Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

When Ned arrived at Liberty House, he found the newly appointed Finance Minister, George Guins, in the conference room, drinking tea at the samovar with Sir Thomas Preston, the British Consul at Omsk. Also present were Colonel Ward of the British Military Mission; the American Consul, John Embry; the French High Commissioner, Eugene Regnault; and Kolchak’s Acting Foreign Minister, Ivan Sukin. Ned attended as representative of the Inter-Allied Railway Committee at Omsk.

Soon after Ned joined them, the men took their respective places around the table in a sequence dictated by rank. Ned noticed at once that Sukin’s hands were trembling so badly that his glass of tea rattled in its silver filigree holder. Ned ascribed his nervousness to the tensions that had brought about the meeting, namely, that the White Forces desperately needed Allied diplomatic recognition and continued aid to pursue their struggle against Bolshevism, yet could not be assured of receiving them without implementing reforms that neither Admiral Kolchak nor his cabinet would likely accept.

Adding to Sukin’s desperation was new pressure from an unexpected direction. For the Beregovoy wireless station had lately intercepted coded telegrams from Generals Gaida and Kappel, the young and relatively liberal commanders of the Northern and Western Armies, respectively. The messages had warned of a serious rift between the Army and the civilian population along the Urals front unless tax collections and conscriptions were suspended until the Omsk Government convened a new national assembly.

At the risk of being deemed insubordinate or mutinous, the two generals had warned the Supreme Ruler that certain government officials of the old school were doing serious damage to his regime by resisting all meaningful reform. The generals urged Kolchak to convene a new national assembly from among Russia’s free territories to demonstrate his support for local and national self-rule.

The Admiral thereupon assigned Guins and Sukin the task of striking a deal with the Allies for aid and recognition that would meet the requirements not only of his younger, more liberal-minded generals, but also of his reactionary sponsors. On its face it seemed an impossible task.

After calling the session to order, Guins did his best to put a hopeful gloss on the task facing the multinational conferees by reciting a summary of the White Armies’ improved situation on the ground. Then he thanked the Allies for supplying the resources that made recent White victories possible.

“But to achieve a final victory over Bolshevism,” he went on in solemn tones, “we shall require more, much more. The purpose of today’s session is to settle upon the steps needed to secure both further material aid for our government and Allied recognition as sole representative of the Russian people.”

A moment of silence followed while the Allied guests cast furtive glances at one another to determine who would answer first. In accordance with protocol, Commissioner Regnault cleared his throat to speak, being the senior Allied representative present. Regnault, a distinguished diplomat in his early sixties who had also been France’s Ambassador to Japan since 1913, wore a long gray beard and a black frock coat bedecked with medals, and squinted through thick wire-rimmed spectacles.

“France applauds Admiral Kolchak and General Denikin for their recent achievements,” Regnault began, gesturing expansively with both hands. “Now that the White Forces have joined at the Volga, a unified White administration can at last claim to operate on an All-Russian scale. So tell me, Minister Guins, what are your government’s plans for new elections in territories under your control?”

“What sort of elections did you have in mind, Your Excellency?” Guins dodged while offering a forced smile.

“Why, elections to a new national assembly, of course,” Regnault sniffed.

“Let us all agree on one thing,” Minister Sukin broke in, his face flushed as he tapped his forefinger on the table for emphasis. “There can be no talk of reconvening the old Constituent Assembly of 1917. Too many delegates are dead or in exile, and too many constituencies lost to Bolshevik rule. And, obviously, we could not possibly allow Red delegates to claim seats. No, we would need wholly new elections. And there is no energy for such a project while we remain at war.”

“But what if a national assembly were possible without new nationwide elections?” the British consul asked Sukin, while offering an indulgent nod across the table to his French counterpart. “To find delegates distinct from those of the old Constituent Assembly might not require new elections at all. Why couldn’t the delegates be chosen from previously elected members of existing bodies?”