‘A blissful coolness,’ he whispered, imagining he was lying in a grave.
‘It’s not the time to rest up, cadet!’
An officer was looking at him from somewhere above, almost as if from the clouds that were sailing past, over the trench.
‘I’m deathly tired,’ said the boy.
The officer walked away without saying anything. The expanse he had vacated was immediately covered over by a celestial curtain speckled with white clouds.
‘Thank you,’ the cadet uttered soundlessly. He did not rule out that this had been an angel.
The general continued to lie there. He already sensed a powerful call from below. He was experiencing the soothing sense of growing into the earth that, as it seemed to him, was familiar to everyone killed in battle. The killed understood that everything was over for them and they could enjoy the repose that had arrived. The general’s immobility was almost otherworldly. Only the cautious glance of the sentries—the general knew they were observing him, for security reasons—prevented him from giving himself over, completely, to merging with the earth.
In speaking about the essence of what happened during the summer of 1920, Solovyov could not help but quote from Mikhail A. Kritsky’s famous characterization in The Kornilov Shock Regiment, which discusses how, over the course of multiple battles, the Russian Army surrounded Zhloba’s cavalry, squeezing the troops into a dead-end situation and severely reducing their maneuverability. Because of the natural crowding that came about, Zhloba’s group lost a significant degree of the cavalry’s most important qualities: movement and maneuverability.’
The natural crowding into which Zhloba cast the troops entrusted to him was the result of General Larionov’s considered and protracted actions. Like an experienced chess player, the general offered a sacrifice to his adversary: a few pawns at the center of the board that Zhloba swallowed very readily. After winning a series of localized battles, the Higher Aviation School graduate did not notice that the places he was victorious were located on a defined axis and had a precisely delineated direction. The victories ceased when the general was of the opinion that Zhloba had moved far enough in that direction. Zhloba continued to attack out of inertia, but this time the adversary was not thinking of retreat. And although the general’s army did not counterattack, all the Reds’ attempts to move further were crushed on that very first line of trenches that, it turned out, had been dug more than a week earlier.
Only after familiarizing himself with how solidly the defense had been prepared in this spot did Zhloba begin to understand that his own victorious march had done nothing more than enable the Whites to occupy previously arranged positions. That understanding became complete for him the morning the Whites’ first lines appeared at the rear of the troops he headed. General Larionov had personally led them into battle, leaving his habitable armored train for the occasion. The general was not one to take a risk for the sake of risk. He simply knew that sometimes one must lead the troops oneself. He sensed those moments flawlessly.
After warning his listeners that he was going to depart from the Zhloba theme for a while, Solovyov reminded them of the famous breach in Kakhovka. He had in mind an episode of the war when part of General Larionov’s army ended up surrounded. Discussions began about surrendering as prisoners.
The general formed his troops and lit a cigarette. He released several smoke rings and those who had gathered watched, entranced, as they soared.
‘This is the sort of question I do not wish to decide for you,’ said the general. ‘Whoever wants to may go ahead and surrender.’
The general began heading toward his horse but stopped halfway. The smoke rings he’d released were still hanging in the air, like doleful zeroes. The general’s horse was stamping its hoof. Several dozen people broke ranks and gloomily wandered toward the front line. The general did not utter a word. He looked at them without judgment, most likely surprised. He himself could not explain his certainty that death awaited them. He knew cases when the Reds had shot only officers and then mobilized the rest. Everyone watched, silent, as those who were leaving moved toward the grove: it was a red grove. With clouds gathering over it. They choked up when they saw those people moving under that leaden sky. And felt better after they had finally disappeared behind the trees.
This is how strange the war was—Russians against Russians—when soldiers taken prisoner could fight the very next day for the other side. They did so just as selflessly as before. There were quite a few people for whom shifts of this sort became a habit. For some, it was the only possible work under war conditions. For some, it was a way of life at a time when, by and large, people were indifferent about who they fought for. L’existence for civilians did not give them the thrill they needed. Or that intoxicating military brotherhood that is available only in the face of death. As a rule, it was a bullet that stopped those shifts. Or a saber. Essentially, there were not many choices.
Lightning flashed beyond the grove where the departed had disappeared. It was still very far away: the thunder only caught up a minute after. Another minute later, several bursts of machine gun fire sounded from the grove. Both the general and his soldiers remained silent. It is possible there were more bursts of fire but they were no longer audible through the drumming of the rain pounding at their tents, helmets, and field kitchens. It was the drumming before marching out. They began a prayer service under pouring rain.
The general did not lead them toward the grove. They moved along the steppe, southwesterly, to where the thunderstorm was slowly heading and where—according to the general’s notions—the encirclement was less dense. They walked for a long time. Water flowed from their soaked clothing into their boots, squishing loudly. Larionov formed his soldiers into a hollow square a few hundred meters from the Red positions. The cavalry was placed up front, at the head, with the general. What alcohol remained was distributed to his personnel.
The general broke into a trot, as did his horse cavalry. The general drew his saber and the cavalrymen galloped off, their sabers drawn, too. He felt the cold drenching rain snaking down his back and it was pleasant. They rode into the adversary’s position—this happened on its own—as lightning struck. The celestial electricity glinted threateningly on the general’s saber. Along the way, he remembered ‘Our Figner, dressed as an old man…’ Our Figner… Lightning flashed three times in a row, illuminating listless shadows by the tents. Three brief flashes did not pinpoint any movement among the defenders, though they were not really defending anyway. Forlornly pressing into whatever was closest to them, these people first let in the general, then the cavalry and then, of course, the infantry, too. This all happened without a single shot.
In Solovyov’s opinion, the history of the Kakhovka breach was the complete opposite of what happened near Melitopol. Since an oppositeness in substance implies a particular resemblance in form (Prof. Nikolsky called this ‘historical circumstances’), the young historian did not consider it possible to examine these two cases of encirclement in isolation. After showing a map of the Kahkovka breach with bright red arrows, Solovyov took a map of Zhloba’s encirclement from his folder, too. The sheets were held up briefly and then handed around. The princess held them longest of all. She drew her index finger along the arrows and looked pensively at the lecturer from time to time.