Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“I think it’s the system of diplomacy he and Lloyd George subscribe to, which these days goes by the name of Realpolitik,” Barrows explained. “If you aren’t already familiar with it, this is a doctrine that seeks a balance of power in a region or a dispute, regardless of principle or merit. It holds, for example, that whichever side is winning should be allowed to prevail, even if that side’s advantage was obtained by foul means, as with the Bolsheviks. Frankly, Ned, in men professing to be so very high-minded and progressive, I find that attitude repulsive. And in Russia’s case, I suspect that Wilson’s and Lloyd George’s hesitation about Kolchak may also stem from a secret fear that a unified Russia may one day challenge American and British ambitions in Asia.”

Here was the college professor at work, the citizen-soldier whose deep understanding of history and politics informed his views on America’s proper role in foreign wars. Ned had never considered the President’s decisions in this light before.

“How depressing,” Ned remarked, on perceiving that ulterior motives might be at play. “But what if an Allied government other than America or Britain recognized Kolchak first? Might we then follow suit?”

“Perhaps, but it would likely require a groundswell of public opinion to force Wilson’s hand,” Barrows speculated.

“What if a groundswell were already underway?” Ned suggested. “I know a journalist who has been writing about the Maid of Baikal for an American newspaper syndicate. His readers can’t get enough of her. He claims her face has replaced Kolchak’s as the new emblem of the Omsk regime. What if the Maid keeps winning battles and Kolchak edges further toward democracy? Might that be enough to get him recognized in Washington?”

“Recognition for a dictator who calls himself Russia’s Supreme Ruler, and whose backers are unabashed militarists? Not by a long shot,” the colonel observed while knocking his pipe ashes into a malachite ashtray. “Wilson’s Progressives would never sit still for it.”

“But what if the Maid is right about Kolchak?” Ned protested. “Just about every Siberian knows that Zhanna made three predictions when she came to Omsk.”

“Yes, and I’m well aware of them,” Barrows continued with a reverence Ned had not expected from him. ”The Red counteroffensive will be turned back at the Belaya, the Fifth Red Army will be destroyed from the south, and Moscow will be taken by Christmas.” Barrows looked up with expectant eyes.

“So far she’s right on schedule,” Ned noted. “But she also predicted that Admiral Kolchak will be elected in Samara as regent of a free Russian government. Colonel, at this very moment, Zhanna’s army and that of Baron Wrangel are only four hundred versts from Samara. That’s where she’s headed now. And I think Kolchak is thinking hard about what to do when she gets there.”

Ned bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees in anticipation of the colonel’s response.

“Look, it’s already July,” Barrows objected, tilting his head back and rolling his eyes. “An election like that would require seating an entirely new national assembly. What political leader in his right mind would call an election before locking up victory on the battlefield?”

“That’s precisely Zhanna’s point,” Ned pointed out, pounding a fist into his open palm. “According to her Voices, the one thing the Admiral needs most as a leader is legitimacy. His election as regent would give him that. By pledging to step down and hold new elections once the Bolsheviks are defeated, I should think he could also make quite a strong case to deserve Allied recognition.”

“So you believe the road to Moscow leads through Samara?” Barrows pressed, taking a pull from his pipe and pointing its stem at Ned as if for emphasis.

“I do.” Ned straightened himself in his chair and gave Barrows an intent look.

“All right, then,” the colonel said, stealing a glance at the clock on the wall. “I’ll offer you a deal. If the Maid takes Samara, and Kolchak makes the slightest move to travel there, I want you to hop on the first train and follow him. In the meantime, if your Maid thinks she can get him to trade his title of Supreme Ruler for that of regent, I wish her luck. Unlike whomever the Maid reports to, my superiors don’t believe in miracles.”

* * *

Encouraged by the success of General Denikin’s forces in South Russia and the Maid’s and Baron Wrangel’s parallel advances toward Samara, the British Military Mission began to flood White-held seaports on the Black Sea with heavy arms. At the same time, additional support appeared from unexpected sources. General Dieterichs’ appeal to his Serbian counterparts netted the Whites a crack regiment of Serbian volunteers in mid-July, followed soon after by volunteer regiments from Poland and Romania. And French ships delivered more arms from surplus stores held in Turkey and Bulgaria, purchased covertly with American funds.