Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“I can assure you that Admiral Kolchak will not countenance any sort of combined operation with General Denikin,” Lebedev spat out with the expression of a man who has bit into a lemon. “Apart from having proven themselves completely unreliable, Denikin’s forces remain hopelessly bottled up south of the Don. What’s more, the railroads in the south are far too few and in too poor a state to allow any meaningful coordination between his forces and ours.”

“I beg to differ,” Ward countered, his impatience rising visibly. “The south offers numerous rail lines from the Volga to the Black and Azov Seas, unlike the area between General Gaida’s Northern Army and Petrograd.”

The Chief of Staff shifted his bulky body in his seat and sucked his teeth in irritation.

“From the outset, our plan has rested on the premise of striking hard while the Red Army was poorly armed and organized,” Lebedev insisted, his voice trembling with indignation. “This strategy has succeeded beyond all expectations and has put our Generals Khanzin and Gaida on converging paths to Moscow. I cannot suddenly ask our men to retreat, as if it were all for nothing!”

Ward exhaled deeply and, without making eye contact with any of the Russians, stepped away from the map to take his place at the table. All eyes were upon him when he spoke.

“I came here today to speak privately with Admiral Kolchak and found you men gathered here instead. Since we have already discussed much of what I planned to share with the Admiral in confidence, I will share something else with you,” Ward declared in a flat voice that belied his rage. “And that is to make you aware that your loyal allies have grown impatient, and we are prepared to set preconditions on further grants of support if you persist in your present course.”

Staff Captain Titov gasped audibly, his face naked with anxiety. The man’s eyes darted left and right before coming to rest on the Chief of staff, who swallowed hard and bit his lower lip while Colonel Ward let his words sink in.

“Not only do we expect you to halt the Siberian Army’s advance immediately,” Ward continued, “but we expect your army to retreat to a defensive line from Perm to Ufa. This will permit a much-needed reorganization of Siberian forces over the coming months. Such an overhaul will require stamping out corruption among your ranks and ending the diversion of Allied-supplied war materiel. It requires clearing the cafés of idle officers and packing them off to the front. It means reforming civilian institutions and ending the repression of workers and peasants in the rear. I could go on, and I will, after Admiral Kolchak’s return.”

Lebedev directed a baleful stare at Ward but said nothing. Instead, a voice came from the far end of the table where no one had spoken before.

“Last month France withdrew its troops from Odessa, and this month from Sevastopol. Some say the British have two hands: one that gives and one that takes away.” The measured voice was that of George Guins, the man who had arranged the meeting and invited Lebedev in place of the Supreme Ruler. “Do you mean to imply that we can no longer rely on British support?”

“That is a question for London, not for me,” Ward replied. “But if you are so concerned about Allied support, Mr. Guins, I suggest you make the best use of what you have, before holding out your tin cup for more.”

Across the table, General Lebedev listened with clenched teeth. He addressed Ward now as if his entrails were bubbling with indignation.

“Though you speak of Allied aid, your attempts to interfere with our actions are anything but useful. May I remind you, Colonel Ward, that this is a Russian war, fought by Russian soldiers on Russian soil, and that, while our allies may offer us arms and equipment, you may not set conditions upon how we use them. Until I report our discussions to Admiral Kolchak, I caution you not to approach him further, so that no further damage is done to the relations between us.”

Lebedev held Ward’s gaze for several long seconds, as if in warning, before snapping his hardbound notebook shut so sharply that Ned gave a reflexive wince. Lebedev pulled his chair away from the conference table, a sign for his men to follow suit. A clatter arose as the Russians left their seats. Guins was first to head for the door, having been summoned by a duty officer gesticulating at him from the reception room.

But Ward was not finished. He raised his voice and directed his parting words to both Guins and Lebedev.

“You should not think for a moment that the Siberian Army’s advances this spring resulted from any military prowess. It is far simpler than that,” Ward stated. “You see, when the Reds run away, our side advances. When our men begin their retreat, the Red Army will advance. It is only a question of how far the enemy will come and, once started, whether they can be stopped at all.”