to remain in the capital.
He still didn't know whom he had offended or crossed at the time to warrant such a sudden reassignment. The letter from the military command informing him of his new post had come without warning. He could still recall the sense of devastation and betrayal he had felt upon reading it.
Fortunately, the Tsarevich had approached him at the last moment regarding the shooting competition. He had answered every question at that time without hesitation and accepted the task immediately after it was offered. Of course, he was also grateful to General Voeykov, whom he had heard was the one who recommended him.
The news of the shooting competition had already spread far and wide throughout the Imperial Russian Army and Navy, and every unit had sent its best marksmen to the capital to take part. The number of participants, both officers and enlisted men, had grown tremendously after the cash rewards were announced. Fortunately, he had anticipated this, and he and his team had worked tirelessly to ensure the event would run as smoothly as possible.
Still, the stress and fatigue that had been building up were already beginning to show, and the event had not even started yet. He could only hope he could endure until the end, and that the competition would be a success. Otherwise, he would surely find himself sent to the Far East after all.
He rubbed his neck this time, trying to ease the stiffness, before looking down at the stack of papers on his desk. He sighed at the sight of them. He was already experienced in organizing such events, but never on this scale. The sheer amount of preparation required was easily double, if not more, than what he was accustomed to when handling military events. Nevertheless, there was nothing Zakharov could not do or accomplish, he told himself, and carried on.
He checked the ledger that tracked their spending. The amount was enormous, in his opinion, as the Tsarevich had specifically ordered that the participants, especially the enlisted men, be provided with better accommodations and food. Zakharov appreciated that the Tsarevich looked out for these men. As a soldier in the logistics department, he knew all too well how often they were overlooked in favor of officers, who, in his view, were far more privileged. Still, improved accommodations and provisions came with staggering costs. He knew the funds came directly from the Imperial family, but he still wanted to keep the expenses as controlled as possible. His performance in organizing this event would determine his future. It took some time to review everything, and by the time he finished, he let out a quiet sigh before reaching for the documents detailing the event's timetable.
He was about to open the folder when a knock sounded at the door. He paused and called out, "Come in."
His assistant pushed the door open and reported, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Major, but the Tsarevich has arrived and wishes to see you."
Zakharov straightened in his seat the moment he heard that. He glanced around his office and, seeing that it was at least presentable, nodded to his assistant and rose. "Please let him in.."
The Tsarevich had been visiting his office at least once a week, and now that the event was fast approaching, it had become twice a week. Zakharov understood the reason, this was the Tsarevich's first proposed major event, and with the Tsar's support behind it, it was only natural that the tsarevich would ensure everything was in order. Still, it was somewhat baffling that a twelve-year-old Tsarevich cared so much about the event. Zakharov, however, asked no questions and simply carried out the tasks assigned to him. He had served long enough to know that asking too many questions could lead to trouble.
Of course, his office had also been relocated to the Winter Palace, and he had no doubt that his accessibility to the Tsarevich was one of the reasons for the frequent visits.
His assistant hurriedly saluted, then opened the door wide, bowing as he ushered the tsarevich in. "Please come in, Your Imperial Highness."
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Alexei entered Zakharov's office and began, "I'm sorry I didn't inform you beforehand before coming here, Major."
As he stepped further inside, his gaze settled on Zakharov. It did not take him long to notice the man's worn and tired face, the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the stiffness in his posture, and the subtle signs of fatigue that even discipline could not fully conceal. Alexei felt a slight pang of pity. The workload he had entrusted to the man had clearly taken its toll. Still, work was work and the man had accepted the job.
If Zakharov could endure and see this through to the end, Alexei would make sure he was properly rewarded once everything was done, and successful.
Zakharov immediately waved his hand and offered a slight smile. "Oh no, Your Highness. There's no need to apologize for such a small matter."
"Really?" Alexei returned the smile. "Then I won't trouble myself over it."
He then gestured toward the seat in front of the desk. "May I take a seat?"
"Of course, Your Highness," Zakharov said with a smile, appreciating how the Tsarevich never put on airs around him. He had met the Tsarevich many times already, yet not once had he seen even a trace of the snobbishness so common among young nobles and noble officers in the military.
When he saw that Tsarevich had taken his seat, Zakharov sat down as well and glanced toward his assistant, who was still lingering nearby. "Please bring us some refreshments and snacks."
"Yes, Major."
