The Rift

by H Schmidt

  Several of the leaders walked over to stand beside the young colonel. Most distanced themselves. It was Perkhurov who spoke now.

  “We came expecting help from the north. It did not come. The only option left is to seek terms which will allow us leave as free men.”

  “Do you think they would agree to that when we are trapped like rabbits, Colonel?” Yuri was angry at the cowardice which allowed such self-deception. “If they agreed, do you think they would honor their agreement?” For the moment, Yuri had won.

  Within thirty minutes, the bombardment began again. Many of the men found shelter in the cellars of the church and monastery. The high explosive shells of the 75s proved only hard on the nerves. It was shortly after noon when the explosion shattered the last hopes of the defenders. The shell was fired from a French 520 millimeter Schneider howitzer eight kilometers south of the town. Mounted on a railroad car, its fourteen-hundred-kilo shell landed in the middle of the main street of the town, creating a huge crater and flattening the walls of the buildings for a hundred meter radius. Gekker watched the black smoke rising through his field glasses, then halted the bombardment. Trotsky wanted some of the men taken alive.

  ---

  It was dark as Billy approached Yaroslavl. He had led the mare away from the tracks to the thick woods, knowing the Soviet Army would have surrounded the town. Almost ten kilometers from the town, he had heard the explosion. It could have been a magazine exploding. It could have been one of the big guns that could flatten the town.

  He wondered why the artillery had stopped. Was he too late? He dismounted half a kilometer from the town. Coming to the edge of town, he tied his horse. Expecting to be challenged, Billy was prepared to surrender. As he walked into town, he saw a lone soldier standing near a house that seemed to have survived the bombardment. Billy was within five meters when he spoke. The startled man turned, leveling his rifle. Billy spoke as calmly as he could to the frightened young man.

  “Is Colonel Trepov still alive?”

  The young man began to shout that there was a Red spy and he was holding his rifle on him. Quickly more men appeared. One of the men recognized Billy, who had taken his hat off. It was Boris Noskolnikov. Billy was shocked at the change in the young nobleman. His face looked drawn. The eyes were red from lack of sleep. Still, he smiled at Billy.

  “Hello, Billy. You have decided to join us after all.” No, he thought, he had come to say goodbye. He had come to see if he could persuade Yuri to try to escape. When he saw Boris, he knew he could not ask Yuri to desert his men.

  “Hello, Billy.” The American turned to see Yuri standing behind him. He looked tired, but still stood straight, still the proud Russian. They embraced then began to walk among the ruins.

  “They have decided to take the night off, Billy. Before dark, they fired one of their giant howitzers. They were telling us that we either surrender or they will blow us into pieces or bury us in rubble.”

  “I do not know what to say, Yuri. Will you surrender?” He had tried to keep his voice flat. He did not want the words to mean anything except the need to know. He was sorry he asked, for he could not do so without passing judgment on his brave friend. He had only wanted to tell him what he felt and did not know how.

  “Most of the men here are in favor of surrendering. They will ask the Bolsheviks if they will be allowed to leave unharmed if they will throw down their arms.” Billy was silent. There was always the chance they would agree. There was little chance they would keep their promise. Billy looked around at the jagged skyline, at the desolation. A fine rain had begun to fall, more a mist than rain. It was quiet. Only the sound of their boots on the thawing ground as they walked. “I have talked to my men. We have decided not to surrender. We will not endure the humiliation of being paraded through the streets of Moscow, spit upon by the rabble there. Many of the men who surrender will die. They will be stripped of their dignity, then shot like animals, wishing they had died as soldiers.”

  ---

  The day was born with the rain falling, the colors washed from the scene, leaving only muted colors washed in shades of gray. From the town, the rebels could see the three horsemen riding beside the tracks. One carried the truce flag. They were two hundred meters from the town when they saw the horsemen appear from the town. They had formed a skirmish line across the tracks. There were eighty-three men in all, those who remained of Colonel Trepov’s army. The three horsemen stopped, puzzled for a moment. Quickly realizing what was happening, they turned and galloped toward their lines five hundred meters away.

  A captain in the Imperial Army who had joined the Red Army before the October Revolution, General Gekker watched the men through his field glasses. He watched the Soviet soldiers form up quickly, some bunching around the machine guns, the riflemen taking up positions, anxiously waiting for the command. As the general watched, he saw the horsemen break into a canter, then watched them draw their swords and spur their horses into a full gallop. The machine guns began their deadly rattle and the charging horses and their riders fell to the ground. Occasionally, a single figure would rise, only to be cut down by the steady wall of fire. In less than five minutes, only a dozen horses, some of them mortally wounded, still stood. At someone’s command, the firing stopped. The general put down his glasses. Silently, he said a prayer for those brave men and another that God may grant him the gift to die as well. He began thinking about the telegram he must send to Trotsky. He smiled at the thought of his face reddened with rage.

  Billy tried to remember Yuri as he was when he walked into the great room in that small village. He tried to recall the feeling as Yuri grabbed him and spun him around. He could see the face of Boris, as he greeted him. He remembered Yuri’s voice as he had left that night.

  “I know you would like to join us, my friend. I regret not having you beside me. Godspeed, Billy.”

