David Oldman - Dusk at Dawn

Cumming returned his finger to the railway line.

‘Two-hundred and fifty trains. What is it they call ‘em, Browning?’

‘Échelons.’

‘Right, échelons. Something of a logistical nightmare, as you can imagine, Rostov. But the Legion elected their own officers — under Russian commanders — and got themselves organised.’ He glanced up again. ‘Not our way but Johnny Foreigner has his own methods.’

‘And the Bolsheviks agreed to this?’ Paul asked doubtfully.

‘Initially, yes. Only too keen to get the Czechs out of Russia. After all, they’re Brigade strength now and despite having to surrender some of their weapons they’re still well-armed. They were none too pleased when the Bolsheviks concluded a separate peace either, as you might imagine. So the quicker the Bolsheviks got them out, the better for them. Then the Germans threw a spanner in the works.’

‘Did they?’

‘Naturally they weren’t too keen of having a fresh brigade transferred to the western front and started demanding their own POWs back. So the Bolsheviks gave priority to Central Power prisoners moving west, allowing the Czechs to move east only when they could. The consequence of this is that now the Legion is spread out over the whole length of the line. Some have already arrived in Vladivostok, some are still west of the Urals, and the rest are at points between. To speed things up we suggested that all units west of Omsk be diverted to Archangel, while those east of Omsk carry on to Vladivostok as planned. But the Bolshies still weren’t keen on this, not at first anyway, and by the time we finally got their agreement the whole thing blew up in our face.’

‘How?’

‘Chelyabinsk.’

Cumming turned the map sideways so that Paul was hovering over Poland and Cumming was in the Sea of Japan. He poked a finger at the town of Chelyabinsk.

‘The Bolsheviks there arrested the Czechs officers over the lynching. The Czechs, having superior numbers, simply took them back. The upshot was that Trotsky ordered any member of the Legion found armed to be shot on sight.’

Behind him Browning chuckled. ‘Overplayed his hand.’

‘The Czechs responded,’ Cumming went on, ‘by seizing their trains and Chelyabinsk station.’

Paul muttered, ‘Good show,’ sensing it was the sort of response they expected.

‘All very well,’ Cumming sniffed, ‘but the point is, now they’re aware of Trotsky’s order, the Czechs won’t hear of embarking at Archangel. In their opinion that would split their force in two and weaken their position.’

The three of them stared at the map. Paul felt the ball to be in his court.

‘So, to sum up,’ he said, trying to muster the salient points of what he’d been told, ‘the Czechs want to go east and get out of Russia just as much as the Bolsheviks want them out. Only the Bolsheviks have made a mess of it, lost the initiative and now have forty-thousand rather angry armed men sitting across their railway line.’

He looked down at the map and tried to imagine the Legion occupying the railway line, a thin scattering of men stretched over thousands of miles of wilderness from the Urals to the Pacific. Then he tried to picture himself there, tasked with doing something about it. His head began to spin.

‘The Germans,’ he began again, attempting to calm his apprehension. ‘They may not want them brought round to the western front, but I can’t see there’s a lot they can do about it. I mean, they’re not likely to break their treaty over it, are they, and risk opening up the Russian front again? Not now we’ve finally managed to hold them in the west. And it’s only forty-thousand men. They don’t compare with the German divisions the Russian peace freed up for our front.’

Cumming was smiling inscrutably. ‘There, Browning, didn’t I say, rascal or not, he’d get to grips with the situation? Well done, Rostov.’

Browning, looking unconvinced, said nothing.

Paul frowned, wrong-footed by Cumming’s praise and not caring to be called a ‘rascal’. He felt there had to be more. He was almost afraid to ask.

‘So why can’t the evacuation through Vladivostok go ahead as arranged?’ he asked. ‘It might take longer than planned, but I can’t see that that’s a problem.’

‘The problem ,’ Cumming replied, ‘is that the situation has changed.’

‘Because of what happened at Chelyabinsk?’

‘The political situation,’ said Browning.

Cumming drummed a tattoo on the desk with his fingers.

‘Ever since the Russian Front collapsed, the Supreme Allied War Council has been looking for ways of bolstering it.’ He straightened the map again and pointed to Murmansk. ‘We’ve five thousand troops here guarding war matériel that was meant for the Russian army. They’re there to stop the supplies falling into German hands.’

‘Or Bolshevik hands now,’ said Browning.

‘The same goes for Vladivostok,’ Cumming resumed. ‘Only the supplies there are infinitely more valuable than those at Murmansk and we don’t have the spare men to guard them. Just a couple of ships. There is a Japanese force there and the Americans are expected. There’s also a contingent of the Legion who are waiting for troopships to take them off.’

‘Still waiting?’ Paul put in. ‘I would have thought the ships would already be in Vladivostok ready for when the Czechs arrived.’

Cumming ignored him. ‘Given the way things stand, the Supreme Allied War Council believe this is too good an opportunity to miss. Particularly now the Americans are on board.’

‘On board? With the Vladivostok evacuation, you mean?’

‘The situation, Rostov. Men in Murmansk, the Legion controlling the Trans-Siberian line. The opportunity this affords. There is a tide in the affairs of men … ’

Paul looked at the map again but it didn’t help any more than Cumming quoting Shakespeare did.

‘What situation and opportunity do you mean?’

Browning sighed loudly. ‘Didn’t I say as much, Cumming?’

‘As we speak,’ Cumming went on, ignoring the interruption, ‘more troops are on their way to Archangel. They expect to land at the beginning of next month.’

‘To guard other supplies?’

Cumming merely stared at him.

Paul stared back, a small portion of the penny beginning to drop. ‘British troops? Are you telling me, sir, that we’re invading Russia?’

‘It isn’t to be termed an “invasion”,’ Cumming told him. ‘It’s an intervention.’

Paul didn’t immediately grasp the subtlety of the difference. All he could think of was, that after four years of beating themselves to a bloody standstill against the Germans on the western front — never mind Gallipolli and all the other fronts around the world — someone had now had the bright idea of invading Russia as well. He wondered if there was ever going to be an end to the folly. Hadn’t enough blood been spilt on needless adventures already without them having to find yet another to embark upon?

‘Why?’ was all he could find to say.

‘Because the government in its wisdom has decided that the time is ripe,’ Cumming replied. ‘The Social-Revolutionary Party has split with the Bolsheviks over the peace treaty with Germany and they’ve assassinated Count Mirbach, the German ambassador. We have had reports that they attempted a coup at the Fifth All-Russian Congress in Moscow earlier this month. It failed and the Bolsheviks arrested several of the SR leaders. Consequently many SRs are disaffected. The leader of the Bolshevik army on the Volga, Muraviev, and his Lettish Rifles have refused orders and rebelled. Now they’re not the sort of people we want to get in bed with, naturally, but there are others and it’s believed another push or two will be enough to remove the Bolsheviks from power. Once that happens the eastern front against the Germans can be reopened.’