Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“That’s why they’ve been appointed to the Railway Service Corps, as you are. I understand you’ve already arranged for their accommodations. Don’t hesitate to draw on the funds I’ve set aside for you at the Omsk consulate for expenses. Remember, money is merely a tool, and we have plenty of it. Lord knows, millions are being wasted in Russia on projects of far less consequence to the war than ours. Did you know American taxpayers’ money is paying the Red Cross to teach Russian boys baseball?”

Ned thought of Jake Sweeney on board the train to Omsk and suppressed a laugh.

Then, without further ado, Barrows shot Ned a look signifying that the discussion was over and the rest would be up to Ned’s initiative.

“Well, I’m glad that at least someone in Washington still cares about beating the Red Army,” Ned shot back, not yet ready to let go. “The State Department came down awfully hard on the Admiral for crushing the uprising last month in Omsk. And the President nearly drove Siberians to despair when he invited the Bolsheviks to talks at Prinkipo. It’s an odd way to treat your friends, colonel, when Lenin’s Cheka murders thousands of Russian civilians each week.”

Colonel Barrows shifted uncomfortably in his chair and once again put aside his pipe before speaking.

“There have been times during the last few weeks when I have feared that the Admiral’s government would not last till morning,” Barrows confessed. “The Prinkipo announcement hit Yekaterinburg like a thunderclap. It so demoralized the officers I met with that I believe they would have thrown down their arms that very day were it not for some cool-headed advice from Colonel Ward and prompt telegrams of support from London. Was it as bad in Omsk?”

“I didn’t see Admiral Kolchak that day, or for some time afterward,” Ned replied. “At the Stavka they said he was in meetings, but others have told me that he was intoxicated, and not just with vodka, but on cocaine. To be perfectly honest, I have my own fears for the Admiral, and until this moment I have not dared express them to anyone but you.”

“What sort of fears?” Colonel Barrows asked.

“May I be perfectly frank, sir?”

“Certainly,” Barrows replied. “If we aren’t, who will be?”

Ned took a deep breath. He felt a sudden urge to lay all his frustrations of the past several months on the table, even at the risk of incurring Barrows’s displeasure.

“As I see it,” Ned ventured forth, his hands trembling imperceptibly, “Admiral Kolchak may not last much longer as top dog. It turns out he has all the attributes of a dictator—except the will to dictate! Oh, he seems honest enough, and hard working, and eager to improve the life of ordinary Russian. But, in my view, Kolchak lacks that vital strength of character required to impose order and compel duty from underlings who won’t perform. And he falls far too easily under the influence of the clever politicians who hover around him, like Lebedev, Mikhailov, and Guins. As a result, the Admiral allows endless bickering to swirl around him without taking decisive action.”

Barrows chewed on the bit of his pipe without lighting it and listened.

“And as for military affairs, it is often said that Admiral Kolchak is a sailor and not a true general. If so, it baffles me why he wastes so much time directing army operations, of which he knows little, while neglecting civilian governance, where his attention is sorely needed. At this point, Kolchak would need a Napoleon to defeat the Bolsheviks, no matter how many arms and wireless devices we send him. And, even if the Whites do defeat the Red Army, what good will it do Russia to substitute one autocrat for another, to replace the tsar and the nobility with a military dictator and a parasitic officer class?”

The colonel leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the desk while he listened to Ned’s speech. When Ned finished, Barrows stood and paced to the far end of the railroad car and back.

“I can’t dispute what you’ve said,” Barrows announced at last, an incongruous smile appearing on his face. “But if it’s a dictatorship, well, by God, it’s a dictatorship for the sake of democracy!”

Ned was struck by the turn of phrase, a cynical play on the President’s call two years earlier to make the world safe for democracy. But the colonel’s intent was clear.

“Call it a constitutional dictatorship, for all I care,” Barrows went on with a broad sweep of his hand. “But Kolchak is our man. And he will remain our man until such time as the White Forces get around to whipping the Bolsheviks and electing a new national assembly. Ned, my lad, our work is cut out for us.”

Ned shook his head. It was just as Colonel Ward had said on Ned’s first night in Omsk: “If Kolchak goes, chaos will follow. Kolchak is the man to keep.” Ward and Barrows might just as well have said, “Après Kolchak, le deluge!”