by H Schmidt
But he had never feared Lenin. His security chief, Colonel Nikitin, had carefully compiled the evidence of Lenin’s treachery and that of the Bolsheviks. He knew, as long as he had the file of cables, bank statements, and eyewitnesses, he could deal with Lenin. As he stood pacing his office alone that morning, he convinced himself that the Bolshevik putsch to claim power for themselves and the other members of Ispolkom was never a serious threat. He cursed the fool Pereverzev for using the evidence against Lenin and his fellow Bolsheviks because he thought the Bolsheviks were about to succeed. Still, all the evidence had not been released, and when the time came to challenge Lenin, it would be easy.
Like someone who had grown up in a neighborhood and knew all the children in it, he knew all the socialists because he grew up politically with them. Kerensky was a man who held a high opinion of himself. He had been a successful lawyer, and how different can the battle before him be from the battle in the courtroom? Toward their enemies, the socialists could be brutal. There were no rules that proscribed the limits of their actions against their enemies. Lies, terror, deceit; all were acceptable. They had convinced themselves that they had learned these rules from the czar’s government. Yet, like honor among thieves, Kerensky believed there was honor among those who fought for years against the czar. When the time came, the battle for the leadership of Russia would be just like the battles in the courtroom.
It was not Lenin that he worried about. The threat was from a man who liked to boast that he knew nothing of politics. General Lavr Kornilov was a counterrevolutionary. Kornilov wanted to stand in the place of Alexander Feodorovich Kerensky on November 28. He spoke to himself. “I have worked too long and too hard, sacrificed too much, to let that happen. I shall not teach you my game, general. But I will make you play it.”
---
It was five weeks since that night. In two, he was back to work. Still resting his arm in a sling, he could feel the gentle itch as the bone knitted. Next week, he would take the sling off. The cuts on his face had healed, the slightest scarring left to remind him. The breeze was cool this Sunday afternoon. He could smell the sea.
Elizaveta had turned him down the first two times he had invited her to take a stroll with him. He had not seen her since the first week after the attack, and wanted to see her again. In that week, they had become good friends. They both enjoyed the poetry of Lord Byron and Pushkin, and spent hours talking about the similarities of Don Juan and Eugene Onegin. “It’s been a month.” Billy smiled down at her. He had noticed that Richard Carson had not used Elizaveta as a messenger since the attack occurred. The count had put his foot down and refused to allow his beloved niece to be put in that position again.
Elizaveta liked the ieutenant. But she had decided that she did not want to encourage him in any way. She saw her life fighting for her Russia and someday soon, when the war in Europe was over, he would be returning to America. She could not help but notice that he showed no special interest in her as a woman. She had wondered about the name he spoke that first night. Theresa. If he wished to talk about it, she would listen. Otherwise, it was a matter of interest only to him.
“I am sorry I could not see you sooner, Lieutenant, but we both have very busy schedules. I have been very busy at the hospital.” She moved quickly to the weather. “It is a beautiful day. We have humid weather this time of the year, but today is almost perfect.” She looked at the tall man next to her, dressed in a tailored blue suit and wide-brimmed, white hat. She wondered why he had been attacked. Her uncle told her that they did not know who the man was who attacked the American. They had not gotten a good look at him. He was gone by morning. She could see the blood stains where the man had fallen.
“When I think of August, I think of the rides my father and I would take into the mountains behind our home. The nights would be so cool that you could see your breath.”
“Before the war, Mother and Father, the three of us would go to Paris, sometimes to London. Once, I remember, we traveled to Geneva. I remember how cool it was in the mountains around the lake.”
She wondered what the lieutenant was doing in Petrograd. He never seemed to be part of the American Embassy, although he worked there. He was often seen, according to her contacts, wandering by himself on the streets of the city, always seeming to be going somewhere. She knew that Uncle Richard thought highly of him but he never spoke to her about him.
“You live in a beautiful city, Elizaveta.” After a week, he was sure it was Riezler. Riezler and the Latvian, Boris, had been seen together. It seemed they used him as a tough, someone who would beat up enemies. He had killed a grocer who merely had challenged Riezler before a crowd in the business district. Nothing was personal in his job, he told himself. With Fedor Riezler, it was difficult not to be.
“I wish, Lieutenant, you could have lived here before the war. Things were different then. The ballet, the opera, people strolling the streets, eating at the outdooré és. Father thought we sometimes tried too hard to be like the other great cities of Europe.”
As they walked, Elizaveta thought about her father. It was over a year ago. Father was a member of the Duma who believed in a constitutional monarchy. He felt the time had come in the life of Russia where the people must run the government and the czar take his place alongside the king of England as a symbol of Russia’s past glories. He remembered a talk she had with her father shortly before it happened. He was talking about Russia. She looked up at Billy.
“Father said government is but a part of our life. Our families, our schools, our church, our friends, our work make up our whole life. There are people who want to tell us what our children should be taught in school, where we should work, how we should worship God, even who our friends should be. They have, out of whole cloth, built a dogma that says everything about our society is evil. While they rant on about the czar, the nobles, and the bourgeoisie, it is far more than that. What we stand to lose is far more than that.
