And then there weren’t any targets for a while, not until Nomonkov saw a human wave of Bolsheviks—charging or fleeing; it was impossible to say and it may not even have made any difference—moving across the street to the stockade.
He was as surprised as anyone by the charge, so didn’t have a chance for a fourth kill until the mass was at the stockade. Then, with ease, the sniper dropped two men at the base of the stockade, mere seconds apart.
It wasn’t until the mass turned on the main entrance to the Governor’s House that Nomonkov could really reap large. Into the backs of the mob—hell, one hardly needs to aim—he fired again and again. What he didn’t quite realize, however, was that this was actually driving them forward into the house.
Basement, Governor’s House, Tobolsk
With more than thirty men shouting “Romanovs down” in both Russian and English, and none of them shouting it together, it was probably inevitable that some of the guards in the basement should have heard it as “down with the Romanovs.” It was no more surprising that, having heard this, some of them would have inferred that, rather than being a rescue, or even a kidnapping, what they were hearing overhead was most likely an attempt at mass assassination.
A few of the men in the basement, loyal to their previous mission if not to the Romanovs, themselves, insisted they should intervene and save the family. The rest, almost a hundred of them, said “To hell with that,” and sat on those few, literally, while the storm raged overhead.
Interlude
The Tobolsk Soviet: Dashing through the snow…
Alexander Avdeev came back first, leading a two-horse team, themselves pulling a sleigh.
“Hide it in back,” Pavel Khokhryakov ordered. “Quickly, now, before we’re seen with it. I’ve assembled enough food for two weeks and enough blankets for bitter cold. Plus two pistols and three rifles. Start loading the sleigh, but keep the pistols and rifles where we can get at them.”
“Where’s Zaslavski?” Avdeev asked.
“Semyon’s not back yet and, yes, that has me worried.”
“No need to worry, or, at least, not about me,” said Zaslavski, suddenly appearing at the corner of the house. “Not that my little foray didn’t have its moments.”
“What the hell went on this morning?” demanded Khokhryakov. “Did the Omsk crowd try to take control of Citizen Romanov and his family?”
“Much worse than that,” replied Zaslavski. “Apparently a group of Imperial Guards has rescued them, or some of them. The details are fuzzy, though. I don’t know how many survived the experience.”
“We’ll need to stick around then,” said Avdeev. “At least until we find out more.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Log house, north of the Governor’s House
Surprise, when achieved, can be a considerable force multiplier. The men of the old guard force, tired, out of sorts, humiliated by their treatment from the Yekaterinburg Bolsheviks, were just barely coming awake from the firing to the southeast when some of their windows were smashed in, followed by a flurry of concussion grenades, exploding in the air, on the floor and, in one case, on someone’s belly. He didn’t scream but the two men who saw him coming apart in the center certainly did.
This was followed by a chorus of banshee howls as two dozen men burst through the door, hacking, stabbing, shooting, and bludgeoning everyone they came in contact with. The limited light that came in with those men, from the couple of carbide lamps issued to the lieutenant and platoon sergeant, added to the terror.
Not that there were many casualties from this; there were not. As almost a single being, the men on the first floor ran outside through the northern door and windows, in their underwear, without even any boots on, where they were swept by the fire of three Lewis guns and ten rifles. The rifles hit nothing; one has to see to aim and, with the moon so low, there wasn’t much to see. Conversely, the Lewis guns, just maintaining a steady fire and not shifting in the slightest, let the fugitives run into their bullets. Perhaps a few escaped through that storm of lead, but they’d have been very few, and disarmed and quickly freezing rabble at that.
That still left the men on the second floor, of whom it could be well presumed that they would be armed and ready. The third platoon leader didn’t relish the prospect of charging up a tall flight of steps to try to winkle them out.
The orders are no prisoners, but, what the hell, it’s not like I’m a professional or anything. What do I know about orders? And we can always shoot them later, if necessary.
The lieutenant found his way to the stairs and shouted up, “You’ve got two choices. You can drop your rifles, bayonets, or any other weapons you have, and come down, one by one, to become our prisoners. Or you can stay here while we set the building on fire. If we set the building on fire, you will also have two choices. You can stay inside here and burn alive—and that’s going to really hurt—or you can try to escape, in which case you will be shot down without mercy. You’ve got five seconds to decide!”
“Don’t shoot,” came the reply. “We’ll come down. Don’t shoot and for the love of God don’t burn us. But let us get some boots and coats on.”
“Best be quick, then, we’re standing here with kindling and matches…”
Governor’s House, Tobolsk
The very last room to be cleared, on the upper floor, was the one on the northeastern corner containing the four grand duchesses, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia, along with a few of the others forced out of the Kornilov House. Telling Olga to get the younger two, the “little pair,” as they were called, into the clothing with the jewels sewn in, Tatiana donned her own and then opened the door, shouting, “Romanovs here; we’re coming out! With friends!”
She emerged into a corridor lit by the strangest light she’d ever seen, a bright, sunny yellow glow that seemed to come from a dozen spots in the corridor and to drown out all shadows. Even without the benefit of the flash grenades, Tatiana was almost blinded.
“How many friends?” asked Sergeant Tokarev.
“There are seven of us, total,” answered Tatiana, still blinking against the light. This wasn’t exactly the answer to the question asked, but it was close enough.
From farther south, the tsar shouted out, “Tatiana, is everyone all right? Alexei?”
“I’m fine… we’re fine… scared but fine.”
“Thank God!”
“No time for chit chat, Your Majesty,” said Tokarev. “You and your family need to get downstairs. Lieutenant Collan will direct you from there.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” agreed Nicholas.
“First Squad,” shouted Tokarev, “positions around the royals!”
“Second squad,” echoed Yumachev, “fall back and cover the evacuation of the royals.”
Daniil noticed the build up of some kind of group, just to his north, west of the log house. Leaving Chekov and Dostavalov with their guards, he went to investigate.
“Sir,” said the lieutenant, “I had a choice. I could fight my way upstairs—maybe—and win over superior numbers and—maybe—come out alive with as many as two men, or I could tell them to surrender. I chose the latter.”
“It’s all right, son,” said Kostyshakov. “The no prisoners order was based on a set of circumstances that changed on us. You did exactly right. How many of them are there?”