by H Schmidt
Yuri’s men waited in a forest six kilometers east of the town. They would be part of the first group in. The attack had been planned for two in the morning. Unless they had been betrayed, there would be little resistance before daybreak. Billy wondered why they had not blown the rail line from Moscow. It was not his battle. He would not ask.
One hour after midnight, the men began to move. Billy reached up to take Yuri’s hand. “Godspeed, my friend. I will see you marching down Nevsky Prospeckt soon.” He smiled at his friend.
“I know you would like to join us my friend. I regret not having you beside me. Godspeed, Billy. My regards to Elizaveta Voravskii and Mr. Richard Carson.” He stood in at the edge of the forest watching the columns of men move away and separate, each on a part of the mission. Brave men off to war against other Russians. Little different, he thought, than Europeans at war against other Europeans. He wondered why he had not told Yuri that Carson was dead. He guessed it was because he did not want to mar the moment, guessing there would be few such for the gallant colonel.
---
It had been over a month since the Blitz Battalion had separated from the rest of the Eighth Army. Moving by rail, road, and sea, Friederich had positioned the battalion over three hundred kilometers from the main German lines. Sitting astride the supply lines from Murmansk, the battalion had conducted raids on the rail line. They had soon run low on ammunition and had to resort to captured weapons to assure a steady supply of ammunition. Most of the machine guns were captured Sokolovs, British Vickers or American Brownings. The soldiers preferred the American Springfield rifles; most had the Russian models, dependable but heavier. Friederich found the men were still in high spirits. Food from the trains meant the men were better fed than the rest of the Eighth Army. Casualties had been light but the effect on the men when they occurred had changed dramatically since their expedition had begun. The wounded were no longer sent behind the lines, but were watched over by the men of the battalion. When a man died in the presence of the other men, it was harder to deal with.
When they suffered, Friederich could see the effect on the men.
There were other unexpected effects of such isolation. The small unit became a community more than an army. Unable to find friends from other units, or among civilians behind their lines, they came to rely on each other. Perhaps most surprising, their movements had brought a new relationship with the Russians in the villages. Because they had captured food from the trains, they began sharing it with the villagers, often in exchange for feed for the horses.
Within a week of their arrival in the area near the rail line, Friederich was contacted by the mayor of one of the villages, who invited the men into his village. He asked only that a small number would come in at one time. It was not long before the battalion was being asked to do more. Since early in the previous year, deserters began to appear in gangs, terrorizing the villages. One evening, a boy from the village at the bottom of the hill came running into their camp asking for the commander. A band of men were in the village.
Sergeant Kerner had taken ten men with him to the village. As they approached the meeting house, they could hear screams from the building. Covering all the doors front and back, one of the soldiers flung open the door while four others quickly rushed through the door. What they saw were two men holding a young girl down, while another, his pants down to his knees was raping her. She was screaming. As the German soldiers stood, their fingers on the trigger guards of their rifles, the laughter and shouting stopped. The screams of the girl did not. The man stood and faced the German soldiers, grinning, pulling his pants up, trying to make them understand they were only having fun like all soldiers do.
The sergeant looked at the six men in the room. They were all big men, larger than his soldiers. Most wore long beards. The clothes they wore were not ragged, but filthy. He could smell their foul odor from where he stood. The girl suddenly grew quiet. Only her sobs could be heard as she pulled her underclothes up around her body, and ran out of the building. Another girl, barely a teenager, ran out in the night behind her. Kerner winced when he heard the piercing screams of an older woman outside. Now he could hear the shouts and screams as if the whole village had joined in the lament.
These were still Russian soldiers, Kerner thought. They were in enemy territory. He could kill them all on the spot. But he did not. He lined the men up. The smiles had gone from their faces as they looked at the German soldiers. They began to understand what might happen to them. One of the men, who was the leader, raised his hands. The sergeant knew enough Russian to know that he wanted the Germans to accept their surrender. The sergeant asked one of the men to fetch the mayor. The old man arrived, still trembling but now it was with rage.
