Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“I request from you a letter of introduction to Admiral Kolchak and an escort to his headquarters at Omsk,” Zhanna replied. “This is on orders from my Lord.”

Volkov let out a hearty laugh and cast a sidelong glance at Ned and Ivashov, who kept their eyes on Zhanna.

“By God, what a lovely creature,” Ned heard him say under his breath. Then to Zhanna, in his usual commanding voice, Volkov asked, “And who might this Lord of yours be?”

“My Lord is the King of Heaven,” she replied.

“Not something one hears so often these days, except perhaps from the Old Believers,” the governor observed in another aside before addressing Zhanna again. “Young woman, would you care to explain what you meant when you told my assistant that Saint Yekaterina and Saint Marina talk to you almost every day?”

“I meant that I hear their Voices. They have been sent by God and they sometimes guide me in what I do.”

“I think it more likely that they come from your imagination,” the governor responded, though not unkindly.

“Perhaps they do, Your Excellency. But isn’t that how God’s messages often come to us?”

The governor cast a skeptical look at Ivashov. This time the staff captain met his gaze without flinching.

“And you inform me that this a merely a headstrong girl and not a raving lunatic?” Volkov demanded.

Ivashov gave a bland shrug as if he were as surprised as the governor at the girl’s forwardness.

“They all say I am mad,” Zhanna broke in before Ivashov could answer. “Until they come around to consider my cause. See here, governor, you have refused to see me three times and yet—here I am!”

“Do not provoke me, young woman,” Volkov replied in a stern voice. “Now, tell me, what message might a schoolgirl from Verkhne-Udinsk bring to a busy head of state that could possibly interest him?”

“I have urgent information for Admiral Kolchak on the direction of the war, to be delivered in person. That is why I seek an escort to Omsk.”

“All right then, let me pose the question differently,” Volkov continued, folding his hands and laying them on the edge of his desk. “What vital military advice might a pretty young girl like you offer the Admiral that his staff and field commanders could not provide him just as well?”

“Among God’s armies are many experienced commanders who have studied Russia’s situation,” the girl answered in a steady voice. “These commanders offer, through me, whatever advice Admiral Kolchak may need. But their advice is for the Admiral’s ears only. Today, I can tell you this much: one of your leading generals plotted to depose the Supreme Ruler not more than three days ago. General Pepelyaev talked him out of it before he could act. Believe me, Governor Volkov, I can advise the Admiral about such dangers and more, but only if you send me to him without delay.”

The room fell silent and Ned’s breath caught in his throat. Ivashov’s face turned ashen. The accusation of mutiny was so shocking that Ned expected Volkov to order Zhanna removed. But the governor-general said nothing, and Ned began to wonder if there might be some truth to her claim.

“All I ask is your introduction and a trustworthy escort, Your Excellency,” Zhanna went on. “Only later will I request such forces as may be necessary to capture the city of Samara.”

“To take Samara, you say?” Volkov exclaimed, his voice rising and his hands grasping the arms of his chair. “Now you’ve done it! The Bolsheviks have held that city and the entire length of the Volga River since October. Not even the most optimistic morons in the Stavka pretend they could take it back.”

“Still, Samara shall be taken,” Zhanna answered with a determined look, her hands clasped demurely in her lap. “And I intend to celebrate the victory in person!”

“Is that so?” the governor asked. “And how do you plan to dislodge the Red garrison there? We do not have nearly enough men or heavy weapons to accomplish it.”

“I could do it with a single regiment, so long as God is at my side,” she replied.

The governor-general let out a deep breath and turned away in disgust. Ivashov winced and Ned sensed that Zhanna might have lost any chance she had of winning her case.

“You do not understand, sir,” Zhanna continued, her eyes showing vulnerability for the first time. “Our soldiers are often beaten because they fight only to save their precious skins, and the shortest way to do that is to flee. Our officers think only of making money by selling off the supplies they receive from the Allies. What I will show them is how to fight in harmony with God’s will. Then they will drive the poor Bolsheviks before them like goats until not a single Red soldier remains on the battlefield! And then our people will be free to rule themselves, with neither nobles nor commissars nor secret police to oppress them.”

“High-sounding words,” Volkov answered with a look as if he had just bit into an onion, “but impossibly naïve.”