Once the assistant left, Zakharov turned his attention to the Tsarevich and asked with a slight smile, "What can I do for you this time, Your Highness?"
"The usual, about the shooting competition," Alexei replied, his gaze drifting over the stacks of documents on Zakharov's desk. "Only a week remains. I want to know if we're still on schedule and how many have registered to participate."
This was his first proposed competition, and he wanted everything to succeed from beginning to end. People, especially the nobility and bureaucrats alike, were already watching his every move, and he had no doubt they were closely observing the outcome of this event as well. Some of them, he knew, would even prefer to see it fail. He could only hope they would refrain from sabotaging anything. He was not a God who could prevent every possible problem. At best, he could only react if something went wrong during the competition, but by then, it would already be too late, and he did not like that feeling one bit. Nevertheless, he was already thinking of a thousand ways to punish anyone he would find guilty if anything went wrong.
Zakharov sighed inwardly, having already expected the question, but he still asked it to begin the conversation with the Tsarevich. Outwardly, however, his smile only grew more confident. He picked up a document from his desk and handed it to the Tsarevich as he said, "Everything is in order and on schedule, Your Highness. You have nothing to worry about. As for the number of participants, you can find the details in this document. There are approximately four hundred enlisted men registered, and six hundred or more officers."
Alexei frowned when he heard that only four hundred enlisted men had registered, when there were almost a million of them to begin with. He looked over the document to be sure and quickly found the exact figure, four hundred and twelve. He glanced up from the papers and asked, "Is there any reason why the number of enlisted men is far lower than that of the officers?"
One of the reasons he had pushed for the competition in the first place was to get closer to the soldiers and give them a chance to showcase their marksmanship, and have them win something from it. He had even increased the number of winners to ensure that at least more than the usual would walk away with a reward, and perhaps even speak well of the imperial family's generosity after the competition. And now… only this many, out of almost a million enlisted men? That was not acceptable, for all of his and Zakharov's efforts.
Zakharov raised an eyebrow at the question and took a moment to think. When he did, he gave a slight cough, trying to find a way to answer evasively without giving in anything he had overlooked. He hesitated, and was about to speak, when the Tsarevich beat him to it.
Alexei raised a hand. "Don't give me excuses, Zakharov. I want a direct answer. I can see from your expression and gestures that you're about to lie, or at least tell half-truths. Please don't."
Zakharov sighed inwardly. One of the traits he had come to notice in the Tsarevich was his attentiveness, his ability to read people and sense when they were being dishonest. Zakharov wasn't sure whether it was something natural or something that should concern him, nor did he have any desire to report it. The last thing he wanted was to be on the bad side of the future Tsar, especially one so mature for his age.
He took a deep breath and answered truthfully. "There is something I overlooked, Your Highness. One of the requirements for our registration is that participants must be recommended by their superiors. The officers can easily exploit this, as many of their superiors are either their relatives or part of their own faction. They can recommend anyone, even if they are not truly skilled marksmen. I believe that is why the number of officers is higher than that of the enlisted men. As long as they know or have someone above them, they can secure a recommendation. I know this because I have seen how they used the tactic before, especially during promotions."
Alexei had already expected as much, given how corrupt the Russian military could be from what he deduced during the Russo-Japanese war and his visits to different military strongholds before. He had not included any form of skill test during registration, knowing it would slow the process considerably. Still, that was not the answer he was looking for. He wanted to understand why so few enlisted men had registered, not why so many officers were on the list.
After considering Zakharov's explanation, he gave a small nod and asked again, "Even so, that still doesn't explain why there are so few enlisted men on the list when we have nearly a million, or perhaps more, serving in the army. Why do you think that is?"
"Hmm?" Zakharov did not answer immediately and took a moment to think. It seemed the Tsarevich was concerned with the number of enlisted men, which in his own opinion was tremendous enough, not the number of officers on the list. Had he known, he would not have exposed one of the corrupt practices within the military so readily. He sighed inwardly, hoping the Tsarevich would not bring the matter before the Tsar and implicate him as a whistleblower.
Nevertheless, he answered truthfully, based on his understanding of the situation. "I have not examined it in detail, Your Highness, but if I may offer my deductions…" He paused, and when the Tsarevich nodded, he continued. "One reason may be time. A few months is not nearly enough to spread the news throughout the entire empire, especially to those stationed in the Far East, as we are short on men that are spreading the news about the competition. On top of that, after receiving the news, enlisted men would have to travel from their units to the capital. This is also the first time such an event has been held, so some units may not have taken it seriously or sent their best marksmen to participate."