Willie Giesler understood Russian. Friederich had requested him for such moments as this. Kerner spoke to him.
“Ask the mayor what he wants us to do with these men. Tell him he must decide.”
Willie spoke to the mayor, then turned quickly back to the sergeant. “Kill them. He wants you to shoot them.” Kerner nodded.
Now the Russian men were crying out, spreading their hands, asking for mercy. Friederich was sitting with Dr. Sukorov playing a game of chess, when he heard the single volley, then single shots, then silence. As he walked outside the lean-to they had built, men were running to form up.
“Sergeant, take a squad down to the village. Have the rest of the men fall out, Captain.”
Friederich had been fortunate in capturing a Russian physician in their first raid. A man who cared more about taking care of wounded men than serving the Russian or any other army, over the last month Dr. Sukorov had become a respected and liked member of the battalion. The tedium of the long waits between engagements was broken by Dr. Sukorov’s company. The few officers enjoyed their evening talks with the doctor, whom they discovered was an avid socialist and critic of both the czar and the kaiser.
An hour after they had heard the firing, Sergeant Kerner reported. He looked at the doctor. “It is alright, Sergeant. You can speak in front of Dr. Sukorov.”
When he had finished, Sukorov said nothing. Friederich finally asked, “Do you disapprove, Doctor?”
“It is the war, Colonel. There is no humanity in war. I am sorry that a German soldier did what a Russian soldier should have. That is not possible now, is it?”
---
They had taken Anna away. The wailing had continued into the second day until one of the neighbors had grabbed one of the militiamen and asked him to find out what was going on inside Riezler’s flat. At first, one of the men talked to Riezler, telling him that they must take Anna away. Riezler grabbed a club which he kept in his flat for protection and told the men they could not take her. The standoff continued for almost an hour until one of the men grabbed the mad Pole. It took four men to subdue him, then handcuff him to a bedpost while the others took the girl away.
“We have orders from the Cheka to take him with us.” Although the man spoke softly, Riezler heard him. He allowed himself to be lifted off the floor, not resisting as the men led him out the door. An open wagon waited. Anna had been placed inside the wagon and covered with a blanket. When they asked Riezler to step into the wagon, he did so without resistance, taking a seat beside the covered body. He stared straight ahead.
One of the men started to attach the handcuffs to the wagon. Riezler looked into the man’s eyes and spoke in a clear, strong voice, the voice he used in rallying support for the revolution.
“I will give you no trouble, Comrade. Allow me to sit beside her with my hands free.”
The man looked at his commander, who shrugged. Both climbed onto the front of the wagon and turned the team around in the dead-end street. As they came onto the crowded street leading to the university, Riezler leaped out of the wagon and was gone in the crowd. One of the men began cursing at the other. Someone, they knew, would pay.
Riezler knew all the alleys and hideaways near the university. He remembered when th
e police and the Cossacks had chased him, how easily he had gotten away. He had done it again. Anna was gone. They had killed her. There was only one man to blame. Carson was dead. He would find that man and do what he did to Anna. Anna had tried to come back to him. She had loved him. They would be together but for him.
Chapter Five
Yuri and his men were inside the town now. They surrounded and entered the bank and the post office. Yuri had volunteered his men to take over the armory, but Perkhurov had assigned that to one of the units from Siberia. Perkhurov personally took the militia headquarters. Taken by surprise, the core of the town was under the control of the Northern Volunteer Army by three o’clock, one hour after the attack began. As the town came under control, a detachment rounded up the Bolshevik and Soviet officials.
When the sun rose in the morning, the town’s people discovered that the town was no longer in the hands of the Bolsheviks and the Soviet. Signs were already being placed in the town square calling for the election of a democratic government, condemning the dictatorship of the Bolsheviks. As the word spread like wildfire through the town, students, army officers, and workers joined the Volunteer Army. Peasants from nearby villages had come into town, rallying behind the new army.
