Safe House, Yershova Street, Tobolsk
It took until noon to find and bring back the reconnaissance parties. By that time, Sarnof had gone to the hotel where they’d first stayed to pump the telegrapher for information over lunch.
“Time and tide wait for no man,” said Kostyshakov. “We strike tomorrow night. The third zeppelin load should be down by the time I get back to the lake camp. We won’t need the fourth load for this, but only for after this.”
Cherimisov nodded, then said, “We can do this. The men will have been practicing the assaults on both buildings for some time now on that rope schematic Lieutenant Turgenev so thoughtfully produced. All the rest need to do is contain the Reds. If you send one company less one platoon after the Omsk men, to hold them in place, one platoon after the Tyumen men, and one company less one platoon after these newcomers, then use one platoon to seal off the area of the two houses, we can clear the buildings, guard the people we’ve rescued with one platoon, then reinforce the group keeping the weakest group of Bolsheviks pinned, eliminate them, then all of us go after the next weakest, and so on.”
“So think I. But we’ll need a couple of things. Lieutenant Turgenev?”
“Sir?”
“We’re going to be coming in a column, mostly on skis, with those stout little Yakut horses pulling the infantry cannon, the machine guns, and the sleighs. Might have to put the heavy weapons on the sleighs, actually. We’ll be very quiet. We’ll need an easily identifiable release point from our column of march to lead us to assembly areas, just after dusk. That means you need to meet us with… well, probably four men, two to lead us to each warehouse.”
Turgenev shook his head, doubtfully. “Don’t think we can, sir. We’ve still got to kidnap the two guards and Shukhov has to blow the telegraph lines. That’s everybody I’ve got.”
“I can lead one party,” said Natalya.
“Give me Shukhov,” Mokrenko added, “before he sets off to blow the lines down. He and I and… let me see… Timashuk, I’ll need him to make sure the prisoners don’t die on us. But it would be better to present them with really bad odds, so they don’t try to resist.”
“Two more men, Sergeant Mokrenko,” said Daniil, “because you’re right that more numbers will help with a kidnapping.”
Turgenev thought furiously, then said, “Mokrenko, Timashuk, Sarnof, and Shukhov for the kidnapping. Myself, Natalya, and Lavin to lead the companies to the warehouses. That leaves us one spare for that.”
“That works for me,” said Kostyshakov. “Best of the bad hand we’ve been dealt. Now, I hope I remember how to drive a sleigh.”
“Doesn’t take much skill, sir,” said Mokrenko. “The Yakuts are surprisingly gentle horses.”
“Do we know,” asked Turgenev of Natalya, “if those two special guards will be going to the Gilded Lark tonight?”
“They’ve the night off,” she answered. “I know that much. I also know that’s where they usually go. I think Chekov, who isn’t much of a drinker, takes Dostovalov there to keep him away from Olga.”
“All right, then,” finished Kostyshakov. “Gentlemen… if we’ve neglected or forgotten anything, we’re just going to have to pull something out of our asses. If someone would set up one of the sleighs for me…?”
“I’ll take care of it,” said Mokrenko.
“Now where,” asked Kostyshakov, “should our link-up point be?”
“You wouldn’t have seen it,” said Turgenev, “covered as you all were on the sleigh, but there’s an island south of the town, formed by the Tobol and Irtysh Rivers. Nobody lives that way. The trees of the island block any view of the lower town and vice versa, while the upper town is too far away to see much. We’ll build a small fire and put up something to keep it from being seen in the upper town, either from the walls or the towers of the Kremlin of Tobolsk. We can meet there and then split, with one group going for the warehouse by the docks, and near the royal family, while the other goes for the warehouse south of town. We could, if you want to try it and think the men of Fourth Company could be as quiet as mice, billet the company here, in the safe house. There’s a basement the size of the first floor, and half the rooms above are unoccupied. It won’t be comfy and it will be tight, but it puts you within a few minutes of the Romanovs.”
“Let me mull that over,” said Kostyshakov. “But I think that with that reinforced company of Reds across the intersection it’s too risky. I like the advantage of proximity but dread being seen before we launch our attack.”
“From our point of view, sir, it wouldn’t make any difference. You can tell us where you want people when we link up. Just remember that the warehouses can fit hundreds, easily, while we will be a little pressed to squeeze under a hundred into this place.
“What’s our sign and countersign?”
Kostyshakov considered this briefly, then decided, “We only need a running password. Make it Liberty or Death. One other thing.”
“Sir?” asked Turgenev.
“People get lost in strange terrain, especially at night. You, young Lieutenant, will come with us to guide us back.”
The Gilded Lark, Tobolsk
Although it was just a hole in the wall, and somewhat sparsely furnished after the fights that had taken place, the tavern was warm, had sufficient rough wooden boxes and crates for tables and seating. Also, despite the generally poorly washed clientele, the smell of food was as thick and hearty as the food itself, and went a good way, if not all the way, toward covering up the stench of people.
Those people were almost entirely soldiers, though whether they were ex- or current was a hard call, since clothing shortages had an amazing number of men wearing their old uniforms, sans insignia, or, perhaps in some cases, someone else’s cast-offs.
Mokrenko really hadn’t had a good look at the surroundings, the previous night, since he’d plunged immediately into a riot. Most especially had he not noticed, since they’d likely fled at the first sign of trouble, the waitresses hauling glasses of vodka, mugs of beer, and trays replete with bread and soup, plus the occasional plate of pelmeni.
There were no photos of the pair but Natalya had described them well. “One is short and stocky, but very graceful and quick. You will be surprised at how much so. That’s Chekov and he looks—and is—far more intelligent than his comrade. The other one, Dostovalov, is tall, strong, and has his head currently bandaged against a rather bad blow he took. You won’t have a hard time getting the latter to drink himself insensible, but with the former you might.”
Looking around upon closing the tavern’s leather-hinged door behind him, Mokrenko didn’t see either man, and certainly not such an oddly matched pair together. He let a waitress—blonde, almost pretty, and remarkably large-breasted—lead him to a bench. She introduced herself as “Xenia.”
“Bottle of vodka and a glass,” he replied, when she asked him what he’d be having. Then he looked at the menu over the bar and asked, “What’s in the pelmeni?”
“Oh, today is special,” she replied. “Then owner came back with a nice deer, so it’s venison pelmeni. They’re wonderful. I can say that because I snatched a couple when the cook wasn’t looking.”
“I predict you’ll go far,” Mokrenko said to the girl, inciting a saucy answer, accompanied by a knowing wink, “I’ll go further than any of the other girls here; faster, too.”
That got her the laugh she expected.
“Let’s try the pelmeni, then.”