Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“The first thing you must know about these marvelous devices,” Popov asserted proudly in educated Russian, “is that they represent the future of warfare. Ours is a new kind of war, you see, one of mobility, without clearly defined front lines. In such a war, advances can often be counted in the hundreds of miles rather than yards, as in trench warfare. Ours is also a war of shock, in which tanks and armored cars can smash through fixed positions, sow panic among entrenched defenders and enhance the effectiveness of attacking infantry, much like the armored knights of old.”

“Yes, yes, I see, Captain Popov,” the Maid interrupted, “but how would you propose to deploy them here at Uralsk?”

“In two ways, general,” the captain answered. “The first is to punch frontally through barricades and fortified positions. The second is to maneuver rapidly around them, probing for weak points in enemy defenses while protecting our attackers’ flanks. A great advantage of these cars is that they emit a very high rate of fire and, unlike tachanka wagons, can fire in all directions.”

“And their weaknesses?” the Maid inquired.

“Inaccurate fire due to our bad Russian roads,” Popov laughed. “And frequent breakdowns. Also, a limited operating range and a limited time on station, for they carry only enough ammunition for about a half-hour of heavy fighting and grow so hot inside that the crews must withdraw or collapse from the heat and foul air.”

“Do you understand the importance of your role in this battle, then, captain?” the Maid asked with a grave mien. “You and your cars will lead the assault on the enemy’s strongest points. We shall count on you to penetrate their defenses without fail, and, if need be, at all costs.”

“I understand, general. Once let loose on the city, my crews and I vow not to stop fighting until the battle is won.”

“That is very good to hear,” Zhanna remarked, placing a hand on his arm, “because I will be riding beside you in your car’s second turret, with my banner held aloft so that our troops can see us and follow our path forward.”

Ned’s jaw dropped on hearing these words, as they signified either supreme courage or suicidal folly. For while Zhanna had said many times that she would lead her men into battle, he had never thought she meant it so literally.

“Zhanna, please let’s say no more of this until we’ve discussed it privately with General Tolstov,” Ned urged, approaching close to speak softly in her ear. “To make a target of yourself in this way accomplishes nothing.”

“The Archangel Michael has promised me protection,” she answered in a resolute voice. “And I cannot ask of my men what I would not do myself. The matter is settled.”

Ned cast a troubled glance at Denisov but said no more.

* * *

During the two nights before the arms convoy arrived from Guryev, Siberian forces outside Uralsk harried the Red defenders with intermittent shelling, mortar barrages, sapper charges, night raids, and feints by tachankas and improvised gunboats that prowled at all hours along the city’s perimeter. The moon had waned to a thin crescent, rendering stealthy Cossack infiltrators nearly invisible on their approach toward Red positions. Meanwhile, the Cossack cavalry enlarged the radius of encirclement around the city to hinder Bolshevik attempts to smuggle messages, food and ammunition through the blockade.

To Tolstov’s delight, the British naval crews promised the Cossacks fresh supplies every second day for up to a week, including scarce shells for their artillery. Particularly effective were the incendiary shells used to destroy buildings along the city’s defensive perimeter, thus clearing a direct line of sight into the city. And each night the Siberian mortar crews grew more accurate as they registered the exact locations of key targets to be hit once the assault began.

The third night of shelling grew more intense, intended as it was to take out as many Red artillery emplacements, machine gun nests and sniper positions as possible before the planned assault the next morning. Tolstov had convened his senior commanders shortly after dusk for a final briefing on the battle plan, which called for eight of the newly arrived British armored cars to lead a combined arms assault over flat terrain into the northern sector of the city, with a diversionary attack from the west across the Chagan river aboard barges and across a half-destroyed pontoon bridge leading to the city center.

Immediately after the briefing, Tolstov accompanied the Maid to a nearby chapel to pray. Many officers joined them, including Denisov, Ned, Ivashov and Paladin. As they filed out of the chapel, Zhanna spoke quietly to Paladin.

“At dawn we proceed into the fire. Will you follow me?” she asked in a quiet voice, holding his arm as they walked.

The young miller swallowed hard before answering.

“Yes,” he replied. “Wherever you go, I promise to be close by.”