Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

Once inside the Maid’s encampment, Ned approached her tent with a fearful tightness gripping his chest. When he had first seen Zhanna, barely a year earlier, she had been a simple schoolgirl, headstrong but innocent of war and politics. Her father had joked about marrying her off or sending her to school in France or America. When called upon to escort her to Omsk, Ned had felt as protective of her as an older brother. But now, Zhanna was Siberia’s most successful field commander, a wildly popular public figure, and someone who did not shrink from confrontation with the leading men of the land. Sometimes Ned thought that the girl’s character combined traits that could not possibly coexist in the same person.

Yet, if it were true that the Maid’s star had begun to fall, and that she was excluded from the Admiral’s inner circle, what was to become of her? How could she possibly pursue the war without the Admiral’s support? Would she return to her father’s house at Verkhne-Udinsk, as she had told the Admiral? Or might she leave Russia, perhaps to accept McCloud’s offer of a lecture tour across America? Who, besides her Voices, would protect her from those who aimed to end her crusade?

When the orderly admitted Ned to Zhanna’s tent, she was seated on a folding camp chair opposite General Tolstov, their heads huddled together and their voices low. Tolstov was first to notice Ned. He quickly transformed the pained expression on his weather-beaten face into a friendly smile and stood to embrace his visitor. Zhanna, too, grasped Ned’s hands in greeting but her eyes met his for only an instant before turning away.

The Maid, dressed in a freshly pressed uniform, looked healthy and fit, though her hair was an inch or two longer since their last meeting, spilling over her collar, and her bangs nearly obscuring her eyes. For an instant, Ned wondered whether Zhanna was hiding something, as a man might grow a beard or mustache to conceal his feelings.

“We were just talking about the honor that Admiral Kolchak has bestowed upon Zhanna this morning,” Tolstov began, his smile failing to mask his unease. “A messenger arrived with word that the Admiral has decided to decorate Zhanna for her service and, as a token of the nation’s gratitude, has asked the legislature to exempt Verkhne-Udinsk from ten years of taxation. But the terms of the grant require Zhanna to remain at the Admiral’s disposal until she is dismissed, and not to speak out against the ceasefire.”

The Maid looked off into the distance, then suddenly rose and paced like a caged bear in the tent’s cramped space.

“As difficult as it is to remain silent, it is the idleness I cannot tolerate,” she complained. “My very nature rises up to fight the Bolsheviks. Yet now I am forbidden from doing it, and all those close to me urge restraint—even my Voices! Not so long ago, everything seemed so clear to me, yet now I am at a loss what to do. I feel abandoned.”

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Tolstov responded. “It is not for us to question.”

“But I do question!” Zhanna protested, stomping a booted foot on the packed earth. “And while I remain loyal to the Admiral, I question him above all, because he has disappointed me so.”

“In what way?” Ned ventured with a painful frown.

“After years of defeat at the hands of the Germans, and then by the Red Army, Russia was winning at last!” she exclaimed, shaking a pale fist. “Yet now, just as victory is within our reach, we have been ordered to stand down. How could the Admiral do such a thing to us?”

“Zhanna, you’re repeating yourself,” Tolstov chided her gently. “Tell me, was it not God’s will to bring Admiral Kolchak to Samara and arrange for his election as regent?”

“I believe so,” she answered, pacing once again.

“Well, then, is the Admiral not then the leader God chose?” Tolstov demanded. “And if he is, are we not obliged to accept him? Unless, of course, you would conclude that God was wrong.”

“God cannot be wrong!” the girl objected.

“Then we must tolerate the occasional setback, Zhanna,” Tolstov replied. “After all, God must work his ways through men, and every government of men is built upon bargain and compromise.”

“It’s a far cry from the barricades at Uralsk, isn’t it?” Ned offered by way of distraction. “War seemed much simpler then.”

“Oh, dear Ned, how often I wish we were back at those barricades! How we lived, crashing through the trenches!” she said, raising her half-closed eyes to the tent’s low ceiling.

“You miss the fighting, Zhanna?” Tolstov broke in after allowing the Maid a moment of reflection. “It’s a bad habit, and one of the hardest to break, but it’s a grand one!”

“Perhaps I should slip away to Baikal,” she added with a bright look in her eye. “Nothing is happening here, and how I long to spend the days with my father and brothers and our beloved animals!”

At this, Tolstov cast weary look at Ned, as if to convey that he had heard it all before.