Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“But that is precisely the point, general,” Ward responded in a forceful voice, “By coordinating your respective attacks, the combined White Armies will be better able to strike the Bolsheviks where they are weakest and forestall Red counterattacks.”

“We Siberians shall defeat the Bolsheviks without General Denikin’s help, thank you very much,” the Chief of Staff answered stiffly, turning away from Ward to consult a map on the wall.

“Please permit me to remind you, general, that the British Navy is delivering considerable quantities of weaponry to the Black Sea ports controlled by Denikin’s AFSR,” Ward persisted. “That includes artillery, aircraft, tanks, and armored cars, all of which the White forces will need down the road to attack heavily fortified positions. We might be able to deliver some of these weapons to you, too, via the Caspian, but we would need General Denikin’s permission to transport them across his territory. Might that not be enough reason to increase your coordination with him?”

Lebedev turned around sharply to face Colonel Ward, bristling at his offer rather than taking the bait as Ward and Ned had expected he would.

“I know Denikin all too well. He would never allow us a single cartridge without also sending us a gaggle of his staff officers to control its use,” he shot back, pointing at Ward with an unsteady forefinger. “His Stavka is bloated with redundant officers of high rank who would rather crawl up our arses and criticize our war-making than go to the front and fight. No, I will not accept any Trojan horses from Novo-Rossiysk and will not let my Stavka be invaded by interlopers!”

Ned was astounded at the Chief of Staff’s outburst, for it laid bare the self-interest behind his dogged refusal to coordinate strategy and logistics with the AFSR. Having originally come to Omsk from General Denikin’s staff, Lebedev was well aware that AFSR headquarters could easily spare a dozen accomplished senior staff officers, any one of whom might displace him if permitted to gain a foothold at Omsk. Yet, how could Lebedev justify rejecting Ward’s offer of war-winning heavy weapons over so petty an objection?

For whatever reason, the British officer let the subject drop. Instead, he served up a question no less controversial.

“Very well, general, I believe I understand your position and shall report it to my superiors,” Ward conceded. “But before taking my leave, I would like to ask how preparations are coming along for the spring offensive, and how soon you might be ready to attack.”

“General Khanzin began offensive operations at dawn yesterday morning,” Lebedev drawled, showing a self-satisfied smile.

“Yesterday, you say?” Ward’s voice rose in disbelief.

“The Supreme Ruler made the announcement last evening by coded wireless message to General Knox in London. Did your people not inform you?” Lebedev sneered.

Ward gave Ned a questioning look, to which Ned responded with a shrug. For while routine wireless messages from the Stavka were generally carried to Beregovoy for encoding, some high level messages were encoded at Liberty House, thus concealing their contents from Ned’s team. So it might not yet have been deciphered by American codebreakers.

“In any event, I knew you would be visiting me today and intended to inform you at that time,” Lebedev added.

“Pray tell me then, general,” Ward resumed in an icy tone, “What are the results so far?”

“The Western Army is making good progress toward Ufa, though the Urals passes remain blanketed with snow. I believe we have taken the Reds completely by surprise,” Lebedev replied with a complacent smile.

“Your plan, then, still calls for Khanzin’s Western Army to deliver the main thrust at the center, along the Ufa-Samara axis?”

“Indeed,” Lebedev answered.

“And will you then prepare a defensive line at Ufa, along the Belaya River, to repel a Red counteroffensive?” Ward pressed.

“We shall do no such thing!” Lebedev bristled. “After taking Ufa, our forces will proceed directly to Samara and, after crossing the Volga, will advance on Moscow!”

“Then you are a bloody fool!” Ward shot back. “Even a child could predict a Red counterattack. And in fact, one of them has. Even the Maid of Baikal, whose predictions of victory are no less reckless than yours, has called for holding a ‘White Line’ on the Belaya.”

“The Maid merely parrots idle rumors in the press about our plans,” Lebedev said with a dismissive wave of his trembling hand. “She is what Trotsky calls a ‘useful fool,’ someone who stirs up the masses for the leaders to manipulate. An educated person like you should not be misled.”

Ward reddened at the insult but held his tongue.

“Then you have no intention of sending the Maid to the front, as Admiral Kolchak has said he would?” Ned broke in, struggling to maintain his composure at what appeared to be a breach of faith by Kolchak and General Dieterichs.