The Bolsheviks Volume Ii: How the Soviets Seize Power

By John D. Loscher

We must seek to build a Russia based on three sound principlesPeaceLandand Bread. NOTHING ELSE!!!

William Donaldson, newly promoted Charge dAffaires for the United States Embassy in Petrograd, (formerly Saint Petersburg) Russia, could only cringe at hearing Lenins stirring proclamation announcing the primary goals for the Petrograd Soviet. These ambitious words ran counter to the aims of his employerthe American government. As an American diplomat during the administration of President Woodrow Wilson, William is obligated to support his countrys self-serving objectives. But as the husband to Sonjya Mastrova, a Russian nation, William is torn: must he care out his duty or advocate a cause which he knows in his heart to be morally and ethically right?

Since he was a conscripted diplomat, being named embassy charge daffaires should have been the crowning achievement for William Donaldson. However, as Russia spirals ever deeper into chaos and revolution, his posting becomes a curse. Caught up in a web of intrigue woven by Americas inept, luxury-loving ambassadors, William is a witness to the final overthrow of Russias imperial family. His dealings with the weak Russian provisional government will provide William with a textbook example chronicling the pitfalls of democracy. As the faltering democratic provisional government splinters and becomes mired in gridlock, the Russian people become truly desperate. Knowing how desperate people will do desperate things, the situation becomes ripe for Vladimir Lenin and his henchmen to finally implement their own vision for Russias future without any annoying outside interference. When that model is forcibly imposed, William can only lament at what he sees as the consequence for the Russian people of being yoked to the science of communism: Is Russias exploited peasant population any better off than they were before?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 28, 2009
• ISBN: 9781449023324

John D. Loscher

John “J.D.” Loscher holds a Masters Degree in Public Administration and is a Certified Teacher. He served in the United States Air Force and is a veteran of the 1991 Persian Gulf War. His novels, Three Cheers For Father Donovan, along with the epic two-volume narrative, The Bolsheviks, put him at the forefront as an author of historical fiction. He authored the novels The Heart of the Matter, The Pontchartrain Connection, and The Maltese Messiah. He is the dramatist for a highly successful double trilogy. The first trilogy: Coming Out of the Dark, The Black Madonna, and In the Hands of the Gods. The second trilogy: To Slay a Dragon, The Unholy Family, and The Run for the Roses. Writing under the penname of J.D. Cooper, he wrote the novel Window to the Soul. He is currently hard at work researching and writing his next novel.

Book preview

THE BOLSHEVIKS

VOLUME II:

How the Soviets Seize Power

A Novel By:

John D. Loscher

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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© 2009 John D. Loscher. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 9/23/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4490-2332-4 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4490-2331-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4490-2330-0 (hc)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

BOOK I:

A WAR WEARY ARMY

DEFENDS A FRAIL

NATION

The Battle of the Test Tubes 

"Mein Gott, wir werden zu einer

Leiche angekettet!" 

Say ‘Uncle!’ 

BOOK IV:

NOT JUST ONE, BUT

TWO SUCCESSFUL

REVOLUTIONS 

Changing Horses In the Middle

of a Stream Because…  

The Death of Rasputin 

The February Revolution 

A Provisional Government

That Is Far Too Provisional 

The October Revolution 

"We Shall Now Proceed to

Construct the Socialist Order."

From Sinners to Saints 

EPILOGUE:

THE RED SCARE 

Let There Be Peace On Earth And

Let It Begin With Me 

Afterward 

LIST OF SOURCES DIRECTLY

CONSULTED 

END NOTES 

To Miss Tatyana Benderina…Tanya, through your eyes I got to see the true face of Russia. In your smile I witnessed Russia’s future. But it was your touch of sympathy to comfort a heartbroken man sobbing helplessly in his moment of despair by which I learned what it actually is to be a Varangian…a Great Russian.

BOOK I:

A WAR WEARY ARMY

DEFENDS A FRAIL

NATION

The Battle of the Test Tubes 

It was the thirty-first day of January in the year 1915 and the temperature was well below freezing. It was only eight minutes before noon and the sun, which had risen but an hour earlier, would begin setting in just an hour. Though it appeared to be twilight—which it was—there was still an ample supply of sunlight. In spite of these handicaps—having to expose oneself to the bitter cold and the lack of adequate light—the view remained absolutely splendid! Pausing to reflect on his surroundings, William Donaldson, Attache to the United States Embassy in Imperial Russia, had to admit that when perched on high in the uppermost parapet of a belltower in the dead of a Russian winter, why should that come as a surprise?

[It’s perfectly normal, Wil!]

Snorting loudly one time to clear his nasal passageways, William’s concentration returned to accomplishing his mission as an American diplomat tasked to serve as a military observer. Consequently, the furious battle unfolding in the distance attracted his undivided attention! Although the fighting was taking place at a distance of some seven kilometer from his present location, William did not need binoculars to take stock of the fighting. Although he had been issued a pair of field glasses prior to ascending the church belltower, on this occasion William preferred using his eyes to watch the battle. His rationale for this decision rested with the fact that, although binoculars offered him a magnified and thus sharper view of the battle, the field glasses restricted his peripheral vision by concentrating only on the portion of the battlefield. Today, William judged the overall breadth of battlefield to be the more important. The only problem with that decision was that William’s eyes—like his clean-shaven cheeks—were directly exposed to the elements.

Now I know why all Russian men seem to wear beards! William thought unhappily while trying to steel up the fortitude to resist the

pain caused by the biting cold assaulting his cheeks. His only salvation from the cold rested with his mustache—the skin insulated by his facial hair proved to be William’s only comfort.

[Hey Wil, you ought to think about your Sonjya since she’s got no facial hair at all to ward off the cold.]

Concerned for the physical well-being for the tiny woman with whom he had fallen desperately in love, William cast a brief glance towards his Byelorussian mistress. What he saw amazed him: a petite woman bundled up in her winter clothing, wearing the same type of sable-lined cap as he. She appeared impervious to the cold…In fact, she appeared happy! In spite of her crooked teeth, the smile she wore appeared as lovely as ever. Personally, William liked how Miss Sonjya Mastrova could accompany him to the battlefront by serving as his interpreter. Only now, thanks to his ever-expanding Russian vocabularly, Sonjya’s linguistic talents were becoming his secondary concern. In fact, William seldom needed her skills as an interpreter much anymore. Yet he pretended that he did! It was a charade which allowed William to keep the woman he adored close at hand, and that was just the way he wanted it. Under any other set of circumstances, William probably would have interpreted the Sonjya’s lovely smile as an open invitation that she wanted to make love.

