Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“But, colonel, other than Staff Captain Ivashov, I don’t know a soul at the Stavka,” Ned protested. “How will this new conduit work? Will you be coming out to Omsk to set it up?”

Barrows reached for an ashtray and knocked the ashes from his pipe before stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Fortunately, I won’t be needed at the Stavka,” the colonel answered. “On your arrival at Omsk, you are to report to the British Military Mission and ask for Colonel John Ward, commander of the Middlesex Regimen serving there. Your intelligence role has already been declared to Ward, and you will be under nominal British command so long as you remain west of Lake Baikal, where the AEF can’t operate. But in all intelligence matters, you will continue to report directly to me, by encrypted telegram. Is that understood?”

“Yes, but who will be my contact at the Stavka?” Ned persisted.

“Ward will introduce you to General Lebedev, Kolchak’s Chief of Staff. We haven’t notified the Russians yet about your change in duties, given that word might fall into the wrong hands and cause you trouble en route.”

Ned noticed Barrows give him a searching look, as if to detect any hesitation. Ned acknowledged with a nod.

“One more thing,” Barrows added, pausing again to light his pipe. “While we’re on the subject of the British, you should know that Colonel Ward’s men are not under the same constraints as we Americans are. While in the field, if you come under attack, you are not to return fire except to save your own life. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” Ned replied stiffly. But it was one thing to issue such an order and quite another to obey it, he thought. To not return fire when fired upon ran against man’s basic instinct for survival.

“And, for God’s sake, don’t get captured,” Barrows added.

For a moment, the odd command left Ned speechless. Then a mocking grin spread across the colonel’s face and Ned realized that the man was making a grim sort of joke.

“Oh, never mind,” Barrows continued in a jocular tone. “You’re on your own. Do what you must and I’ll back you up as best I can. As they say in Washington, better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

“Yes sir,” Ned repeated. Then, on reflection, he added, “How long am I to remain at Omsk? And do you plan to come out there from time to time?”

“I don’t know,” the colonel answered with a faraway look. “It depends on the course of the war.” Then the colonel’s attention seemed to drift and Ned saw him glance at a clock across the room.

“Oh, heavens,” he muttered, on noticing that it was nearly ten o’clock. “I must leave soon for an appointment. I do wish we had more time to talk. But before I go, I want to leave you with some thoughts of a broader nature about why America has decided at last to throw in our lot with the Whites.”

“I would appreciate that, sir,” Ned answered, his head still spinning from the shift in the AEF’s role in the Russian war.

“First of all, the decision to send American troops abroad is never simply a matter of calculated interests,” Barrows asserted, fixing Ned with an intense gaze. “It’s also a matter of principle, and in this case it’s based on President Wilson’s Fourteen Points and the notion of self-determination. These are the values we’re here to uphold. If our role were merely to follow orders, we might as well be mercenaries.”

“So you honestly believe we’re doing the right thing backing Kolchak?” Ned asked, wanting to believe it so.

“I think we are,” Barrows answered. “But you have to know how the war started for all this to make sense. You see, the civil war in Russia didn’t break out this spring, when the Czech Legion revolted at Chelyabinsk. It really started back last October, when the Bolsheviks mounted an armed rebellion in Petrograd with only the narrowest of popular support. When Lenin toppled Kerensky’s Provisional Government, the ordinary Russian wanted neither Bolshevism nor a return to monarchy. Remember, in the Constituent Assembly elections last December, the Reds won only twenty-five percent of the vote. Which is why Lenin dissolved the assembly after its first session.”

“If most Russians knew this, as you say, then why didn’t they resist last winter before Lenin could tighten his grip?” Ned demanded.

He thought of Ivashov, who had joined the People’s Army, fought the Reds on the Volga and barely escaped with his life. And he recalled how, at dinner in Verkhne-Udinsk, Dorokhin and Kostrov had marveled at the speed with which the Bolsheviks had taken over town and rural councils across the vastness of Siberia. Had it not been for the Czech Legion’s uprising, Dorokhin, Kostrov, and Zhanna might already have been declared enemies of the people and butchered like the merchants and nobles of Petrograd. Indeed, such a thing might still happen.