“Two nights later, he was shot while walking alone. It was only by chance that a woman had come outside on the hot summer night and stood under the portico of her home, hidden in shadows. She saw Father shot in the back, the man approaching him and firing more shots into the fallen body, then turning and walking past her. His killer, Fedor Riezler, spent a month in jail before the February riots when a mob broke into the prison and released all of the prisoners. I think about what Father had said during our talk. I know that Father was not afraid.” She looked at Billy, then, “He said fear was worse than death.”
---
Nicolai Vissaronovich Nekrasov had hooked himself to the Kerensky star. Fiercely loyal, he wanted what Kerensky did as badly as his master. He knew why Alexander Feodorovich had asked him to prepare the report on the general. He had handed the report to him a few minutes before. In another ten minutes, he expected the office door to open and to be invited inside. In his mind, he knew what had to be done.
Kerensky looked at the report as he stood looking out upon the Neva.
“General Lavr Kornilov is the son of a Cossack and a mother who worked in the house of the owner of one of the great estates in Siberia. He is the same age as Nicolai Lenin. He spent his early years among the Kazakh-Kirgiz. He has demonstrated an affection for Asians and other native peoples throughout his career. He went to military school, and the general staff academy.”
Nekrasov saw no purpose in mentioning that he graduated with honors from the academy.
“He served in Turkestan, leading expeditions into Afghanistan and Persia. He speaks the native language of his bodyguards, the Tekke Turkomans. They are said to be fiercely loyal to him, calling him the Great Boyar.”
Nekrasov saw no need in mentioning his mastering of a number of Turkic dialects nor that he was considered an expert on Asian matters.
“He fought against the Japanese and served as a military attaché in China. In April 1915, he was wounded and captured by the Austrians and escaped. In March 1917, the Duma appointed him th
e commander of the Petrograd Garrison. He resigned in April over disagreements with the Duma and returned to the front.”
He decided to chance an opinion.
“He is known to be difficult to deal with.”
Kerensky read the last line. He remembered his visit in June to the front. From that moment he wanted to destroy the general. Now, it was beyond dislike. It was about survival.
---
It was early June. He remembered the soldiers standing at attention as his train came to a stop. On the way, he had stopped to inspect the supply depots for the army at the front. Boxes of weapons and ammunition were piled high, waiting to be sent to the front. The Allies, worried that there was agitation for Russia to pull out of the war, had rushed in supplies and equipment. It would no longer be necessary to ration artillery shells. Now, as he saw the soldiers of General Kornilov, he felt his spirits soar.
He requested to speak to members of the soldiers’ committees, created by Order Number One. He looked down upon the sullen faces of the men, and spoke to them of a new Russia, one in which each person would have his say running her. By the end of his one hour talk, he was sure that the still-silent men understood the importance of victory over the Germans and the Austrians. For Russia, and the man who would lead her.
When he finished, he remembered, his body was soaked with perspiration, but exhilarated by his words and the rapt attention of the soldiers. Approaching the general’s tent, he watched the Turkoman bodyguard draw their sabers and salute him as he walked inside. He felt good. As he sat down, the general sat down opposite him.
“What do you think of the Provisional Government now, General? We have delivered what we promised, have we not?” The stoic man across from him was silent, looking at the war minister.
“The Provisional Government, Minister, will lose this war for us.”
I can play the game as well as he, Kerensky thought. He stared back at the general and waited for him to explain his insubordination. “You have allowed a committee of radicals who speak for a tiny number of Russians to destroy our army. Ispolkom, as the radicals call it, have the power to countermand the orders of the Provisional Government.”
“This is to make sure the Provisional Government does not lose touch with the people, General. We cannot defy the Soviet. We would have anarchy. You need to understand that.”
“What I understand, Minister, is that the Provisional Government is behaving as if it were afraid to lead. The Russian people need someone to lead them. If this small minority of radicals threatens to go into the streets, tell them if they do, you will meet them there. We are at war.”
“You evidently are more versed on governing than I am, General, do you have any specific suggestions before I leave you?” He regretted his remark, but it was too late.
“Rescind Order Number One. An army cannot be run by committee, where the men control the guns and ammunition, and soldiers can defy their officers and are supported by the Soviet and the Provisional Government for doing so.”
“And the Soviet?”
“Remind them of who they are and what the Provisional Government is. Tell them to get their noses out of army operations or have it cut off.”
“That is not possible, General.”
---
He tried to recall why he had been so angry at the general. Was it his arrogance? He seemed so sure of himself, and made him feel weak. He was caught on the Ispolkom petard. He could not argue with the general’s logic. Certainly, Ispolkom has no place in an army which is after victory on the field. But the simple bastard is talking about the wrong battle. He wants to defeat the Germans. He needed Ispolkom for the real battle.
Five minutes after having received the report from Nekrasov, he asked the young man into his office.
“Kornilov will not accept the post of commander in chief, Nicolai Vissaronovich. He has increased his demands. Did you know that?”