But not today! William told himself dismissively before returning his attention back to the battle unfolding in the distance. Yet, try as he might, William found it to be a monumental struggle to maintain his focus due to the harsh conditions. For once again thoughts concerning Sonjya’s physical well-being flooded the brain of the young American diplomat:

How the hell does she do it? he wondered. She’s got to be as cold as me and here she is putting on a happy face!

Like before, it was a question William could not answer. Baffled by her behavior, William soaked up the panoramic view the Orthodox Catholic church’s belltower afforded to those fortunate enough to watch the Battle of Bolimov unfold at a safe distance: Sonjya, himself, and Colonel General Basil Gourko, commanding officer of the newly re-formed Russian Second Army. From the way the Russian flag officer’s mustache quivered, William wondered if the root cause for Col. Gen. Gourko’s apparent attack of the nerves had less to do with the way the Battle of Bolimov was progressing and more with the manner by which he had commandeered this Orthodox Catholic church to serve as his headquarters. Either way William realized Colonel General Basil Gourko had ample cause for concern.

On paper the newly reformed Second Russian Imperial Army had been completely rebuilt after being led into its disastrous obliteration by Col. Gen. Samsonov at the Battle of Tannenberg. However, the Russian High Command had hastily cobbled the eleven divisions that Col. Gen. Gourko commanded together into a single army unit via conscription. "1915 found the Russian army again ready for battle. Its strength, down to 2,000,000 men in December, had swollen to 4,200,000 as new drafts of recruits arrived at the front."¹ What remained unspoken was how this influx of draftees was not only a clumsy attempt to hide the debacle which had transpired on the battlefield at Tannenberg, but the entire war in general. At the start of the new year, after only five months of fighting, Russia had lost one million men—one out of every four Russians wearing a military uniform had been killed, wounded, missing, or captured! Desperation had set in. "To make good on these losses, three thousand military cadets were commissioned early and sent to the front. Fifteen thousand university students, originally deferred from military service, were ordered to take four months of military training and become lieutenants."²

While conscription did make up for the shortage in manpower, no amount of numbers could hide the wholesale collapse of morale. Upon assuming command of his forces, it seemed nothing Col. Gen. Gourko did could change the fact that the Second Russian Imperial Army was a ghostly shell of its former self—a demoralized and beaten army. Esprit de corps was virtually nonexistent and defeatism was running rampant throughout the ranks. Cognizant of his unfavorable situation, Col. Gen. Basil Gourko concluded what the Second Russian Imperial Army needed was a victory—any kind of victory—no matter how cheap! Frantic to achieve that inspirational victory, Col. Gen. Gourko marched his reconstituted Second Russian Imperial Army upon the City of Bolimov. Bolimov was a city well inside the confines of the Russian Empire. Yet this proud, ancient Russian city was currently in the hands of German conquers. That was unacceptable to the czar and thus the entire Russian High Command. Allowing the Second Russian Imperial Army to retake this Russian city from its German occupiers would go a long way in giving these demoralized soldiers back some of their lost confidence. Col. Gen. Gourko recognized this fact and it was for that reason one nervous Russian colonel general sporting a neatly-trimmed mustache was now freezing his ass off as he directed the Battle of Bolimov from the belltower of St. Basil’s Orthodox Catholic church.

From a military standpoint, William accepted the decision that confiscating a house of God from its priests and turning it into a military headquarters was sound. There was no doubt in William’s mind that the vantage point afforded by the church belltower was critical. The belltower’s apex offered a spectacular view of the raging battle the Russia’s warriors were currently waging against the Prussians for control of the City of Bolimov…a city which had been renamed to the more German sounding Bolimow by its conquerors. From a personal standpoint, the young American diplomat believed it was morally wrong for the military to confiscate a house of the Lord. Not only that, but William abhorred the methodology by which Col. Gen. Gourko employed to accomplish that end. Yet, in spite of those reservations, William had to agree with the rationale invoked by the commanding Russian flag officer when he selected this Russian Orthodox Catholic church to serve as his military headquarters. In addition to providing him a first-rate observation tower, the church also offered plenty of room for Col. Gen. Gourko’s staff officers. With the exception of some well-worn wooden kneelers positioned along the church walls, the house of worship lacked any pews. Due to the absence of pews, there was a huge, unobstructed area directly in front of the church’s rude screen—this was absolutely perfect for laying out maps and serving as a military headquarters’ situation room. At first William thought a church lacking any pews to be rather odd. However, upon expressing his opinion to Sonjya, William’s interpreter proceeded to promptly educate her employer about how this layout was typical for most houses of worship belonging to the Orthodox Catholic faith. Thanks to Sonjya’s dissertation, William soon learned that the church’s large center area devoid of pews was called the nave and it was here where the faithful gathered to worship. The wide, iconic rude screen at the very front of the nave was actually called the Iconostasion. Although William admired all the beautiful artistry, he personally did not like the way the Iconostasion restricted his vision of the altar. Upon expressing this viewpoint the young American soon learned from his interpreter that the Iconostasion was purposely designed just for this function: to obstruct anyone from directly viewing the church altar unless standing directly in front of the small doorway-like opening used by the Orthodox Catholic priest for gaining admittance. Here William recognized that the sanctuary upon which the church altar was located constituted the Holy of Holies in any church despite the denomination. Sonjya explained how, in all Orthodox Catholic churches, the church altar was called the sanctuary and it was considered to be the most sacred part of the church. Sonjya went on further to explain that the division between the nave and sanctuary by the Iconostasion served to remind worshippers that God’s reign is not complete and that we mere mortals often find ourselves ‘separated’ from God through sin. Conversely, when worshippers have access to the Holy Gifts, all are reminded that, through Christ, heaven and earth are united; and, through Our Lord Jesus Christ, everyone can gain access to our Father in heaven. While he simply continued to nod his head as a gesture by which he understood Sonjya’s extensive, if not exhaustive, explanations, the design of the church still displeased William. The design was downright offensive. No matter what it was called, the Iconostasion was still a rude screen as far as William was concerned. To allow a rude screen to practically swallow up the church altar created a dark, dreary ambiance that William found personally distasteful. From his perspective, the only saving grace the church possessed was the religious icon panels adorning the Iconostasion. All these paintings were absolutely beautiful! There was large panel directly to the left of the opening depicting the baptism of Jesus of Nazareth by his older cousin. Of course this icon had been painted to show a dove bearing an olive branch in its beak descending upon the head of a half-naked Jesus of Nazareth submerged in the Jordan River up to his waistline while a camel-hair clad St. John the Baptist poured a flask of water over the head of his younger cousin. To the right of the opening was an equally large iconic portrait of the church’s patron saint and namesake. Although William did not recognize this saint—St. Basil—he did not bother to make any inquires which would have yielded identification of the saint’s identity. Directly over this opening was a third large iconic painting which depicted Jesus of Nazareth raising his friend Lazarus from the dead at Bethany. By themselves these three pieces of artwork made for an impressive collection. Only the artist did not stop there—he continued painting still more icons! In the end William counted another twenty-four different icons which had been beautifully painted on the church Iconostasion. In William’s mind this was a clear case of religious or devotional overkill!

