Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“I suspected such a thing might happen,” the Maid replied sourly, ignoring his quip as she made for the door.

Nearby, Ned could hear the transport colonel order his officers and noncoms to unload the troops, horses, and equipment. Ned followed Zhanna off the train and watched her wade confidently into the herd of horses that were first to be unloaded. But before he could catch up to her, she singled out a horse, mounted it bareback, and rode off at a gallop toward the camp, horse and rider joyously expending energy bottled up from the long train ride. The girl’s audacity astounded Ned as much as her horsemanship did, for she rode like a Buryat though the horse was wholly unfamiliar to her.

While the girl’s exuberance and desire for autonomy was understandable, she was now perilously close to the enemy and among total strangers. Ned and Ivashov selected horses in a rush, saddled them, and hurried off to follow Zhanna across the fields toward the camp. Upon reaching it, they found a scene unlike any Ned had witnessed at any military encampment anywhere. Here was total disorder, with no more discipline than among a pack of wolves. All around them was roaring, cursing, drinking, riotous horseplay, and lewd carousing with female camp followers. Ivashov collared the nearest subaltern, who helped them catch up with Zhanna and led the newcomers to a vacant command tent that had apparently been set aside for their use. The subaltern ushered them inside, where Zhanna commenced pacing back and forth in a rage.

“Where is General Tolstov?” she demanded. “Why is he not here to meet us? And what is the meaning of such outrageous conduct among his soldiers?”

“I’m told there is a second camp, not a verst away,” Ivashov replied in his usual unruffled manner. “Shall we take you there to find the general?”

“Most definitely!” Zhanna replied. “Lead the way!”

They rode across a rich pasture where hobbled horses grazed, and found a sergeant who offered to lead them to General Tolstov’s tent. Hearing unfamiliar voices outside, the general came out at once to greet them. He was a short man of stocky build, a few years younger than forty, with a broad brow and a pointed chin and beard that gave his face a triangular shape. It was the face of a capable man, without affectations or illusions, and one prematurely creased from heavy responsibility and prolonged exposure to the elements.

“Be you General Tolstov?” Zhanna greeted him in a sharp voice, her small fists pressed to her hips, arms akimbo.

“I am,” he answered in a raspy voice, as if he had a catch in his throat. From the look he gave her, the general seemed taken aback by her youth and beauty. Then a bemused smile appeared on his face. “Be you the Maid of Baikal? If so, where have you left your troops?”

“They are behind me,” Zhanna answered. “Tell me, General, why did the train take us here, when I ordered that we be taken directly to the front at Uralsk?”

“Because I issued a different order.”

“Again: why?” Zhanna persisted. “Uralsk is hours further along the line, so they tell me.”

“The Reds lie ahead and your men are not yet ready to face them,” the general answered, pointing casually toward the western horizon.

“But, general, if Uralsk lies ahead, then that is where we must fight them. How soon can we go there?”

“Not for some time, dear Maid.”

“Who says not?” she demanded. “Admiral Kolchak sent me here to take Uralsk!”

“I say it, and older and wiser heads than mine,” Tolstov answered, stroking his bearded cheeks with thick fingers.

“Then they are blockheads!” Zhanna fumed. “Don’t you know that I bring you better help than any general has ever had before?”

“Your own, I suppose?” he asked, though not unkindly.

“No, that of the King of Heaven,” Zhanna replied. “See here, general, our enemy holds Uralsk, yet here we stand, doing nothing about it. What are we waiting for?”

“Do you see the steppe that extends westward beyond where eye can reach?”

“Yes,” the girl answered in a clipped voice. “Is it in our hands or the Reds’?”

“Be quiet and hear me out,” Tolstov urged. “Uralsk is nearly a day away by slow rail; more on horseback. At any point in between, partisans or Red patrols could attack us. Your men are not prepared for it. They would be cut to pieces.”

“Our men will crush any opposition,” the Maid responded, hammering a fist into her palm. “And I shall lead them.”

“None will follow,” Tolstov answered quietly.

“I should not look back to see if they do,” she replied with a careless toss of her head.

At this, the Cossack General put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and smiled.

“I like your soldier’s spirit,” he told her. “We shall get along fine, I think. But we have much work to do and little time to do it.”