Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

Over the years, the two boyhood friends kept up a correspondence and the young Army officer made a point of visiting his distant cousin whenever he returned to Wilmington. When Ned’s father achieved fleeting fame for acts of heroism during the Spanish-American War, Pierre even urged him to join the family business. But Ned’s father remained in the Army, rising to the rank of brigadier before retiring from active duty on the eve of the Great War to teach at West Point and write a history of the Spanish-American conflict.

More than once since 1914, Pierre, having risen to chief executive of the DuPont Company, had offered Ned’s father a position as corporate liaison to the War Department, but each time the offer was declined. Still, the two cousins remained friends, and Pierre had told Ned’s father that if Ned ever tired of military life, the young man would be welcome in Wilmington to come learn the munitions business.

This offer was renewed recently at a lunch in Washington with Colonel Edmund Buckner, the DuPont Company’s Washington lobbyist, a position that had been offered to Buckner only after Ned’s father declined it. Ned had first met Buckner in Washington while on home leave several years before. Since then, he had also formed an acquaintance with Buckner’s only daughter, Corinne, a recent graduate of Bryn Mawr. In fact, it was at Buckner’s urging that Ned was making his present courtesy visit to Cousin Pierre.

As Ned entered the executive suite, a pair of dark-suited managers was leaving Pierre’s inner office. The male private secretary took Ned’s name, consulted his appointment book, and ushered Ned into the private office, closing its heavy door gently behind him.

Pierre du Pont, a round-faced man of forty-eight, clean-shaven and nearly bald, stood beside his massive teak desk and gazed at Ned from behind round wire-rimmed spectacles and a thin-lipped smile. He wore a charcoal-hued three-piece suit, striped cravat, and a starched white shirt with a high wing collar.

“So good of you to come, Ned. Take a seat, please,” he offered, pointing to a pair of austere eighteenth-century Windsor chairs.

“Thank you for taking the time to receive me, Cousin Pierre,” Ned replied before seating himself. “This must be a busy time for you, with our doughboys burning up so much ammunition on the Marne.”

“Indeed it is, but one must learn to set a steady pace, with a letup now and then,” Pierre answered, pulling his chair close to that of his guest. ”Tell me, how is your father? Has he finished his book about the war with Spain?”

Ned let out an easy laugh.

“He said it would be finished in March, but there seems to be no end in sight. To be honest, I don’t think he wants to finish it. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself.”

“If he’s bored, send him up here,” Pierre replied, folding his hands in his lap. “We’ll find something useful for him to do.”

“I’ll pass the word,” Ned answered, pleased that Pierre had remained so loyal to his father that he would go out of his way to create a job for him.

“How ironic that you were assigned to the Philippines so soon after your father left Manila,” Pierre continued with a pensive look. “And that he returned directly to West Point, where you had just finished your studies. Like ships passing in the night.”

“If I ever have a son, and he joins the Army, I expect he may serve some day in Mindanao, too,” Ned replied sourly. “Sure, we’ve managed to quiet down the Moros for a while. But they’ll rise again. Rebellion is in their blood. All I can say is, let someone else fight them. I’ve had my fill.”

“Well, if you ever decide to leave the Army…” the older man ventured.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,” Ned answered, cutting him off. “I have no plans to leave the Army just yet, and certainly not before we win the war in Europe.”

“So you’ll be going back to Manila?”

“I suppose I will,” Ned replied with downcast eyes. “The War Department turned down my request for a transfer to the Western Front.”

“How interesting,” Pierre answered, raising a hand to his chin. “I would think they would be delighted to send a seasoned young officer like you to France. What were their reasons?”

Ned shrugged.

“It’s the Army way. If I had refused, I’m sure they would have sent me.”

“Tell me, Ned, are you aware that the British landed troops in Vladivostok last week from Hong Kong and Singapore to take back the Trans-Siberian Railway? My people in Washington are picking up strong signs that President Wilson may do the same before long. And from where would he take the troops if not from the Pacific? Hawaii, perhaps. Or the Philippines.”

The businessman awaited Ned’s reaction with an expressionless face.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” Ned answered with a blank look and an uneasy feeling in his gut.

“The French have linked up with the British in Murmansk,” Pierre added. “Our people in Washington expect it’s only a matter of days before America joins the Allied intervention.”