Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

Kolchak spoke up at once, without greeting or introduction, his button-black eyes darting restlessly from one spot to another.

“None of you can imagine how tedious I find it when one of my officers approaches me to complain of another. I will simply not stand for it. My solution is to let both sides challenge each other in my presence. If you cannot work together, but insist that one of you must prevail over the other, very well, I will sit as judge and jury. Will you accept my final judgment?”

“Oh, yes sir,” Zhanna offered quickly.

“We serve at your pleasure, Your Excellency,” Lebedev answered in a monotone, his face an ashen hue.

“Since you are the one holding office and whose performance is at issue here, I suggest that you speak first, general,” Admiral Kolchak said. “Tell us why you deserve to remain as Chief of Staff.”

“I believe my successes speak for themselves, Your Excellency,” Lebedev began. “You knew my record when you appointed me, and I have been your loyal servant ever since, leading the Stavka through extremely perilous times. And now, having successfully carried out our spring offensive, we have struck the Bolsheviks crushing blows all along the Urals Front. As we prepare for the next phase of the offensive, I stand ready to pursue the war to final victory over Bolshevism. By your leave, of course.”

As Lebedev’s bombastic manner was familiar to all and none expected him to concede an inch, Ned and Ward turned their attention to Kolchak and Dieterichs. The former appeared impatient and uneasy, while the latter folded his hands in his lap and regarded Lebedev with a mixture of aversion and pity.

“Have you nothing more specific?” Dieterichs asked in a clipped voice.

“After all I have done for the Siberian cause, general, I see no need to defend myself against the baseless allegations of an ignorant schoolgirl,” Lebedev sniffed, raising his fleshy nose toward the ceiling. “Indeed, I marvel that she has somehow clawed her way into this chamber.”

“Marvel if you wish, General Lebedev,” Dieterichs answered. “She is here, all the same. General Dorokhina, you may proceed.”

Lebedev winced at hearing the girl addressed as general.

“Thank you,” Zhanna said. “The Chief of Staff tells us that his successes speak for themselves, yet he is unable to name them. To my mind, his failures speak far more loudly. And since he declines to name these, I will.”

Lebedev’s jaw clenched tightly, and he looked daggers at the Maid.

“The biggest one is that he mismanaged the spring offensive from beginning to end,” she accused, “and nearly led the Siberian Army to ruin at Ufa. He and his Stavka set out with no rational plan of action. They simply bade the army fly toward the Volga in blind hopes of igniting uprisings that never came. He had no plan to resist a Red counteroffensive, and from the outset, he and the Stavka underestimated the Red Army’s size and strength. For this reason and others, he should have ordered the Western Army to halt at the Belaya River until reinforcements were at hand.”

As none of her listeners objected, she went on.

“In my view, these failures resulted not only from his personal failings as Chief of Staff, but also from his selection of incompetent and undisciplined staff officers who displayed little concern for our troops. That he and his staff sent our sons and brothers into battle badly trained, armed, and equipped, amounts to a betrayal of the Siberian people. For these reasons I urge General Lebedev’s dismissal for gross negligence and incompetence in time of war.”

Zhanna crossed her trousered legs and sat back in her armchair, chin uplifted, to await the reaction.

Though Ned half-expected Lebedev to explode in anger, the Chief of Staff merely folded his thick arms across his chest and curled his upper lip into a sneer.

“It seems to me that sending this young woman to the front has been a terrible mistake,” he replied, directing his gaze at Dieterichs. “A modicum of success achieved under Tolstov’s skilled guidance has gone straight to her pretty head. For no sooner did Tolstov’s Cossacks take Uralsk, than this young Maid disobeyed my direct order to join the siege of Orenburg. Instead, she ran off to God knows where, leaving both Orenburg and Uralsk at the mercy of the Fourth Red Army. For her to speak of negligence and incompetence is for the pot to call the kettle black.”

Zhanna’s eyes blazed but her voice remained clear and calm when she addressed her rebuttal to Dieterichs.

“None is so ready to find fault with others as the one who deserves blame himself,” she noted. “My attacks succeeded; his did not. The Chief of Staff merely adds yeast to his lies.”

At this, Lebedev’s cheeks turned beet-red and a deep furrow appeared in his forehead as he scowled across the table at the Maid.

“Mind your tongue, young vixen!” he snarled. “And address me directly, if you please. I will not be talked across. We are not equals here. Eggs do not teach a hen.”