"REGARDEZ LÀ-BAS, MONSIEUR DONALDSON!!!"

William shook his head. To Sonjya it appeared as if her employer was trying to shoo away some pesky flies buzzing around his head. However, she was attuned with William’s idiosyncrasies by this time. Although she was not completely positive, the tiny Byelorussian woman was fairly certain that Gen. Gourko’s words had snapped her lover out of his daydream. The sight of William raising his field glasses to his eyes and examining the section of the battlefield to which the Russian flag officer now pointed with a clumsy hurriedness confirmed her original suspicion.

For his part, William felt positive that Gen. Gourko shouting at him in French to look at the section of the battlefield to where he pointed demanded his immediate attention. Following his instructions, William took advantage of the binoculars’ powerful optics to carefully examine the close-up view of the trenches and breastworks laborious dug-out by the Second Russian Imperial Army. Even from this distance William could clearly make out the sight of Russian soldiers scampering up and down the entire length of the trench while a host of German artillery shells detonated harmlessly in mid-air over the Russian FLOT. To the young American the sight of these Russian soldiers scurrying about as a thick, gray smoke descended harmlessly on the trenches comprising the Russian Second Army FLOT was something akin to watching a row of ants march across a picnic blanket spread on the ground. As interesting as these images of ant-like Russian soldiers appeared before his eyes, it was the smoke that served to attract his attention. William’s fixation with the growing cloud of harmless smoke was an outgrowth of his combat experience. Indeed, three months earlier, the young American diplomat would have lowered his field glass in order to dismiss the view as insignificant; he would have then nonchalantly inquired as to the reason why his attention was even required. But William was now a seasoned military observer. He was no longer some greenhorn diplomat playing military observer. Now he knew what to look for. Consequently, the sight of that ever-expanding cloud of smoke caused William to frown unhappily. It was a bad sign: The Germans were laying down a smoke screen to blind and confuse their adversaries—a German attack was now imminent. Certain that he would soon witness a forthcoming enemy assault, William abandoned the optical representation of the battle playing itself out and deliberately shifted his head slightly. Never once lowering his field glasses, William riveted his attention to the mustachioed Russian colonel general.

At the insistence of Col. Gen. Gourko, Sonjya was standing directly behind her employer. Why? Because the commander of the Second Russian Imperial Army refused to issue her a pair of binoculars! Sonjya instantly saw right through Col. Gen. Gourko. By rudely denying her a pair of binoculars, the mustachioed Russian flag officer was relegating Sonjya’s role to one of insignificance. Even though he uttered nary a word, Col. Gen. Gourko was essentially telling Sonjya that he had no intention of listening to anything a commoner like her had to say. It was another deliberate insult used by Col. Gen. Gourko to belittle her. But William showed her his profile when he turned his head towards the Russian flag officer. Even from her poor vantage point Sonjya watched William’s mustache seemingly puff itself up just slightly. An instant later the young American began nodding his head in a gesture of accord with the statement spoken earlier by the Russian flag officer.

"Oui, vous avez raison, William agreed. Général, les Allemands seront bientôt sur nous."

William cocked his head slightly. Knowing that Sonjya spoke no French, William felt the need to offer her an explanation as to the gist of the conversation he had been having with the commander of the reformed Second Russian Imperial Army.

"Klin klinom vyshibayut," Sonjya’s employer blurted out to her in poorly-accented Russian.

Despite his poor pronunciation, Sonjya had no difficulty comprehending William when he told her, "They use a wedge to knock out a wedge." His meaning was clear: The Germans were counterattacking.

"V tikhom omute cherti vodyatsa," Sonjya replied as her own cryptic answer back to her employer.

"Da, William granted her with an unenthusiastic tone of voice only after stopping to ponder the full meaning of Sonjya’s expression for a moment. At first he found her words confusing. It did originally puzzle William that she would respond to his statement by informing him, Still waters are inhabited by devils." However, once he put her words into the proper perspective, William did have to admit that his interpreter was definitely correct: Evil things do look innocent. Soon he would be witness to a slaughter. Though that knowledge made him unhappy, William returned to examining the battlefield through his field glasses.

And some people think they have a shitty job! William bitterly thought as he trained the binoculars on the trenches comprising the Russian Second Army FLOT while turning on the focus knob.

Although she hoped William would say something else, Sonjya held her tongue the moment she watched the young American’s attention return to the battlefield. She wanted to offer William a bold compliment. In just three months William’s Russian—like his lovemaking—had improved at an exponential rate. So much so that tiny, flaxen-haired Byelorussian woman had to admit that, while William’s performance in bed could far outstrip his linguistic ability, there was no doubt in Sonjya’s mind that her lover’s growing mastery of her native tongue would eventually equal if not surpass the ever-expanding vitality he cunningly utilized to gratify her sexually.

If only I could learn to speak English as well! she lamented.

On this matter, Sonjya had suffered nothing but one gigantic letdown and this shortcoming disappointed her to no end. No matter how hard she tried, Sonjya found the language of her lover to be mind-boggling. He, on the other hand, seemed able to learn hers with relative ease. When she evaluated his linguistic talent, Sonjya comforted herself with the knowledge that this should be expected. For William had keenly unlocked the Rosetta Stone for speaking Russian. It began by mastering the phonetics of the Cyrillic alphabet. Using a little cheat-sheet William discovered the cardinal rule for reading or speaking Russian: All Cyrillic letters are always pronounced when reading or speaking…Knowing that there were no silent or blended consonants—such as PH spoken with an F sound in English—William found speaking Russian easy! With the Cyrillic alphabet based on the Greek alphabet, William found it relatively simple to remember what sound was unique to that particular letter and then put those sounds together to form words. With his cheat-sheet at the ready, William was able to master what was gobblygook to him beforehand. When he proudly showed her his cheat-sheet, Sonjya had to admit her lover had attacked the problem of learning the Russian language with a logic she had never before contemplated. Sonjya could only marvel at the sheer genius and ingenuity.

