Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“We have a saying in our army,” he began slowly. “It’s better to beg forgiveness than seek permission. You see, if we win, my people will likely forgive me. If we lose, it won’t matter much, anyway.”

“Then you’re with us?” the Russian asked, his eyes glistening as a grin spread across his face.

“Well, yes. How could I possibly refuse her?”

Without speaking, Ivashov reached into his duffel and brought out a vodka bottle. He dumped the remaining tea on the ground from both glasses and refilled them with spirit.

“To the Maid!” Ivashov proposed with glass held high. “And may she not catch us drinking!”

“And to her Voices,” Ned added. “Boy, are we going to need them!”

They raised one toast after another until the day’s tensions evaporated and their limbs were suffused with a warm alcoholic glow. After both men fell silent, Ned looked around the tent absent-mindedly, as if he had lost something.

“Where is Zhanna, by the way? Will we see her tonight?” he asked.

“She has a visitor,” Ivashov replied. “Madame Timiryova sent a friend from Omsk to call on her and deliver a gift package. I believe you know her: Yulia Yushnevskaya.”

“Yulia? Here in Samara?” Ned stammered, nearly choking on his drink.

“But why not?” Ivashov replied in surprise. “Madame Yushnevskaya owns properties in Samara and Kazan that she wishes to sell. It seems the S-Rs control these properties and refuse to either pay her or return them.”

“Yulia must be quite desperate if she’s come to see the Maid about them,” Ned commented, unable to conceal his uneasiness.

“Not necessarily,” Ivashov said, giving Ned a searching look. “I’m told she has sold her last Siberian property and is en route to the Black Sea to take ship to England. But it seems she is loath to give up her Volga properties without a final attempt to get something in return.”

“What then of Beregovoy and the wireless station? Has she sold that property, as well? Neilson has said nothing about this,” Ned noted with alarm.

“No, she’s leased it to the British for two years, so it remains in safe hands. If the White Armies win, perhaps she may return there one day, or bequeath it to her sons.”

“It’s odd,” Ned mused as Ivashov poured another vodka. “I’m rather surprised that Yulia would have any difficulty at all with the S-Rs. She once told me that she was on good terms with them. Do you know which S-R leaders she’s dealing with?”

“The only name I recognized was that of Zhelezin. I doubt she’ll get much help from that quarter,” Ivashov scoffed before downing his glass.

“Unless, of course, there’s something he wants from her,” Ned replied reflexively.

All at once, though Ned’s mind was fuzzy from drink, he sensed that Ivashov was watching him closely.

“Say, did Yulia happen to mention my name?” Ned asked, as if it were a casual afterthought.

“Not to me,” Ivashov answered, turning his face away. “But perhaps she did to Zhanna. You know how women are.”

* * *

Zhanna’s column set out the next morning with Orthodox priests and chaplains marching at the fore and chanting in low tones, “Come, Holy Ghost, Creator Blessed, and in our hearts take up thy rest. Come with Thy Grace to fill the hearts which Thou hast made.”

They marched no more than two hours before stopping at a quiet town where they boarded a special military train heading north, well inland from the Volga’s east bank. For four days they traveled, at first by rail and then by road, until reaching Chistopol, on the south bank of the Kama River. On the morning of the fifth day, they crossed the river and proceeded without opposition to the outskirts of Kazan, where they met with a team of S-R partisans who briefed them on conditions within the Red-held city and vowed to launch uprisings that very night.

During the ceasefire, so the S-Rs reported, the city’s defenses had been strengthened, with new fortifications raised just outside the city’s ancient gates, and barricades or trenches constructed at other vulnerable spots. In addition, Red artillery had dug in at high points overlooking the city with an ample supply of shells stockpiled nearby. But the S-Rs had assigned teams of agents to each of the gates, with instructions to open breaches wide enough to let the Siberian troops through.

As at Uralsk, Zhanna led a reconnaissance party around the city at dusk, clad in her new gold-embroidered jacket and sable cap despite their striking appearance. It occurred to Ned, as he rode with the party and watched Zhanna call out instructions for the upcoming siege, that the Maid had by now become addicted to battle and was adrift without it, as Tolstov once hinted. Now, with an army once more behind her, she was in her element and seemed fully alive again.