  What happens to a world where only the best and bravest are asked to die for us? Billy turned his mare to the west. Perhaps he could sell her in a town on the rail line to Petrograd. What does one do with money that belongs to the Old Man? Perhaps a bottle of vodka and one of the ladies from Nevsky Prospeckt. “What do you think, Yuri?”

  ---

  The Soviet government had agreed to provide the special train for the American Embassy personnel who were being evacuated because of the increasing violence in Russia. The ambassador had decided that the move to Moscow represented too great a risk to Americans. Lieutenant Housman was selected to head the entourage. The proposal to have the US Marines accompany the train was rejected on the grounds that such a show of force might be counterproductive, and no force was available which could assure protection militarily. The train would consist only of two cars, one for the passengers, a second for the baggage. Billy had time to visit with Elizaveta the day before he left. He felt he should tell her about Yuri. He found she, too, had heard about Anna. Billy was able to find out about the behavior of Riezler and worried about Elizaveta. It seemed that he had become deranged, and somehow held Elizaveta and him responsible. As they had done before, they walked along the empty streets talking about Yuri, about themselves. Elizaveta had recalled how little interest she had in Billy and how little he seemed to care for her as a woman. Now, she knew something had grown between them, and when they were not together, she thought about him often.

  Billy had been careful that he was not being followed. Two days before, he had asked Nicolai, a young student at the university to watch the house where Elizaveta stayed, looking for anyone suspicious who might be watching the house. He had given Nicolai a picture of Fedor Riezler, warning him not to approach the man. When they were out together, Nicolai was to follow at a safe distance, looking to see if they were being followed. They were almost to the house where Elizaveta was staying.

  “I will be gone for about a week. I should be back by next Wednesday. If you see anyone suspicious, or hear anything, this is the address where you can go. The owner knows who you are.”


  “Billy, I have been thinking about what you told me. I have decided to go to France with my uncle. We have friends there. Many of the people we know have already left. What happened to Yuri makes it easier to accept.”

  Billy was relieved. He knew he could not protect her here forever. There were informants everywhere. The Bolsheviks were making heroes of people who would betray their employers, their relatives, their friends for the revolution. All Russians were shaken by the terror of the last six months. No longer were reasons given for the taking of Russians. People were being shot for who they were, not for what they did. Dzerzhinskii had become the most feared man in Russia.

  He worried about Riezler. Although apparently no longer a favored member of the Party, he was out there somewhere. He knew that Elizaveta’s life and certainly his own were in danger. He looked at her profile. In two months, it would be two years since Theresa had nursed him in Santa Maria. He knew he still loved her. But he had grown to love the proud girl beside him, as well. It hadn’t been that way, at first. It had not been sudden. He didn’t know when, but it was there. What do you say to someone you love whose roots lie in a land that has been taken away? You don’t know what to say, so you lie.

  “I understand.”

  ---

  If all went well, they would be in Murmansk in two days. Most of the travelers were the wives and children of the American Embassy officials. Some were families of officials of the French and British Embassies. The mood of the travelers was mixed, some looking forward to going home, others sad because they had to leave their fathers and husbands. Billy noticed that there were few Russians there to see the travelers off. He was not surprised. Russians did not have a clear picture of the Soviet views regarding the Allies. To be wrong could mean being watched, going to prison, even being shot.

  The early morning air was crisp, and Billy could see the breath of those who spoke. Most men stood with their families apart from the others, speaking softly. Some families, who had been particularly close, huddled together, sharing their goodbyes. They all watched their baggage being loaded on the second car. Some, concerned about the casual way their belongings were being handled, came over to the car, badgering the stoic porters to be careful. One of the women started to scream at one of the porters who had dropped one of her family’s boxes. She was shouting in English, he was protesting in Russian. One of the Americans who spoke Russian came over to assist, trying to bring the shouting to an end and continue with the loading.

  Billy saw Merriweather move among the families, chatting with each. He watched as he seemed to linger with the wife of the cultural attaché, guessing that the rumors were true. Such a despicable bastard. He was curious about Merriweather. He remembered the evening when he had returned to his office when Merriweather came walking out. He smiled when he thought about the conversation.

  “Looking for something, Merriweather?”

  He thought the young diplomat looked nervous but he always seemed uncomfortable in his presence. “I was looking for you. I wanted to remind you that the ambassador was expecting your written report.”

  “I gave the report to the ambassador personally, Merriweather. I see no need to write one, do you?”

  Merriweather had seemed to release all the air in his lungs. “It is part of the written record, Lieutenant.”

  “You were there, weren’t you?” “Yes.”

  “Then you write the report. I will look at it before you file it, if you like. I don’t have the time to write it, and all the secretaries have trouble reading my handwriting. You are better at writing reports, anyway.”

  The lieutenant remembered the look of hate in the eyes of the Harvard alumnus. Sometimes, he thought it was a mistake dealing with Merriweather that way. Then he would dismiss the thought. It was a personal thing, and he had decided he was through with governments when he left Russia. He never planned to see the likes of Merriweather again.

  ---

  The two of them had seated themselves on a newly arrived Ford Model A. It was still packed in a great wooden crate.