The Russian (Cyrillic) Alphabet Made Easy

1. The Five English Friends (Letters written and pronounced the same in both Russian and English.)

K-pronounced as ka A-pronounced as ah

M-pronounced as ma O-pronounced as oh

T-pronounced as ta

2. The Seven English False Friends (Letters written the same in English but pronounced differently in Russian.)

B-spoken with a V sound—pronounced ver

H-spoken with a N sound—pronounced ner

P-spoken with a R sound—pronounced as rer

C-spoken with a S sound—pronounced as ser

X-spoken with a KH sound—pronounced as ha

E-spoken with a YE sound—pronounced as yeah

Y-spoken with a U sound—pronounced as ooo

3. The Greek Orthodox Nine. (Greek letters unique to Russian.)

Б-spoken with a B sound—pronounced as bear

Д-spoken with a D sound—pronounced as dare

Л-spoken with a L sound—pronounced as la

Ф-spoken with a F sound—pronounced as fare

Й-spoken with a Y sound—pronounced as year

Г-spoken with a G sound—pronounced as ger

З-spoken with a Z sound—pronounced as zer

П-spoken with a P sound—pronounced as pear

И-spoken with a E sound—pronounced as error

4.The Hebrew Five (Hebrew letters unique to Russian.)

Ж-spoken with a ZH sound—pronounced as Ja

Ш-spoken with a SH sound—pronounced as sha

Ц-spoken with a TS sound—pronounced as tiss

Ч-spoken with a CH sound—pronounced as cha

Щ-spoken with a SHCH sound—pronounced as sh

5.The Six Russian Stragglers (Letters wholly unique to Russian.)

Ы-spoken with a Y sound—pronounced as we

Ь-indicates a soft sign—I is pronounced as ih

Ъ-indicates a hard sign—I is pronounced as aye

Э-spoken with a E sound—pronounced as yer

Ю-spoken with a YU sound—pronounced as you

Я-spoken with a YA sound—pronounced as ya

Once William was able to master the phonics, he flabbergasted Sonjya by informing her that the word PECTOPAH was pronounced in Russian as RES-TOW-RAN…restaurant and TYAЛET was pronounced in Russian as TWO-AH-LET…toliet! This linguistic ease William kept repeatedly demonstrating saddened Sonjya. She could only bemoan how the English language lacked the ability to compose a handy cheat-sheet as did Russian. Yet the flaxen-haired former ballerina remained committed to learning English for one simple reason: William had summoned the mental discipline to learn her native tongue…even though he spoke Russian with a definite accent. It was only polite that she learn to do likewise no matter how difficult that language might be. Of course Sonjya recognized that her newfound resolve to speak in William’s native tongue was a direct outcome of their intimacy. By using their knowledge of German to serve as a bridge, William and Sonjya labored to slowly teach the other the language by which each still dreamed as part of their pillow talk. Granted, Sonjya had to concede that William held a couple of advantages when compared to her: First off, he had his cheat-sheet. Secondly, he was currently living in a society where Russian was the primary language. Frustrated by her slow progress, Sonjya sought to console herself with the rationalization that living in a land where everyone spoke Russian made William’s learning curve considerably less steep than her own. Furthermore, William’s mastery of the Russian language was by no means proficient. As a result, by mutual agreement, Attaché William Donaldson and Colonel General Basil Gourko spoke to each other in French. Though Sonjya would have to maintain her silence because she did not speak French, that was more than fine with her. For Sonjya had absolutely no desire to say anything to the commander of the newly reformed Second Russian Imperial Army…

Sonjya’s dislike for Col. Gen. Gourko emerged at their introductory meeting. Like a vast majority of Russian officers, Col. Gen. Gourko was an aristocratic Great Russian. His thinly veiled contempt for her being born a White Russian and a commoner to boot was somewhere in the twilight zone between scorn and detestation. His stubborn refusal to speak in any other language but French whenever she and William were in his presence was a testament to his intolerance for all others that he viewed as beneath him. But it was the means by which he obtained his current campaign headquarters which cemented Sonjya’s deep loathing for their host.

The very moment the Second Russian Imperial Army arrived at the outskirts of the City of Bolimov, Col. Gen. Gourko instantly settled on establishing his campaign headquarters inside the town’s Russian Orthodox Catholic Church. In the general’s mind, confiscating this house of worship was a military necessity. True, his actions were technically illegal under Russian law. However, due to the gravity of the situation facing Mother Russia, he felt his actions were completely justifiable. That was what Colonel General Basil Gourko told himself when he opened the main door and entered the church. Calmly the Russian colonel general walked into the church’s main entranceway. Throwing open the church’s double doors, Col. Gen. Gourko motioned for his staff officer to seek shelter from the chill by joining him in the narthex—the foyer in the very front of all Orthodox Catholic churches. Obediently, William and Sonjya followed Col. Gen. Gourko’s kite tail of staff officers inside. Though Sonjya was quite familiar with the Orthodox Catholic faithful gathering in the narthex in order to make an offering, receive a candle, light that candle before making their offering, and then offer a personal prayer before joining the congregation in the nave, William could have cared less. He was just happy to have found relief from the elements. Once inside, William took off his gloves, wrapped his fingers together in order to form a ball, and blew steadily into his hand in an effort to ward off frostbite. The young American was so absorbed in his efforts that he paid little attention to the pair of Russian Orthodox Catholic priests who hailed Col. Gen. Gourko and his staff with a blessing. The two bearded priests, their bodies and heads completely covered by black robes, appeared to be amicable enough. Like all Orthodox Catholic priests, the garments worn by this duo was completely devoid of any and all color save for a golden crucifix studded with an assortment of jewels and other precious stones. These bejeweled Orthodox Catholic crosses were suspended in their present position by a gold chain which was draped over the back of the neck. While he was grateful to receive a blessing from these black-robed priests, the commanding general of the Second Russian Imperial Army, much to his utter dismay, would soon discover that this priestly duo possessed viewpoints which differed radically from those of his own in spite of their humble and cooperative appearance.

How can we be of assistance to you, my son? an elderly looking priest sporting a long, thick, gray beard asked Col. Gen. Gourko after the general and his entourage entered the church’s nave. With what seemed to be an endless throng of Russian soldiers marching by, it was clear to both priests that one great battle was definitely in the works. Both the elderly gray-bearded priest and his black-bearded younger assistant realized this. That tragic fact would mean that an infinite number of souls would desperately be clamoring for the services from any black robed priest. Both priests recognized that with Holy Russia now at war against Germany’s evil, heathen Lutheran horde, this was noble work—an assignment truly worthy of any prelate serving the Russian Orthodox Catholic Church. Allowing these brave warriors serving Holy Russia to confess their sins, receive Holy Communion, and be given their last rites by servants of the one true Holy Catholic Church before marching off to battle brought a happy grin to face of the elderly priest.

