Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“I wouldn’t advise it, Zhanna,” Ned commented, taking Tolstov’s hint. “The journey east would be much more dangerous than the one we took last autumn, now that you are famous and the Bolsheviks have put a price on your head. If you were captured, it would be a disaster for the Siberian cause and worth an entire army to the Reds.”

It pained Ned to see the pout of disappointment on Zhanna’s face as his reasoning sank in. For a fleeting moment, she looked like a child denied her favorite toy.

“Of course,” she answered in a monotone. “I could never allow the Bolsheviks to mock God by exposing my frailty. If they seized me, I think I would escape, or else die trying.”

“You speak of frailty, but what I hear sounds more like pride,” Tolstov remarked, turning abruptly to face her. “Could that be the reason for your impatience? That your enforced idleness is an insult to your self-importance?”

“If God didn’t mean me to be proud, then why did he send an Archangel to me? And saints with the light of Heaven upon them! He had only to leave me back at school, and pride would never have entered my head! No!” Zhanna objected. “It is not pride or self-will that has driven me on. It is my Voices and the will of God. When the time comes for battle, they rage within me like angry spirits!”

“Then how is it that your Voices restrain you now?” Ned asked, genuinely perplexed. “A few moments ago, you said you longed to fight the Bolsheviks but the Voices held you back.”

“Nor do I understand it,” she conceded in a husky voice. “Every day I beg my saints for instructions but hear no answer. All I know is that, if no divine injunction is laid before me, then I can’t bear to stay here any longer. I must either find the enemy and fight again, or return home to a quiet life. It cannot be otherwise. I have the courage to die; but not to die in small, petty ways, devoid of meaning.”

Ned could see tears welling in Zhanna’s eyes as she finished speaking. Tolstov, by now highly attuned to the girl’s moods, tried a new approach.

“Why must you see things in black and white when other choices remain open to you?” the general demanded. “Why not be patient and spend your time at something useful, as before? It seems to me that Savinkov’s people are doing a splendid job inciting rebellion and sabotage in Kazan and Nizhni Novgorod. Why not consult with the S-Rs there to make your job easier when the time comes to attack?”

“Let Savinkov’s partisans do what they do best and let him have the credit,” Zhanna answered. “As for me, a direct strike is the only conceivable strategy for one who trusts in God. A course of stealth and surprise implies a lack of faith.”

“Ah, if only Zhanna were commander in chief, there would be no question of a ceasefire!” Tolstov mocked. “She would advance on Moscow regardless of the risk.”

“Not entirely so, for I am well aware of our weaknesses,” the Maid countered, pressing her lips together tightly. “But I am also aware of the enemy’s, and time is of the essence if we are not to lose our opening. Or our resolve.”

“Your men will never lose resolve, Zhanna, so long as you are there to lead them,” Ned broke in to comfort her, troubled as he was by her somber expression.

“And if I am not there?” she asked.

“Don’t talk nonsense, girl! Of course, you will lead us. With God on your side, what could prevent it?”

“That against which my Voices have already warned me.”

“And what could that be?” Tolstov demanded.

“Treachery.”

“Against you? Who would dare!” the general blustered.

“Some have already betrayed me,” Zhanna reflected, “and I fear worse to come. Did Guins and the Admiral not strike a treacherous bargain with Lenin to conclude a truce, and did the Allies not give it their blessing?”

“That was France’s doing, not ours, Zhanna,” Ned objected. “America had no part in it, nor did Great Britain, I assure you.”

“I cannot be betrayed by someone from whom I expect nothing. But from America and Great Britain I expected better. Your leaders raised no objection to the truce!” Zhanna fumed. “Nor did Dieterichs and Guins. It seems my enemies grow in number, while my friends wane in devotion. And my Voices warn me of further betrayals before the first snowfall. Only the two of you, and Staff Captain Ivashov, I count upon never to desert me. Indeed, the three of you are like father and brothers to me and I intend to keep you close by my side as long as we are in this fight.”

Ned winced at the reference to him as a brother. Now that Yulia had turned him away, and Zhanna had begun to consider her life after the war, he had hoped that perhaps one day he might be more.

Zhanna resumed her pacing. While her face was turned from them, Ned and Tolstov exchanged troubled looks, for Zhanna had never before expressed such doubt of her ultimate success. Tolstov, ever eager to raise Zhanna’s spirits, spoke first to reassure her.