Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“Enough, Kirill Matveyich,” Father Timofey interjected, laying a hand on his host’s shoulder. “There is to be no conference at Prinkipo, after all. The Bolsheviks have refused it outright. And the Americans are still our friends, come what may. Suffice it to say, diplomacy does not always follow the norms of civilized society, despite what the diplomats would have us think.”

No sooner had Father Timofey finished than Zhanna broke the silence at her end of the table.

“Staff Captain Ivashov, won’t you tell us the latest news from the front?” she began with a sweet smile while gently laying down her fork. “I understand you have been to Perm recently.”

“I have indeed, but I have spoken of it to no one since leaving Omsk,” he replied with a puzzled look. “How did you know?”

“From my Voices,” she answered, ignoring the circumspect glances between her uncle and Father Timofey. For though everyone at the table already knew of Zhanna’s voices, it did not make them any easier to accept.

“And what else did they tell you of my visit to Perm?” the staff captain pressed.

“That General Gaida has held the city against a Red counterattack, but the Stavka has forbidden him from advancing any further until the planned spring offensive.”

Ivashov nodded while pausing to refill his glass with vodka. His face turned gray and took on a solemn expression.

“Your voices are quite well-informed,” he replied softly. “But, regardless of how you have acquired this information, kindly see to it that it does not leave this table. General Gaida’s offensive plans, whether true or not, are not something to be bandied about.”

“Indeed,” Ned muttered under his breath. Voices or no, the accuracy of Zhanna’s information was astounding. That very afternoon, he had seen an intercepted Red cable warning the Second Red Army to withdraw should Gaida launch new attacks from Perm.

“And what is the news from Ufa, to the south?” Zhanna went on without acknowledging Ivashov’s rebuke. “With the Red Army having taken that city and the rail line leading east, how does the Stavka propose to stop the enemy from pouring into Siberia the moment the snows have melted in the Ural mountain passes?”

“The answer is simple,” Ivashov replied with a steely glint in his gray eyes. “We plan to attack before they do. The Red Army is badly organized, poorly equipped and led, and ill-prepared to counter our thrusts. Famine, cold, and disease have ravaged troop morale. Our forces will advance across all three sectors of the Urals front and will be greeted promptly with popular uprisings, causing the Red edifice to crumble from within.”

Ivashov was careful here to protect himself by parroting official Stavka doctrine, though he obviously didn’t believe it. He was whistling past the graveyard, and the other men around the table looked down at their plates as if they knew. As for Zhanna, she was having none of it.

“I’m told the Stavka’s plan is to send all available troops to the front to prepare for an early offensive,” she declared with furrowed brow. “But doesn’t that risk committing the newly formed divisions before they’re ready?”

Zhanna’s remark was reasonable and well informed, but quite unexpected from a provincial girl of eighteen. The men looked at her with mouths agape.

“The general mobilization in Siberia has brought in about two hundred thousand recruits. Our Chief of Staff holds the opinion that overwhelming force applied in the right places will be sufficient to carry the day,” Ivashov answered, again without much conviction.

“In theory, perhaps,” the girl countered. “But I’m told that the British have warned your Chief of Staff to call up only as many men as can be armed and trained by March, since the British training centers can train a new class only every two months. Would you dispute that?”

Ivashov’s face reddened, and not, it seemed, from the modest quantity of vodka he had consumed. “I think your voices reveal too much,” he answered, lowering his voice and leaning across the table toward Zhanna. “Wherever you are getting such information, I ask again: please take care not to repeat it.”

Ivashov’s second warning to Zhanna seemed to stir the girl’s uncle to defend her, but Zhanna cut him off.

“But I am careful, which is precisely why I must reach Admiral Kolchak to present what I have been told,” Zhanna replied without blinking. “The Admiral may not understand that Trotsky has rapidly reformed the Red Army, adding to its ranks thousands of former Imperial Army officers and sub officers. The new Red Army is not like last summer’s Red Guards. When Trotsky mounts his counteroffensive this summer, if the Siberian Army fails to hold reserves at the Urals, disaster will surely follow.”