Col. Gen. Gourko eyed the pair of priests with about as much enthusiasm as a policeman displays whenever he apprehends the town drunk for public intoxication for the fourth time in five days. In spite of the enormous bejeweled gold cross adorning the priests’ chests, Col. Gen. Gourko was not the least bit impressed with either man. From the general’s perspective, trusting in prayers petitioning for victory through the intervention of God’s Holy Angels on the side of Mother Russia was perfectly fine…however, he had a hell of a lot more faith in his weapons! Adherence to that pragmatism demanded that Col. Gen. Gourko get right down to the heart of the matter. The needs of establishing a campaign headquarters for the Second Russian Imperial Army required that he resolve this issue quickly.

Father we are going to require the temporary use of your church, Col. Gen. Gourko bluntly told the gray-bearded priest.

Since William and Sonjya were guests of the general, protocol demanded they stand at the very rear. The general’s staff officers stood directly behind their commander, each according to his rank. Even though she was standing at the furtherest point away from Col. Gen. Gourko and the two Russian Orthodox Catholic priests, Sonjya did not care. Like William and all of Col. Gen. Gourko’s staff officers, she was just glad to be inside any structure which granted relief from the biting cold. Despite her short stature, had she been paying close attention rather than fumbling with her hair, the tiny Byelorussian woman would have clearly seen the smile of the elder priest turn to a frown.

Father Bostinskya and myself are more than willing to offer ourselves in any way we can to alleviate the suffering of your sick and wounded, the elderly priest slowly intoned. "However, this is not a hospital; it is a House of Our Lord God Most High! Not only that, general, but our space is far too limited for treating the massive number of casualties you are going to sustain. My Lord General! Think about it. Do you seriously want wounded soldiers lying about outside, freezing in the snow and sleet, while they await medical treatment for their wounds?"

Sonjya watched the priest shake his head dismissively. For some reason, this gesture attracted her attention. Concentrating exclusively on this elderly Russian Orthodox Catholic priest, Sonjya heard him speak to the commanding general of the Second Russian Imperial Army with the utmost of conviction:

No, general, I would seriously suggest you consider using the town marketplace as your field hospital.

I agree with you completely on that matter, father, Sonjya heard Col. Gen. Gourko respond, his tone one of indignation. "Your church is wholly inadequate to serve as a field hospital…I do require it to serve as my campaign headquarters.

As Sonjya looked on she saw the eyes belonging to both priests shine with stunned astonishment.

"YOU CAN’T DO THAT!!!" the younger priest shrieked.

Oh, yes I can, Col. Gen. Gourko answered with the utmost of confidence. As commander of the Second Russian Imperial Army I have been grated authority by his Most Sovereign Imperial Majesty, Czar Nicholas the Second, to forcibly compel appropriation of captured property in any manner that I see fit.

THIS IS NOT ‘CAPTURED PROPERTY’!!! the junior priest reminded the Russian flag officer. "Furthermore, as members of the clergy, our property…all of it…is exempt from taxation or confiscation by the state for any reason…"

The younger priest’s head dipped forward threateningly toward the Russian flag officer.

"…YOU KNOW THAT IS THE UNBREAKABLE LAW IN HOLY RUSSIA, GENERAL!!!"

Not wanting to hear some young priest speak the truth, Col. Gen. Gourko’s attention once again returned to the elderly priest sporting the thick, gray beard.

Silence your dog, father! Col. Gen. Gourko sternly ordered the elderly priest. "The needs of Holy Russia demand that we appropriate this ‘House of the Lord’ to serve as the campaign headquarter for the Second Russian Imperial Army…In other words, my headquarters!"

The elderly priest took time to clear his throat before addressing the mustachioed Russian flag officer:

General, Father Bostinskya is correct: What do you doing is clearly illegal…

The elderly priest could see that Col. Gen. Gourko was about to say something in protest. However, the elderly priest was not about to hear it. He was old and thus wise—a man to be respected. In Russia, custom and protocol dictated that old men are not to be pushed around by their juniors, regardless of rank or position. Utterly convinced of his own moral authority, an authority bestowed upon him by both God and the ravages of time, the gray-bearded priest continued on; only now he spoke with the clout that comes from someone who knows they are in the right addressing someone obviously in the wrong:

…We are but two unarmed servants of our Lord Jesus Christ. You and your men are many. We are few. Unlike you, general, we have no weapons other than the grace bestowed upon us at our ordination by the divine mercy of the Holy Trinity. If you decide to take our church by force, there is very little I or Father Bostinskya can do to stop you—

Well, I’m glad you see the reality of the situation, father, an obviously satisfied Col. Gen. Gourko broke in with smug confidence.

But be forewarned, general, I will let you know right now that your illegal activities will be reported directly to the Most Holy Governing Synod in Moscow! the elderly priest cautioned the Russian flag officer. Once the Metropolitan Patriarch, Macarius the Second, has been informed that YOU have violated Russian law and defiled holy ground by seizing a House the Lord God Most High, the Head of the Most Holy Governing Synod is going to demand an immediate audience with the czar so as to bring this outrage directly to the attention of his majesty. I warn you, general, Czar Nicholas the Second is not Peter the First! Yes general, it is true that Peter the Great stripped the title of Patriarch’ from the head of the Russian Orthodox Church and replaced it with ‘Metropolitan’ when he established the body in order for the crown to gain control over the clergy. There is no denying that! Be that as it may, general, the Russian Orthodox Church still holds sway over the autocrats who rule Holy Russia. It seems I must remind you of that! When the Metropolitan of the Most Holy Governing Synod speaks to his majesty, Czar Nicholas the Second listens to his every word! Therefore, general, unless you wish to end your military career in complete disgrace—like General von Rennenkampf—I strongly suggest that you reconsider what it is you do this very minute."

From where she stood, Sonjya observed Col. Gen. Gourko appeared to deflate inside his uniform. Convinced the Russian flag officer was conceding defeat to the clergyman, William’s interpreter began pondering where she and her employer would spend the night. She was so filled with disappointment at the prospect of having to venture out once more in the cold that she failed to notice Col. Gen. Gourko unlocking the safety strap covering his holstered sidearm. But even if she had been paying attention, Sonjya’s diminutive stature would have prevented her from witnessing the general’s activities.

I want you to know, father, I have nothing but the utmost respect for the Most Holy Governing Synod, Col. Gen. Gourko lied in order to gain the trust of both priests. Once he was confident this was so, the commander of the Second Russian Imperial Army demonstrated his ‘respect’ for Russia’s Most Holy Governing Synod.

Faster than the eye could follow, Col. Gen. Gourko drew his sidearm from its holster. He positioned the weapon’s muzzle a few centimeters from the forehead of the elderly Russian Orthodox priest. The sound of several staff officers gasping in stunned surprise roused Sonjya. The tiny Byelorussian woman looked up. She was instantly awestruck by the sight of the commanding general of the Second Russian Imperial Army leveling the barrel of his sidearm directly at the forehead of the gray-bearded elderly priest.