Billy had slept under his warm blanket in the forest where the men had gathered. He had heard little during the night except for sporadic firing, something that seemed to be part of Russian life anywhere in the Empire. He looked for smoke, for some sign of struggle. It went well, he decided.
Billy hated the Bolsheviks, but he admired them. Their most admirable trait, he thought, was their ability to improvise, to be daring; to turn defeat into victory. Certainly, their exposure as agents of Germany in July should have been their end. But their own brass caused the Provisional Government to shrink at their counter accusations, and when the smoke finally cleared, Kerensky was gone and Lenin stood as the leader of Russia. Now the test of wills begins.
Why had Perkhurov not destroyed the rail line from Moscow? Was he expecting help from the south, or had he made a fatal error? Billy had moved to a position no more than a kilometer from the town. From the small hill, he could see the rail lines at both ends of the town. The sun was above the southern horizon when he saw the smoke from the engine coming from the south. As he watched the train approach the town, it came to a halt approximately two kilometers from its edge. He could see the troops dismounting and falling into formation. On the flatbeds to the rear of the train, he could see the artillery pieces. On the last one, an armored car, a great red star was clearly visible.
“Get out, Yuri, get out,” he spoke softly as he watched the slow process of putting the artillery on the snow-covered ground. Horses were already being harnessed on the side of the train nearest him. Above him, he heard the drone of an airplane, then two. They moved close to the ground, seeming to almost skim the top of the train. Before they reached the town, they turned sharply and began to climb.
“They are trying to scare the men into running. It would be a coup to have the rebels run at the first sign of the Red Army.”
Formations of cavalry had assembled in front of the train and were slowly moving toward the town. As they did, riders from the edge of town began to ride toward them. They were still in the town. Billy began to think like a soldier, began to hold out hope.
“Drive them out of town. Don’t let them get a foothold in the town.” He made a wish that General Denikin had men coming from the north. If they can defeat Trotsky’s army here, the revolution could collapse. Perhaps the Old Man would get his wish. Perhaps he had been wrong. For Yuri’s sake, he hoped so.
Billy made a decision. Denikin had his headquarters somewhere north. It was worth a try. He heard the firing at the edge of town. He could hear the tat-tat-tat of machine gun fire, the thumping sounds of exploding grenades, the firing of rifles. The horsemen and the horses from the train began to collapse in the snow, cut down by the fire from the town. In unison, the whole squadron turned and headed away from the firing, leaving their dead and wounded in the field.
Billy hoped the mare would hold up as he spurred her. He would follow the rail line. Behind him, the firing had stopped. He would ask at the first village. He knew there were Bolshevik agents everywhere. He would have to take that chance. In the distance, he heard the Red Army artillery begin.
He had been riding for two days. He began to admire the mare. She kept a steady pace through the snow. He came to a small village, its houses close to the railroad. He noticed there was a saw mill in the village. The train station was small, but there was a stationmaster. He was as good as any. “Good afternoon, Comrade. Long live the revolution.” The old man looked coldly at him. “How can I help you?”
Billy thought it was worth a chance. “Anton Ivanovich Denikin.” He watched the eyes become more alert. “Have you heard of a man by that name?” The man was wary, Billy thought. He knows something.
“The name is not familiar, Comrade. If I hear of such a man, is there a name or a message I can give him.”
It was worth a try. “Tell him Aleksai was inquiring about him.” Billy watched the old man move some papers about. As Billy was about to turn away, the old man spoke carefully.
“I will do that. Long live the revolution.”
“Do you know where I can find some grain for my horse, Comrade? She has had a hard ride.” Billy had not slept for two nights. He needed rest. The mare could not last.
“The largest house on this side of the tracks. I would try there.”
