Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

Ned awoke and looked around him in the faint glow of the moon. Ivashov was missing. All at once, he felt oppressed by a grim foreboding, as if the blood had congealed in his veins. He dressed hastily, found the nearest sentry, and, with hammering heart, asked if the man had seen the staff captain leave.

“He is on the dawn patrol,” the sentry replied. “I saw them ride out not ten minutes ago.”

“Was Zhanna with them? Did you see a rider wearing a sable ushanka and a beige jacket embroidered in gold?” Ned insisted.

“That I did, sir,” the man replied. “I know because yesterday the Maid went out dressed exactly the same way.”

Ned ran to where the horses were tied, saddled his mare and rode out in the direction of a steep hill that overlooked the road to Nizhni Novgorod. At some time during the night, a passing flurry had left an inch or so of snow, the first of the season, making it easier to track the riders ahead. Now the sky was clear, and a full moon and a glittering Milky Way lit the heavens. Though the wind was still, the aspens seemed seized with trembling from top to bottom, their leaves fluttering in the pale moonlight.

After a half hour’s ride, Ned caught a glimpse of horsemen ahead and spurred his mount to overtake them. But beyond the next rise, he spotted another squad of riders lurking inside the edge of a pine grove whose branches were lightly dusted with snow. Zhanna rode at the head of the first group, with the bulky figure of Paladin just behind her, then several Cossacks, and Ivashov at the rear. And in an instant he realized that the Maid’s patrol was headed straight into a skillfully laid ambush.

All at once, Ned felt a blast of freezing wind and, in a long-drawn, terror-edged moment, the snow-covered earth erupted with exploding mortar shells ahead while a swarm of rifle bullets whizzed past.

Up ahead, he saw Zhanna spur her gray toward the source of the rifle fire without even touching her carbine or pistol. Behind her, Paladin’s horse reared up from an explosion close by, nearly unseating him. For what seemed like an eternity, the burly youth remained frozen with terror, unable to control his mount. Meanwhile, riders wearing the distinctive budenovka cloth helmet of the Red cavalry emerged from the tree line and converged upon Zhanna, deftly seizing her by her jacket collar and dragging her backwards out of her saddle and onto the snow.

Ned galloped forward, passing a pair of Cossacks who had dismounted and taken cover to return fire, then jumped off his mount, unslung his rifle, and knelt behind a tree stump to take aim at the attackers. A moment later, he spotted Ivashov far ahead, still giving chase while the attackers bound Zhanna hand and foot and threw her across a waiting horse. To Ned, Ivashov’s single-handed attempt to save her looked suicidal.

As if to confirm that judgment, a mortar shell fell within a few yards of Ivashov’s horse, pitching him sideways and spilling him onto the snowy earth where he lay motionless. While experience told Ned to remain where he was and keep firing, Ivashov’s devotion to the Maid moved his spirit and Ned knew he couldn’t live with himself unless he made one last attempt to save her.

Though oppressed by a nebula of fear, Ned forced himself to step out from behind the tree stump, sling his rifle across his back, and mount his horse once more. In the same moment, a bullet cracked past his head and he lost his balance, falling from his horse and lying stunned upon the snow. By the time Ned recovered his breath and got to his feet, the attackers were withdrawing under the cover of rifle fire from within the tree line. Then all was silence.

Suddenly recalling the fallen Ivashov, Ned mounted his horse with frantic haste and rode to where the officer lay, a pair of Cossacks kneeling at his side. The staff captain was unconscious but showed only minor bleeding from shrapnel wounds to his leg. His horse, however, had suffered gaping wounds to its ribs and flank from the mortar burst and lay panting beside its rider. Without speaking, one of the Cossacks rose to his feet, leveled his rifle at the beast’s head, and put him out of his misery.

Ivashov awoke at the sound of the shot. Minutes later, he rose unsteadily, climbed behind Paladin on the latter’s powerful horse, and rode back to Kazan with Paladin and one of the scouts. Ned and the remaining Cossacks galloped off in pursuit of Zhanna’s captors but were forced back after less than an hour by a troop of Red cavalry.

As unbelievable as it seemed, Zhanna had fallen into Red hands. After months of seeming invulnerability, her divine protection had failed her at last.

Chapter 21: Trial

“And when you pray, know before whom you stand.”

—Inscription over the Torah in Jewish synagogues