Is he serious? Sonjya asked herself.

The roar that came from the discharge of Col. Gen. Gourko’s sidearm gave Sonjya her answer. Sonjya’s eyes became fixated on the elderly priest’s klobuk—the round, black, crown-like hat with a long, black veil-like cloth attached to the headgear that ran downwards in length until reaching the upper back. She could not help but notice how strange it seemed to watch the klobuk worn by the elderly priest appear to billow outward. Her ignorance proved fortunate. The klobuk was all that kept the gristly sight of the old man’s brains from splattering against the far wall of the narthex as the back of his head exploded—a natural byproduct caused by the pressure shockwave of a bullet puncturing a human skull and entering the brain at close range. In spite of the priest’s klobuk acting to sanitize the horror, it was still a ghastly sight. Sonjya involuntarily screamed in pure terror. She instinctively threw her arms around William’s neck and buried her face deep in his chest so she wouldn’t have to see any more. That too proved fortunate. It kept the tiny woman from having to witness a second murder.

Already dead, the old man’s body slumped backwards before beginning its decent to the floor of the narthex. Before the body of the elderly priest hit the floor, Col. Gen. Gourko he shifted his stance slightly. He leveled his sidearm at Father Bostinskya. The younger priest’s eyes widened in disbelief. Like Sonjya, the young priest’s face registered a look of stunned surprise—rather than horror—as Col. Gen. Gourko pulled the trigger a second time. Again, Col. Gen. Gourko’s sidearm roared, executing Father Bostinskya—fittingly from Col. Gen. Gourko’s perspective—by shooting him right in the mouth. As the corpse of Father Bostinksya collapsed to the narthex alongside the body of the elderly priest, several of Col. Gen. Gourko’s staff officers involuntarily vomited.

I believes that settles our problems with the Most Holy Governing Synod, Col. Gen. Gourko theorized offhandedly as a wisp of smoke curled its way out of the muzzle of his sidearm. Completely satisfied with his none-too-novel solution when it came to dealing with an overly intrusive clergyman, Col. Gen. Gourko holstered his weapon. He then whirled around and barked a series of orders to a nearby field grade officer as he secured his sidearm by locking the holster:

Colonel Ligachev, have my belongings and the luggage of Attaché Donaldson and Miss Mastrova moved into the church’s now vacant rectory. After you have done that, form a burial detail for these two priests. Once that is done, prepare two death certificates for my review. I’m sure the death certificate for the elderly priest will state that he died from acute cardiac arrest…the younger died from, oh, what have we now…

Col. Gen. Gourko stopped to consider his options. He tapped his index finger against his chin thoughtfully for a few seconds. It wasn’t long before he was visited with an inspiration:

…Make it the flu! It is wintertime, after all.

Yes sir, Col. Ligachev answered his superior loyally before scurrying out the church’s main door. Whether his actions were to carryout the orders of Col. Gen. Gourko with the utmost of expediency or simply to escape the horror was something no one present could say with any reasonable level of certainty…

"Na koi pes?"

The sound of Col. Gen. Gourko’s swearing out loud in Russian startled Sonjya. She felt the situation had to be especially dire when one normally unflappable mustachioed flag officer began a sentence by spouting off with the confused, terrified oath, "What the hell?" Now fully alert, Sonjya began scrutinizing Col. Gen. Gourko’s behavior. What she observed from his frantic waving towards the trenches in which the troops he commanded were positioned, something must be seriously amiss.

At first, William could not figure out what it was that upset Col. Gen. Gourko so terribly. The mustachioed Russian flag officer started hastily tapping William’s right elbow with the index finger of his left hand using a herky-jerky motion in order to attract the young American’s attention. Displaying no visible outward sign of alarm, a completely unconcerned Attaché Donaldson lowered his binoculars. Wearing an unassuming look on his face, William cocked his head slightly to the right. His facial features were calm. From his outward appearance Col. Gen. Gourko mistook William’s tranquil demeanor to be one of apathy. It only caused the mustachioed Russian colonel general to redouble his efforts. Using the index finger of his right hand like a pointer, Col. Gen. Gourko started pointing towards a sector of the battlefield occupied by Russian troops. Seeing the colonel general shaking his finger over and over at this one sector convinced William that he needed to examine this portion of the battlefield more carefully. Raising his binoculars to his eyes William scanned the Russian trenches with deliberate care. Yet, try as he might, William failed to notice anything that he would describe as unusual.

What’s got this guy so up in arms? William wondered as he surveyed the Russian trenches as presented by the optic lenses of his field glasses. All I’m seeing is great big cloud of smoke covering the Russian lines and that’s exactly what one is going to see when they view the aftermath of an artillery barrage. I can’t figure out—

All at once William flushed with understanding.

"YOLKI-PALKI!!!" the young American shrieked in terrified disbelief. All the while he continued using the binoculars to intently scan the Russian trenches.

Since she lacked a pair of field glasses, Sonjya was unable to see the sight apparently so horrific that it caused William to inadvertently shout the Russian idiom meaning, "For crying out loud!" Her short stature did not help either. Since they were clad in army-issue winter bearskin greatcoats, William and Col. Gen. Gourko presented an overall appearance somewhat akin to the land carnivore whose thick, brown fur now warmed them both. It also did not help that the belltower window was small to begin with. When combined, all these factors conspired to deprive Sonjya of the sight both William and Colonel General Basil Gourko found so disturbing. But that was probably for the best. Had Sonjya been able to observe the chaotic horror breaking out wholesale along the Russian lines she would have instantly arrived at the same conclusion as the American attaché she loved and the commanding general of the Second Russian Imperial Army she hated: the smoke was the cause for the pandemonium breaking out among Second Russian Imperial Army soldiers…

William Donaldson actually got to witness a true moment of history in the making. On January 31, 1915, for the first time in the history of the world, chemical weapons were fired in anger against an opposing foe. In a last-ditch effort to thwart the Russian offensive, the Germans fired over eighteen thousand artillery shells whose warheads were loaded with xylyl bromide rather than high explosives. Since xylyl bromide is a form of conventional teargas, it was the intentions of the Germans to merely disable their Russian adversaries instead of killing them outright. Faced with a chronic shortage of workers due to military conscription, the Germans were eager to capture scores of Slavic Russian prisoners. The eventual fate for these Prisoners of War would be a hard one: they were to be pressed into forced labor for their Teutonic overlords. In their propaganda, the Germans developed an elaborate means by which they explained to the rest of the civilized world how what they were doing with these Slavic POWs did NOT constitute slave labor as prohibited by International Law. Indeed, Germany had been at the forefront of the worldwide push to outlaw slavery decades earlier. Therefore, the Germans zeroed in on the fact that the duration for this toil without pay was to be only for a temporary period of time rather than permanent. As the Germans never tired of repeating, these Russian POWs would be exclusively employed for only as long as the war lasted! After the war concluded, they would be set free and allowed to peaceably return to their homeland. It was slave labor in everything but name. And when it came to capturing the vast scores of prisoners needed for this forced labor campaign, the Germans concluded that nothing could be better than xylyl bromide. Since it is a tearing agent, xylyl bromide causes only momentary blindness and incapacitation through inflammation of the mucus membranes of the nose and throat. Unfortunately, with the combination of the intense cold and the wind blowing the wrong way, the German gas attack failed to incapacitate a sufficient number of Russian troops to precipitate a German victory—the Russian line held against the Teutonic onslaught using teargas. While supposedly nonlethal, the Second Russian Imperial Army suffered fatalities as a result from this attack by xylyl bromide gas. As William and Sonjya would learn, for those Russian troops who managed to survive this attack, the aftermath proved to be especially ghastly…