Seeing that the Tsarevich gave little reaction, Zakharov considered further and added, "There is also the matter of money, Your Highness. Some enlisted men may not have the means to afford the fare to travel to the capital, and certain units may not be willing to cover those expenses."
That finally drew a reaction from the Tsarevich, as Zakharov saw him straighten and fix his gaze on him. He fell silent at once, waiting for his response.
"So, time and money," Alexei muttered, just loud enough for Zakharov to hear. He had not expected the organization of the competition to be perfect on its first run. Still, they needed to identify and record their shortcomings so they could address them in the next one.
He looked directly at Zakharov and said, "You will need to address these issues in the next competition, Zakharov. I want more enlisted men to participate next time, especially those stationed far from the capital."
Zakharov nodded at once, pleased that the Tsarevich still considered him for organizing the next competition. He knew this one had to be a success if he was to be entrusted with another, and he was determined to see it through. Being sent to the Far East was far from his aspirations, and if securing his future meant staying close to the favor of the future Tsar, then so be it.
Seeing that Zakharov simply nodded and began recording his words in a personal notebook, Alexei added, "If possible, make the announcement early next year. Perhaps we can hold smaller competitions within each unit and have the winners sent here to participate. See if that's feasible and report back to me once you have an answer."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Alexei waited for Zakharov to finish scribbling before saying what he had truly come for. "About the award presenters we discussed earlier, I have spoken with my father about it, and he has agreed to attend and present the awards to the winners in both the enlisted and officers' categories. My mother and sisters will also be in attendance and will present the awards to the runners-up. They will only attend on the final day of the competition, so we must ensure that the stands where they will be seated at that time are comfortable enough for them. As for their security, the head of my father's guard will be arriving shortly to coordinate with you. I want you to include all of this in your preparations."
Zakharov looked at the Tsarevich, momentarily tongue-tied. It had always been his wish for the Tsar to personally attend an event he had organized. At first, he had been dismayed when the Tsarevich told him that the Tsar was too busy to attend the competition. But now, hearing that the Tsar would indeed be present, he found himself at a loss for words. He could only look at the Tsarevich, as if seeking confirmation that all of this was truly happening.
Alexei chuckled softly at Zakharov's expression. "Don't look at me like that, it's true. I didn't expect the Tsar to agree so easily this time. You and your men will have to work harder, though. I want my father to at least be pleased with the competition, perhaps even say something favorable about it. Can you manage that?"
He had already planned to use the competition as a stepping stone to propose the creation of a new ministry within his father's Council of Ministers, the Ministry of Sports. That was why the event had to succeed, no matter the cost. He wanted to support public entertainment on a broader scale, and to do that effectively, a proper governing body would have to be established. The idea had first taken shape when Andrei Nagel approached him for support with the car races he was organizing with his friends, in addition to the backing Alexei had already given to the motor show. He had agreed readily at that time as he didn't really have to do anything on his part aside from giving them money for rewards and organization.
Aside from managing sports and entertainment on a broader scale, the Ministry of Sports could also serve as his path into his father's Council of Ministers, perhaps even as its minister. After all, he was the one proposing it, should it ever come into existence. Still, he doubted his father would entrust him with such a position at his current age. For now, he would have to move one step at a time.
And if his father would not approve, he had also considered building the organization himself. Not entirely on his own, of course, but with people already working under him. They were already enthusiastic, especially now that their passions were beginning to take shape with his support, like Andrei Nagel. How much more so would they be if it were expanded on a national level and on a broader scale?
Zakharov straightened in his seat and answered confidently, "Of course, Your Highness. You can rest assured that everything will run smoothly during the competition. You have my word."
Alexei nodded with a faint smile. "I expect nothing less from you, Zakharov." He paused, then added with a hint of meaning, "Who knows? If the competition proves successful and no mishaps occur, you may be the first person I call when I have something else to organize, not only within the military, but on the civilian side as well. I have a need for people like you."
Zakharov found himself at a loss for words and could only nod, overwhelmed by the sudden turn of fortune that seemed to have fallen into his lap. For a brief moment, he even wondered what he might have done in his past life to deserve such an opportunity.
Of course, these "blessings" were merely promises for now. But he was determined to work hard and make them a reality. From what he had observed, he was certain that the Tsarevich was not one to go back on his word. Of that, he hoped.
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