Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“Responsibility weighs just as heavily on a staff officer who plans an operation as it does on the commander who executes it,” the general pointed out. “In Moltke’s words, no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy. Tell me, Zhanna, now that you are elevated to general and practiced in the art of war, what would you do so differently now from what General Lebedev does?”

Zhanna folded her small hands, browned by the sun and roughened by long rides on horseback, and laid them on the table before looking up at Dieterichs with a calculating smile.

“I would take three actions that our Chief of Staff has steadfastly refused to do. First and most important, I would send an army to the southwest to join forces with General Denikin’s army at the Volga and seize control of the grain-rich region from Tsaritsyn to Samara. This would deprive the Bolsheviks of much-needed foodstuffs and sever their lines of communication to the Caspian and to Central Asia.

“Next, I would form a unified command with General Denikin and establish regular communications between us and our allies, using technical means the Americans and British have already provided.” Here she paused to offer a nod to Ned and to Colonel Ward. “Such coordination would, among other things, prevent Comrade Trotsky from shuttling his heavy artillery back and forth by rail to strike at our forces one day and at Denikin’s the next.”

Ned noticed a startled look on the Supreme Ruler’s face, as if Zhanna’s grasp of strategy had surprised him.

“And finally, I would restrict our offensive to the Southern Front until such time as the Northern and Western Armies are rebuilt. This requires holding a defensive line along the Kama and the Belaya until after the harvest, and perhaps longer. It also requires redirecting Allied military aid to the Southern Front. As I am sure you all recall, the Chief of Staff has fought tooth and nail against each of these measures.”

When Zhanna had concluded her speech, Admiral Kolchak rose from his chair without a word and retreated behind his massive wooden desk, as if to take shelter from the force of her arguments. At last, he spoke up in a barely audible tone, and with an expression as meek as that of a worn-out draft horse.

“But whom could I appoint to replace General Lebedev?” he asked in a hoarse and cracking voice. “He is the only one at the Stavka I can trust to not stab me in the back.”

“God will provide a suitable replacement,” the Maid replied gently. “What He expects from you is to act promptly upon it,” the Maid replied. “I ask Your Excellency: apart from the south, where General Tolstov and I have worked independently of the Stavka, at what other place along the Urals Front is your position stronger now than before the spring offensive began?”

Silence followed, and yet again General Dieterichs intervened to save the Supreme Ruler from embarrassment.

“The truth is that, while we have retaken some lost territory, our forces are outnumbered and outgunned everywhere but in the south,” the general conceded.

“And still without reserves,” Ward added.

All eyes now were on Admiral Kolchak, who let out a deep breath and leaned forward to rest his weight on the desk.

“Perhaps so large a task should not have been entrusted to a staff officer without more command experience,” he said with eyes lowered.

“I agree, Your Excellency,” Dieterichs added. “And now I would submit that the Chief of Staff’s errors have become too serious to excuse. Shall I send for him?”

“Yes, let us bring Lebedev here and allow him to offer his defense,” Kolchak answered. “The matter must be settled, one way or the other, this very day.”

* * *

During the brief recess, the Supreme Ruler remained in his office while General Dieterichs led Zhanna, Colonel Ward, and Ned into a separate meeting room. As soon as the door closed behind them, Ward asked Dieterichs whether further awkwardness might be avoided by persuading the Chief of Staff to resign.

“Impossible,” Dieterichs replied as he paced slowly from one end of the room to the other. “Lebedev would never relinquish power willingly.”

“Nothing is impossible with God’s help,” Zhanna remarked with a fresh sparkle in her violet eyes.

For the next half hour, they discussed how Lebedev might be induced to resign his post but failed to agree on a plan. Ninety minutes later, after adjourning for lunch, the duty officer ushered them back into Admiral Kolchak’s office through its oversized double doors. Bright sunlight streamed into the room through tall windows and partially drawn curtains, forming radiant beams where dust particles played.

On entering, they found the Chief of Staff seated beside the Supreme Ruler on a neoclassical sofa with a carved-wood frame, opposite a low table. Across from the table was a matching sofa, where Dieterichs sat, and a pair of armchairs. Zhanna took a place next to General Dieterichs on the sofa while the two foreign officers seated themselves in the armchairs.