Intent on seizing what he considered to be a fine opportunity to demonstrate the inhumane cruelty and barbarity displayed by the German Boche Hun, Col. Gen. Gourko personally led William and Sonjya on a guided tour of the Russian trenches that had been subjected to this attack by xylyl bromide gas. For William, this tour was something he could have done without. He did not need anyone to explain how Russian soldiers had been subjected to an attack using chemical weapons. With his own eyes he had witnessed the horrific sight of men coughing and gagging, gasping for breath, through his binoculars. But now, to see hundreds of Russian corpses littering their trenches up-close was a macabre sight indeed. But Col. Gen. Gourko provided the crowning order. Eagerly the commander of the Second Russian Imperial Army showed William and Sonjya several wagons filled with the bodies of soldiers. As William and Sonjya looked at this bloated pile of fresh corpses, Col. Gen. Gourko proceeded to explain in gruesome detail how these dead soldiers just had to be victims of a German gas attack using a deliberate, yet forceful, purpose as the means to justify his logic:

"Bodies in a state of collapse with little sign of life were lying in the woods. What was the reason for this unusual occurrence? Had some of those already buried been in a state of coma and not dead?"³

Having seen the dastardly German gas attack firsthand, William did not need any explanation as to what had transpired. That was not the case when it came to Miss Mastrova. Sonjya had seen nothing. Up to now she had been ignorant to the amount of the suffering inflicted by the German Boche Hun upon her people. She was ignorant no more. Col. Gen. Gourko reveled in the knowledge of the power a display such as this possessed. It was now impossible for William, Sonjya, or anyone else to deny after seeing the hundreds of pale-blue faced corpses, many who died while foaming at the mouth, being stoked onto wagons like cordwood, that something other than a an attack by chemical weapons had taken place. Any doubts to the contrary were rebuffed by the testimonial of Florence Farmborough, a nurse serving with the neutral International Red Cross:

"The roar of the rival cannons grew increasingly intense.

Rockets and projectors were at work. Patches of lurid, red light glowed here and there, where fires had been kindled by shells. Our house shook to its very foundations, it window rattling and quivering in their hinges. Death was very busy, his hands full of victims. The wounded began to arrive, and work stared in acute earnest. At first they could cope; the Sisters were overwhelmed by the numbers. The men came in their hundreds, for all directions; some able to walk, other crawling, dragging themselves along the ground. The worked day and night and still the wounded came. All the while the thunder of the guns never ceased and soon the deadly shells were exploding around the Unit. For hours on end, the horror and the confusion continued. The Red Cross personnel had no rest and were worn out with the intensity and immensity of the work. The stream of wounded was endless. Those who could walk were sent on immediately without attention, while the groans and cries of the wounded were pitiful to hear as the severely wounded were dressed where the men lay."⁴

Upon hearing this anecdote from the Red Cross nurse Sonjya felt sick—physically sick. One honest testimonial such as this by a neutral third party destroyed whatever skepticism she might have had. Repulsed by what she heard, the tiny woman had to fight to rebuff her stomach’s plea to retch. Sonjya shook her head. Her heart was heavy despite the pain resonating from her gut. Already prejudiced against the Germans for the abuse she had personally suffered at the Battle of Gumbinnen, this latest example of sadistic barbarity by the filthy Hun Boche filled the tiny Byelorussian woman with a hatred towards the Germans that crossed the border to revulsion. Until the day she died, Sonjya vowed that the only good Germans who existed on planet Earth were the ones rotting in their graves.

"Bodlivoy korove bog rog ne dayot," a thoroughly disgusted Sonjya sarcastically groaned after Nurse Farmborough finished with her diatribe and returned to treating her wounded.

Both William and Col. Gen. Gourko had a different interpretation of Sonjya’s statement that, "God does not give horns to a cow that likes to gore." In accordance with his educated background, William took her statement as a harmless metaphysical philosophic thesis. Col. Gen. Gourko, on the other hand, misconstrued her words as an insult against the Supreme Being.

"Yaytsa kuritsu ne uchat," the Russian flag officer warned William’s interpreter sternly.

As a newcomer to the Russian language, William could not understand the harshness of Col. Gen. Gourko words when he told Sonjya, "Eggs don’t teach a hen. For that was the actual transliteration. Perhaps so, but Sonjya had no difficulty seeing through Col. Gen. Gourko’s words and deducing his true meaning: Do not give advice to someone more experienced than you."

"Yazyk do Kiyeva dovedyot," Sonjya shot back at the Russian colonel general with an equally harsh venom in her tone.

"Sonjya, why would you be telling Colonel General Gourko that ‘His tongue could get him to Kiev?’" William purposely inquired in Russian to his interpreter as a means of demonstrating his growing mastery of the language.

She’s telling me that I need to learn by asking questions, Col. Gen. Gourko explained to the American diplomat. "It’s a natural response one gives when they know they have been outdone by one of their betters. In your language, Attaché Donaldson, you would just say to that person, ‘Asshole!’"

"Look…general…I could care less that you aristocrats are the ruling class here in Mother Russia," Sonjya broke in gruffly. She was so upset by the flag officer’s repeated arrogance that her temper overwhelmed her common sense:

"But mark my words, general, in terms of overall population, we ‘inferior peasant commoners’ comprise the greatest number of the motherland’s inhabitants; and one day, general, you and the rest of your autocratic kind are going to lose all your wonderful rights and privileges if you don’t stop looking at us ‘commoners’ as mere beasts for the slaughter."

Spoken like a true Bolshevik, Col. Gen. Gourko snapped hatefully at the tiny woman.

I am no Bolshevik! Sonjya shot back. "Unlike their moniker, Lenin and his followers are no majority because Russia is nowhere near ready for ‘the socialist order’ due to its peasant (she wanted to say feudal) economy."

