The first session of the Special Imperial Commission on Military Preparedness and Supply convened in a cavernous, wood-paneled chamber of the General Staff Building. The air was thick with the scent of old leather and the quiet animosity of powerful men. Seated around the long oak table were a dozen of the most influential figures in the Empire: decorated but unimaginative generals, admirals still reeling from their fleet's losses, allies of Witte looking for an opportunity, and, observing silently from a chair against the wall, Plehve's man, Kazimir Volgin, his face a mask of predatory patience.
At the head of the table sat the Minister of War, General Alexei Kuropatkin. Vain, cautious, and now bearing the full weight of a failing war, he presided over the meeting with a palpable sense of unease.
Mikhail was brought in not as a member, but as a witness to be examined. He stood alone at a small lectern, the focus of every skeptical eye in the room.
As expected, Volgin launched the first attack, guided by a list of questions from Plehve. "Baron Volkov," he began, his voice echoing slightly in the vast room. "This commission has reviewed evidence that you, a private citizen, organized an illegal shipment of munitions to the fleet at Port Arthur. Do you deny this act of high treason?"
The charge hung in the air, heavy and venomous. Mikhail met Volgin's gaze coolly. "I deny the charge of treason, yes. I do not deny the shipment. I admit to providing Admiral Makarov with the tools he needed to defend the honor of Russia, tools the state bureaucracy had failed to supply. I submit that allowing our fleet to perish due to incompetence would have been the greater crime."
His calm, defiant admission sent a murmur through the room. It was an audacious defense. Before Volgin could press the attack, however, General Kuropatkin intervened, rapping his knuckles on the table.
"Enough," the General said, his voice impatient. "The past is the past. Admiral Makarov is gone. This commission's purpose is not to prosecute junior barons; it is to find solutions to the catastrophic logistical failures that are starving our army in Manchuria." He picked up a thick, bound document from the table before him. "To that end, Baron Volkov has submitted a new proposal, one which I have found… intriguing."
Kuropatkin had pivoted the entire proceeding. He was in desperate need of a solution to his Trans-Siberian nightmare, and he was pragmatic enough to listen to one, no matter the source. He gestured for Mikhail to proceed.
This was the moment Mikhail had engineered. He was no longer on defense. For the next hour, he held the commission captive. He spoke not as a humble baron, but with the unassailable authority of a 21st-century logistics expert. He laid out the fatal flaws of the railway with brutal clarity, then unveiled his plan to fix it. He described the creation of dedicated marshaling yards near the Urals to assemble military trains for non-stop transit. He explained the concept of standardized container-like crates to speed up loading and unloading. He detailed a schedule of predictive maintenance for the over-strained locomotives and a color-coded priority system for all cargo.
To the generals who thought only in terms of marching divisions, it was a revelation. To the bureaucrats accustomed to a system of paperwork and delays, it was an alien language. Witte's allies on the commission listened with growing excitement. Volgin listened with growing horror, recognizing a level of strategic thinking that was profoundly dangerous.
"This is… ambitious," one of the older generals finally grumbled. "It would mean turning the entire established system on its head."
"The established system is failing, General," Mikhail countered smoothly. "It is delivering less than forty percent of the supplies our army needs to fight effectively. My plan can double that throughput."
The room was split. The genius of the plan was undeniable, but so was its author's questionable history and the revolutionary scale of the changes proposed. They were intrigued, but they were not convinced.
It was Kuropatkin who broke the deadlock. He saw both a potential solution to his greatest problem and a way to test this audacious young baron without fully committing his own reputation.
"Words are easy, Baron," the Minister of War declared, his eyes narrowed. "A practical demonstration is required. The most congested section of the railway is the stretch around Lake Baikal, where the Circumbaikal line is still incomplete and supplies must be ferried across the water. It is a disaster. It is a bottleneck that is strangling our army."
He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Mikhail. "I am giving you ninety days. You will be granted temporary plenary authority over the Irkutsk-to-Chita section of the line. All local railway and military authorities will answer to you. If, at the end of ninety days, you have doubled the daily supply tonnage across that section, this commission will recommend the implementation of your full proposal. If you fail, this commission will revisit Mr. Volgin's initial line of questioning with renewed interest."
It was an impossible task, a poisoned chalice disguised as an opportunity. He was being sent to the coldest, most remote, and most broken part of the Russian war machine and being told to fix it overnight.
Mikhail did not hesitate. "I accept the challenge, General."
He was dismissed. As he walked out of the General Staff Building, the air of St. Petersburg felt different. He was no longer a prisoner in a gilded cage. The "protection" of the Imperial Guard was lifted, replaced by a travel warrant and a portfolio of documents granting him near-dictatorial power over a thousand miles of railway track in the heart of Siberia.
He had won his release and a battlefield of his own choosing. But he was walking onto a tightrope, with the abyss of failure on one side and the uncertain ground of success on the other. He had to prove his modern mind could not just theorize, but could bend the brutal, physical reality of the Russian Empire to his will, all while his enemies watched and prayed for him to fall.