Penal Battalion of His Imperial Majesty

It was the year nineteen forty-three. Guards private Pavel Petrovich Romanov has strange dreams: as if, in ancient clothes, with a wig and at his side a sword, he rides through Europe, meets kings and princes, and can’t wait for his “hotly beloved” mother to finally die—freeing the throne of the Russian Empire, which by law is his. Then he wakes up in a trench near Shlisselburg with a terrible headache and choking.

Only a colorful officer’s scarf and a heavy snuffbox remain in his memory… and death. Yes, death came with a direct hit from a German shell into that trench—but the soldier’s consciousness, a Red Army fighter, a communist with pre-war experience, a former militia captain who had been demoted at Marshal Tukhachevsky’s personal request, had moved into the past. And what does that mean? It means that our cause is just, the enemy will be defeated, and victory will be ours!