  “In our day, Sir Rupert, we could call such men out and give them a sound thrashing or worse. Little Willie must go through the painful process of thinking of ways to sting him with words.”

  “I think the man is dangerous, Sir Gustav. Your very-great-grandson or whatever you choose to call him had best watch his step. Have you noticed the way he looks at Little Willie?”

  “Do you think Friederich will stop the train, Sir Gustav? He has been making a mess of things on the rail line.”

  “This is very touchy. Most of the time, Friederich has been blowing the tracks to stop the trains. The trains coming from the port. Only a couple have been stopped going north.”

  “Willie could get hurt.”

  “You know, the Red Army has begun following the supply trains with troop trains since word has gotten back about the Blitz Battalion. Friederich is in some danger, as well. Changing the subject, Sir Gustav, have you noticed how Little Willie and Elizaveta have been looking at each other lately?”

  Gustav only nodded, lost in thought. “There is someone besides Merriweather who worries me more.”

  “Who are you talking about? Oh, you mean the mad one. He worries me, too.”

  ---

  The train was moving rapidly now. Billy looked out at the green countryside, the patches of snow becoming larger and larger until there were patches of green and great expanses of white. The steady rhythm of the train wheels as they crossed the rail seams caused him to sink into reverie. His thoughts of Elizaveta turned into those of Theresa. He thought of her large, gentle eyes and gleaming black hair braided to her waist. He could see her beautiful smile, the soft twinkle in her eye. He imagined himself standing where he had that morning when he had told her he would return.

  He stiffened as he heard the voice talking to him. “Excuse me, sir, how long until we get there?”

  The little boy was staring at him. “Probably another day and a half, son.” The boy, who Billy thought might have been five, was not satisfied with the answer.

  “How long is that?”

  How do you measure time when you’re five? “Well, long enough for you to sleep in one of those beds up there.” The little boy seemed satisfied, and went down the aisle. Billy smiled when he saw the boy stop beside one of the mothers who looked back and smiled at him.

  ---

  He was in an African village. He and the children were running around the well, laughing. Adiru stood outside the ring of boys, smiling at him. Suddenly, the boys and Adiru were gone and the tall black man with flowing robes stood over him. He was not smiling. He could not hear what he was saying, but he was very angry. He was trying to get away, but his legs were frozen in place. The man came closer until he could only see his eyes. Billy started. He must have dozed off. He could feel the sweat inside of his shirt.

  He looked toward the aisle. The little boy was standing next to his seat. He spoke loud enough for all in the car to hear.

  “You were having a bad dream, weren’t you?”

  Billy touched the small boy’s head and smiled. “Yes, I was.”

  The little boy climbed up in the seat beside Billy. “I have bad dreams sometimes.” Billy could see the mother start to get up. He waved to her that it would be okay. It would be good to listen to a child talk.

  ---

  The message came north to the station. The corporal had brought it to him, sent by the sergeant who stayed at the Hughes telegraph. Friederich read the telegram with a start.

  Detain Lieutenant Housman.

  The train had left yesterday morning. Most trains stopped at this station. This one should reach the station in two hours, at the earliest. His mind began to race. What if it didn’t stop? My God, how long had it been? Seventeen years? No, eighteen. What shall I say to him? Does he know? What if it is not my brother?

  ---

  He remembered they had seen the crowd in front of their compound. His father had spurred
his horse, dashing ahead of the rest of them. He could hear his mother screaming, see the ambulance with its great red cross and men carrying someone. He could smell the eucalyptus and the bougainvillea. It was Kibo, the girl they loved like their favorite aunt. They were carrying Kibo into the ambulance. Little Willie was gone. Eighteen years ago. Most of a lifetime, he had dreamed of the moment when he would see Little Willie again.

  He had to think. He had received many such messages to carry out a particular instruction. A careful man, he seldom failed in his mission. But this one was more important than all the others. In this one, he must not fail.

  ---

  The schedule showed the next stop in twenty minutes. Despite everything that could go wrong, nothing did. They were on schedule, the conductor had told them. They would stop for fuel and water, then continue on. The stop should take no more than thirty minutes, perhaps less. In twenty hours, they should be arriving in Murmansk. Billy’s instructions were to see to it that accommodations were available for the passengers in Murmansk, and to see that arrangement had been made for the return to America. He had been given the name of the Russian colonel in command in Murmansk, and the names of American officials who were to receive the travelers. He expected no problems, and considered the chances good that he would arrive back in Petrograd earlier than he had told Elizaveta.

  He looked around at the train. Only he remained in his seat. The other passengers were in their sleeping compartments and the room was empty but for himself and the conductor, who was awake, waiting for the train to stop. He could sense the change in pressure in the engines now, and the slowing of the train. A dim light reached outside the station house and made the platform visible outside the open door. They had almost come to a stop and no one had appeared on the platform. He touched his revolver, sensing something was wrong. The train had almost stopped when he saw the soldier with a field cap and gray uniform leap into the engine cab. Within seconds, a tall German officer walked onto the platform. He watched as the soldiers ran to cover all the exits. He saw the engineer being led into the station as the train shut down.