“Yes, Alexander Feodorovich. He wants to place the industry and transport under a military commander.”
“He continues to insist we rescind Order Number One, and remove all powers of Ispolkom except those concerned with the Soviet. I’m afraid we will have to find a way to remove the general from the political arena he has invited himself into.”
---
Carson made it a point to cultivate the brightest of the young officers. It was a time when such officers must step forward to save Russia. It would not be done by the politicians who were caught up in the heady dreams of creating a socialist Russia. It must be done by the generals and their junior officers. In another time, votes would be important. Now it was rifles and machine guns and the men to fire them. Carson had no special attachment to the czar; he was not a Russian and could not understand why so many Russian nobles loved their czar. But he knew that his principals in the United States, in Canada, and Australia had understandings with many who worked in the government and who ran the industries, mines, and oil fields in Russia.
A new government created by the Provisional Government was likely to continue doing business as they had always done. There would be reforms, perhaps some restrictions on foreign ownership, but these were not of the greatest concern. Kerensky, although purporting to be in the vanguard of revolution, would not be an acceptable head of government. Carson had watched Kerensky closely since the riots in February. He was a man who seemed only to see what he wanted to see.
He stood at the window of his study, looking across the Neva toward the Winter Palace. He held a cable in his hand from the Old Man. Although the cable had been about the interest of Russia Electric in purchasing electric motors, the code book had produced a one word message: Kornilov. Placing the cable in his safe and closing it, he walked into the study where the two young Turks, as he liked to call them, were discussing something or other. Captain Trepov and the lieutenant got along well. That was good, because both would be needed in the weeks to come. Captain Trepov was always in demand in Petrograd. He was tall like Billy, an excellent horseman. At a reception or dinner, the hostess made a point of placing him next to the most important lady there. An excellent conversationalist, a bachelor who spoke perfect French and English, he seldom went unnoticed. Social graces came easy to the young captain. The family estates near Lipetsk in the Caucasus were known throughout Russia for their use of the most modern agricultural methods and equipment. Trepov wines, grown in the foothills of the Urals, were served in Petrograd and Moscow, and could be found in the great homes in Europe before the war. It was the Trepovs who imported zebu cattle from India, crossing them with the meatier European cattle to produce the hardy varieties suited to the semi-tropic climates of southern Russia.
For over two hundred years, since being granted lands by Peter the Great, the Trepovs had served the czar as soldiers. Captain Yuri Gregorivich Trepov was threatened with being the last to serve them. A young man with a strong love for Russia, he searched for the company of those who wanted to return the czar to the throne. Unlike so many of his friends, Yuri was unapologetic in his devotion to the czar and considered it a privilege to risk everything for him. It had always been that way in the Trepov family.
When General Kornilov was in Petrograd in March, Carson had sought out the young captain because he was on the general’s staff. It was part of Carson’s success that he could identify persons likely to be important in Russia before they were. He had bet on General Lavr Kornilov. He hoped to use the young man to reach Kornilov, who was not one who sought new acquaintances, particularly outside of the military.
It was through Captain Trepov that Carson had met with Kornilov on August 4, the day after the general had met with the cabinet of the Provisional Government. He had asked to speak to them about reforms and was told they were working on the matter and could not discuss it. As he moved on to the German offensive in the Baltic region, Kerensky whispered to him to be careful what he said. The evening of the third, Kornilov was a much-shaken man. He had hoped the Provisional Government would understand that
discipline must be restored or Petrograd itself would be threatened by the German Army. He knew now that he had deceived himself, that the Provisional Government was terrified of the Soviet and that Kerensky was telling him that military information given to the cabinet would get back to the Germans.
“General Kornilov, thank you for coming. I did not know that you would. I understand you are already acquainted with Count Voravskii.” The count was standing with Carson as the general entered. Carson could see him relax. “The general and I fought in the same division at Mukden. We have seen each other only rarely the last several years. While the general fights, I’m afraid my time is taken up dealing with the tedious business of trying to keep our trains operating.” “I have always considered it a privilege to have served under you, Count Voravskii. I have no doubt it would still be so.”
“Can I offer you some refreshment? Some tea, perhaps?” Carson knew that the general did not drink alcohol.
“That would be most kind, Mr. Carson.”
“General, I received a report on the cabinet meeting yesterday. I understand that the Provisional Government chose not to discuss Order Number One with you.”
“That is true.”
“I was also told that you were warned not to talk about military operations for fear it would get back to the Germans.”
The general doubted if Richard Carson could have known what Kerensky whispered to him. Since Kerensky had interrupted his opening remarks about the front, he knew it was possible to deduce that was what Kerensky whispered to him.
“I am not at liberty to comment on that, Mr. Carson.” The general looked steadily into the eyes of the American, who met his eyes then casually turned to instruct the servant to bring the tea into the room. “I am here, Mr. Carson, because Aleksai tells me you have a great affection for our country. You must understand that as an American you have no standing in the Provisional Government or the army, and there are things which I cannot discuss with you.”