As Billy moved down the tracks, the old man went to the telegraph, tapping out a message to the north. The owner in the large house allowed him to sleep in the stables. For twice what he paid last week, he was given grain for his mare and a loaf of hard bread for himself. He had never imagined when he came to Russia that he would come to think of bread as a meal. Now, as he rode north, he chewed contentedly on the tough bread, savoring its flavor. He had ridden only an hour when two horsemen rode out of the woods ahead and stood across his path. As slowly as he could manage, he loosened the buttons of his coat near his waist, willing his mind to feel the .45 nestled against his side. Both men had rifles strapped to their shoulders. They would be no problem.
He stopped not two meters from the two men. Neither smiled at him. He decided he would do the same. “Comrades?”
The larger man spoke. “I understand you are looking for Anton Ivanovich Denikin.”
“The message was not quite correct, Comrade. I said I was inquiring about him.”
Then the larger man smiled a great smile. Billy thought him unusual for a Russian. He had no facial hair, although he was in need of a shave. “Then I suppose you did not say you were Aleksai since the message said only that Aleksai was inquiring about Anton Ivanovich.”
“That is correct.” Billy could not help but return the smile. How could you not? Seldom do you see such open faces on men.
“Of course you would not remember me, Lieutenant. I had the pleasure of meeting you at a reception for the Argentinian ambassador. I am Colonel Dmitri Aleksaivich Durnovo. We all admired the way you made your way in Petrograd. Still, it is a surprise to find you in those clothes and with that disguise traveling along the rail line to Archangel.”
Billy realized that he still did not know where the loyalty of the man in front of him lay. He could easily kill both men. He could see no way but to speak directly to his purpose.
“Colonel, three days south at Yaroslavl, some very brave men are confronting the Red Army. It can be the beginning of the end of the Bolsheviks, or it can give them importance in the eyes of the Russian people if they crush the men there. I am asking for help. If Denikin can bring his army south, and he can achieve a victory at Yaroslavl, it would inspire the Russians to act together to throw out the Bolsheviks. We do not know when another chance like this will come.”
“Lieutenant, I am not surprised at your request. Unfortunately, you are too late. General Denikin has marched east with his men.
He plans to put his army on the Trans-Siberian Railroad, to join with the rebels east of the Urals. I was left in command of a hundred men, most of which have never been in battle.”
“Do you have any news of the battle, Colonel?”
“It is not going well, Lieutenant. General Gekker has brought up artillery and airplanes along with his infantry. They are reducing the town to rubble, I’m afraid.”
Billy began to turn his horse. The colonel spoke calmly to him. “Lieutenant, Savinkov was a fool. The French were bigger fools for encouraging him. The Allies are making a mess of things by supporting such insane ventures. Better if we are left to fight our own battles.”
Billy felt the reproach. He had agreed to a fool’s errand. He started the mare south again.
“Lieutenant, go back to Petrograd. There is nothing you can do.”
The truth of the colonel’s words hurt the most. Why had he not tried harder to stop Yuri?
“You are probably right, Colonel. This is a personal thing, something I have to do.”
For three days, the bombing and the artillery bombardment continued. The church and monastery had been gutted by fire. Only parts of the walls of the bank and post office remained. Pulling his division back, General Gekker pounded the town with the 75s that had been sent by the French to the Volunteer Army but captured by the Bolsheviks. Orders from Trotsky were not to assault the town, but to force surrender. They must not be allowed to die like heroes, but cowards, men who betrayed the Russian people.
Inside the town, the casualties steadily mounted. Throughout the fourth day, Gekker would call halts to the bombardment and his representative would approach Perkhurov demanding his surrender. Among those who spoke against it was Yuri Trepov. He stood before the leaders who had assembled to discuss the surrender demand.
“We chose to come to Yaroslavl to fight for our Russia. If we surrender, millions of Russians will surrender with us. Victory is no longer an option. There is only one thing for us to do. We must fight.”