Then I take you are a Menshevik?

"I—"

Somehow, Sonjya wisely managed to stop herself from saying anything further. Even though the teachings of Julius Martov, leader of the Mensheviks, were not in the minority, they were just as illegal as those represented by the majority Bolsheviks led by N. Vladimir Lenin. And Sonjya knew for her to expound her political views was a crime in Imperial Russia.

I asked you a question! Col. Gen. Gourko roared. Miss Mastrova, are you, or are you not, a Menshevik?

Sonjya remained silent. Her cheeks flashed a shade of beet red…the way a person’s face does when caught in a lie or cheating. At that moment, William KNEW the woman he loved harbored political leanings that deemed her to be—at worst—a member of an outlaw political movement; or,—at best—a sympathizer with that same movement. Either way she was a subversive. In his short tenure as an American diplomat, William Donaldson knew czarist Russia did not tolerate subversives of any type. In czarist Russia a subversive was to be eliminated with extreme prejudice—usually beginning with exile to a prison somewhere in frozen Siberia if lucky enough to escape instant summary execution! Fortunately, Sonjya still retained her wits and this is what saved her. By refusing to speak in front of a witness, Sonjya successfully managed to escape incriminating herself. Although William breathed a sigh of relief, it was clear to him that, from the expression on her face, Sonjya had already provided Col. Gen. Gourko with an answer. It may not have been a definite answer—one that would stand up in court—but it was the next best thing. Under brutal methods of interrogation, the truth would easily come out. That made it necessary for William Donaldson to come to aid of the woman he loved:

General Gourko, neither I nor my interpreter need to see anything more, William began with deliberate, careful slowness in Russian. "From what we’ve seen, it’s obvious to the both of us that the Germans attacked your Second Army with some kind of gas shells. In the process, the Germans have embarked on a new method of warfare. From my perspective, this method is absolutely barbaric. Although I can’t say for sure, this type of warfare may perhaps even be illegal under the laws of war. If you ask me, if this type of warfare isn’t already clearly illegal, it should be! You can rest assured those will be the opinions I will forward to my government, General Gourko. Furthermore, general, I would be amiss if I did not mention your allowing me unfettered access in order to document the scope of this German atrocity committed upon the soldiers of the Second Russian Imperial Army…"

At this point, William cast a quick glance at his red-faced interpreter. His attention then squarely returned to the mustachioed Russian colonel general:

"…However, I truly think it would be a shame, general, if my report damning this German warcrime while praising your forth righteousness for letting my interpreter and I accurately serve as witnesses to this outright massacre were to become, shall we say, garbled over some meaningless, petty squabble that harmlessly transpired between you and my interpreter. Don’t you think so?"

Indeed, I do, Attaché Donaldson, Col. Gen. Gourko acknowledged with a measure of equal care and slowness. All the while he glared at Sonjya with a look of extreme hatred. Miss Mastrova was a criminal; yet here she was being allowed to get off scott free! That wasn’t right. It shouldn’t be allowed to happen. Unfortunately, the cost he would have to pay to ensure William’s Byelorussian interpreter answered for her crime proved prohibitive.

Splendid General Gourko! William exclaimed, barely able to contain his joy. And because you have demonstrated the actions of a ‘thoughtful man’ I feel that it is imperative Miss Mastrova and I return to our quarters immediately so I can begin drafting my report with all necessary and deliberate speed.

"Yes Attaché Donaldson, I do believe that having you and this sluttish, so-called ‘interpreter’ of yours depart from my field of vision would be most prudent!" a sneering Col Gen. Gourko wholeheartedly agreed…

"All right, Sonjya, right now…from this very moment I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth from you! William thundered in the best Russian that he could muster once he closed and locked the door to their quarters located in the rectory of the Russian Orthodox Catholic Church. When it comes to your, shall we say, ‘ideology’ just what the hell haven’t you told me? Be honest."

"Vil, I’m not a revolutionary," Sonjya answered him truthfully in her native language.

Then just what are you?

"Vilhelm, it’s like I told you; I’m not a revolutionary…I’m, well, progressive."

Sonjya, that’s a mere play on words, William informed her sternly. "So tell me, just how progressive are you?"

Miss Mastrova frowned, shrugged her shoulders a single time, and then proceeded to grit her teeth. To William she gave the impression of someone not trying to take refuge in a lie, but trying to sugar-coat the truth.

"It is true that, at times, Vil, I have been an advocate for change in Russia—" Sonjya began.

Oh, that’s just swell, Sonjya! her employer broke in.

Not only that, Vil, the tiny woman continued on, unfazed by William’s obvious disapproval of her political leanings. I do happen to think that the Menshevik ideology offers Russia the best opportunity for that change to come about.

"Do you know what you are telling me, Sonjya? You’ve just told me that the woman with whom I share my bed is a criminal!"

For God sakes, Vil, how can you think that? I, like the rest of the Mensheviks, want economic rather than political change. We do not want to overthrow the monarchy. Hell, the Romanovs can keep their precious throne for all we care! What we want is for Russia to become a society based on capitalism—just like it is in America.

From the look on William’s face it appeared evident that the young American was not buying into her argument. His skepticism only served to enrage her all the more.

"GOD DAMN IT, VIL! ALL I AND THE REST OF THE MENSHEVIKS WANT FOR RUSSIA IS THE EXACT SAME THING YOU AND THE REST OF AMERICA’S PEOPLE ALREADY HAVE AND TAKE FOR GRANTED—"

AND JUST WHAT THE HELL IS THAT, SONJYA???

"TO BE FREE!!!"

William decided the time had come to test Sonjya. Truth be told, he wanted to find out how well educated she truly was. Because she was right: there was a definite correlation between capitalism and freedom. Though complex, the inference Sonjya made between the two was true. However, it took a sharp, logical mind…a real intellectual…to provide the proof necessary to justify such a philosophical statement.

But does she possess that capability? William wondered. There was a way to find out.

Sonjya, tell me, just what in the hell does capitalism have to do with freedom? William asked her in a far calmer tone of voice. He already knew the answer—he just wanted to see if she did:

Capitalism is an economic system, Sonjya. It has nothing to do with government or society. Therefore there is no basis to equate freedom with capitalism.

Under capitalism, doesn’t the seller have the right to set the price for his or her wares according to what he or she deems fair? Sonjya postulated defensibly. A price which will yield the most profitable return after the initial investment spent on raw materials, labor, transportation, advertising, insurance, and taxes?

That’s a bit of an oversimplification, William began hesitantly. But, yes Sonjya, that is capitalism in a nutshell.

Very well. If that is true, then you have freedom.

How so?

"In a capitalist society, the merchant has the freedom to set the price for his wares. The customer, on the