The Girls’ School, itself, sometimes knows as the Girls’ Gymnasium, lay just east of the Slesarka River, on the opposite corner from the safe house. It had buildings, houses, mostly, east and west, in lines parallel to Great Archangel Street, on the east of the school, and Slesarka Street, to the west. Additionally, to the west, and for which the double street was named, was the River Slesarka, now a ditch with a narrow line of ice in the bottom, plus a number of low fences of dubious obstacle value.
North of the school was the Church of the Archangel Michael, with a hundred-foot gap separating it from the school. South were a few houses and a couple of wooded areas, with a considerably narrower gap.
Dratvin winced as a woman’s scream emerged from one of the houses east of school. The scream was over quickly, and hopefully without bloodshed.
But what is it that can cause a woman to scream, yet create not the slightest curiosity among the Reds from Omsk. Maybe… maybe, they became used to the sound of women screaming from frequent violations of all those around.
To hold the Omsk men inside the school until reinforcements could arrive sufficient to exterminate them, Dratvin had the two heavy machine guns, water cooled hence capable of firing for literally hours, half a dozen Lewis guns, and about seventy riflemen not otherwise needed to serve the Lewis guns. He was badly outnumbered, but probably had an advantage in firepower… up to a point.
If it were an open field, mused Dratvin, or even some woods with cleared fields of fire, it wouldn’t be a problem; we’d just eat them alive. But this close? We might get to bayonet fighting before we’re done, and for that, I really don’t have the numbers.
Bell Tower, Cathedral of the Annunciation
Nomonkov, the short, stocky sniper with the better than perfect vision, kept his back almost to the bell. He might have been able to see the ground and what was going on there without any artificial illumination, but between the streetlights and the moon, he could see extraordinarily well.
He took stock of the areas he could see well enough to engage, once the fight started. East side of the Governor’s House and the log house beyond it… south side of the Governor’s House… a little dead space behind the stockade… south side of the Kornilov House… some of the enclosed yard behind the Kornilov House… the whole street and the open area—I suppose it must be some kind of park—to my west. Roof of both houses. Past the dead space behind the Kornilov House, I can see all the way up Great Friday Street until it turns off to the right.
Kornilov House, Tebolsk
For the fortieth time, Yakov Yurovsky reread his orders. They contained no leeway and no doubt; the Romanovs and any who might have aided and abetted them were to be taken to Yekaterinburg. Then an excuse was to be manufactured, implicating them all in counterrevolutionary activities. And then, finally, I am to shoot them all, even the girls and the little boy. Even the servants. Even the teachers and doctors.
The signature on his orders said “Sverdlov,” but he knew where they’d originated. Ilyich, himself, has decreed that the royal family must die. Sverdlov I might have argued with, but Lenin? No, he is the father of the revolution, which makes him the savior of the world. If Ilyich says that the little boy must die, then die he must.
Still, it’s a hard duty. And I suppose I’ll have to do most of the dirty work myself; the louts I brought with me won’t be worth much.
In a notebook, Yurovsky began to sketch out his plan. Here to Tyumen, open sleigh or vozok… rail to Yekaterinburg… complete isolation there… except… mmmm… let me think. No, not complete. I’ll use one of my own to bring messages to the former tsar, saying there will be a rescue attempt… and… mmm… requesting Nicholashka’s cooperation as well as intelligence on the security arrangements. The message or messages… it or they should have a full menu of slurs against the revolution, to get Nicholas to do the same.
But what about the Nemka, the children, and the others. Can I get away with shooting them over the “crime” we will entice Nicholas into committing? No… no, that won’t quite do. So I’ll have to get him to comment on the readiness and morale of each of them, family and staff, so let him condemn them by his words. Yes, I think that works. Or, better, the “rescuers” can demand that every member of the family sign to prove they want to be rescued.
And, yet, it is still hard. It’s hard not to like them, yes, even the former tsar. They’re so simple and uncomplaining, so thoroughly pleasant, barring only the Nemka. And even she has her moments, I am told.
And, still, the Revolution demands they die, so they must… and shall.
Governor’s House, Tobolsk
There were four guards on each floor, plus a senior Bolshevik, a Latvian, Adolf Lepa, to run herd on them, plus one supernumerary to act as messenger and to relieve any man who had to relieve himself. In addition, another twenty-one men men slept on the floor of the dining room, the other two shifts for the twenty-four hours of guard duty.
One of the guards, one of those on the first floor, stood watching the stairs that led down to the basement. The previous set of guards were down there and were, under no circumstances, to be allowed up to mingle with the Romanovs.
Power plant, Tobolsk
The engineers manned the switches to kill the power. The night shift manager had been most helpful in explaining how to do so quickly, and without damaging anything. There were different switches, sending power to different parts of the town. Turgenev could have cut power only to the areas about to be attacked but had no orders to limit it that much.
And besides, who knows how many guards may be out getting laid, hence could return and interfere if they had light to see by? No, the whole town goes into darkness.
West of the Governor’s House, Tobolsk
Daniil was a little surprised that the streetlights and the lights inside the houses didn’t go out immediately. First he sensed more than heard the power plant’s hum dropping, four hundred and fifty or so arshini to the north. Then the lights began to dim out. And then it was all blackness, except for what light came from the moon, now well down in the west.
And here we go.
Interlude
The Tobolsk Soviet: “We’ve got to get out of this place.”
Amidst what sounded like a war, come to their doorsteps, three members of the Tobolsk Soviet met in the house of the leader of the three, Khokhryakov. The other two were Semyon Zaslavski and Alexander Avdeev.
“What the hell can it mean?” asked Zaslavski.
“It could be anything,” said Khokhryakov. “The old guards on Citizen Romanov resisting the new men under Yurovsky? The Omsk men trying to take control themselves? A bloody free for all? Or… you know… maybe even something else.”
Avdeev, who would miss his opportunities to steal from the townsfolk’s largesse toward their former ruler and his family, observed, “Whatever it is, it bodes no good for us. I think it’s time to leave.”
“Not just yet,” said Pavel. “Wherever we might go there are going to be questions, and we had better be prepared to answer them. Here’s what we’ll do: Alexander, your face is too well known to all the parties, and not well enough liked. You go beg, borrow, or steal us a good sleigh with horses. Bring them here.”