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Chapter Twenty-five

Maria and Anastasia Nicholaievna Romanova

South of Tobolsk

Briefly, Daniil laid out the changed enemy situation to the orders group.

“Turgenev,” asked Kostyshakov, “are either of the warehouses big enough to hold us all?”

“Both of them, really, sir, though it might be a little cramped.”

“We can live with cramped.” Kostyshakov pulled up a mental map of the town. “The west one, then, by the river docks. We’re all going there. Now, Ivan Mikhailovich?”

“Sir?” asked Dratvin.

“Can you hold the Omsk people in place— might be for several hours—with two platoons?”

“I’ll need both heavy machine guns,” Dratvin replied. “Plus one of the antitank rifles.”

“Why?”

“I can plug them on the north and south, but that’s not enough to hold them north, south, east, and west. The two heavies, firing up the avenues to east and west, maybe supplemented by a Lewis Gun, each, can hold them, and, while there might be a few leakers, they won’t be many and they won’t be organized. The antitank rifle is to panic them into trying prematurely, by showing there’s no cover in the building.”

“All right,” Kostyshakov agreed, “both heavies to you, plus one 13.2mm. Now figure out a time you have to leave to get from the western warehouse to the target. I’ll take your third platoon.”

“Yes, sir.” Dratvin then coralled the section leader for the heavies and took him off to one side.

“Cherimisov?”

“Sir?”

“You’ve still got two targets, the Governor’s House and the Kornilov House. I don’t think I want to send thirty or so of your men into a building occupied by five times that in Bolsheviks. So what I want to do is surround the place with one of your platoons and, I think, the two infantry guns. Get flamethrowers up and start fires in the basement and maybe the upper floors, too. Shoot them as they try to escape. Use the infantry cannon and snipers to break up organized concentrations in the fenced yard behind, plus any firefighters that may arise, insofar as they can be seen . . . also to panic the horses they’ve probably got there.”

“Can we add some explosives to the mix?” Cherimisov asked.

“Engineer?”

“Yes, sir?”

“How much of your platoon is here.”

“Just two squads, sir.”

“Fine. One of them is to be attached to Fourth Company, to reinforce the engineers already there. You are attached, with the other squad, to Lieutenant Turgenev and Strat Recon, to take down the power plant and shut off the town’s lights. Turgenev, can you do this?”

“Yes, sir, though I’m glad to have engineers along to keep me from fucking up the plant. Can the engineers come to the safe house? Less chance of being noticed that way.”

“Yes, they can. And good. Now back to you, Cherimisov.”

“Sir.”

“So one of your platoons, a squad of the engineers, and the infantry cannon section are to surround the Kornilov House, set it afire, and destroy the Bolsheviks inside it. Let none of them escape.”

“Prisoners, sir?”

“None. Accept no surrenders.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The other platoon is to assault the Governor’s House to free the prisoners there. Lastly, the platoon I stripped from Dratvin is to be used to neutralize the original guards in the log building north of the Governor’s House, some of whom have likely had to move from the Kornilov.

“Now, coordinating measures. We’re mostly worried about timing. Everything needs to kick off at the same time. There is only one signal we can use that will reach everyone at once. This is the killing of the town’s electrical power with the dousing of the lights.

“Turgenev?”

“Sir?”

“I want the lights down and the attack to commence at zero-four-thirty. Plot when you must leave the safe house, navigate to the power plant, take down any guard, and prepare to kill the power based on that.”

“Sir. That’s also when we’ll want Shukhov to take down the telegraph lines, yes?”

“Correct. I don’t know that they have their own power source, for a back up, but they might.”

“Dratvin?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You have a longer distance to go than Cherimisov. Calculate how long to get to the Girls’ School and set up in the buildings around it.”

“Sir.”

“Also Cherimisov; I’ll be with you along with the command group. We’ll be the last to leave the warehouse. At the warehouse, Second Company, minus, plus the heavy machine guns have the left side. Fourth Company reinforced, with headquarters, has the right.

“Finally, each company grouping can send up to one squad, early, to neutralize exterior guards, if they can be absolutely sure of doing so silently but, even if they cannot, to cover their occupation of assault positions.

“Now prepare to synchronize watches . . . at the mark it will be zero-two-zero-seven . . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . mark.

“Now, Natalya, since you were awake to greet us, lead off. Turgenev, take your engineers and lead them to your safe house as you think best. Everyone else; pass the word; drop skis and packs here . . . complete silence from here to the attack.”


Fortunately, because the Tobol and Irtysh rivers were prone to flooding, nobody had built any houses within about two to three hundred meters of the rivers’ banks, much farther south than the promontory on which stood the Kremlin of Tobolsk.

Moreover, the moon was now at an angle that cast a shadow down onto the rivers’ ice, but didn’t illuminate the men from one side. The men, having changed to more familiar boots taken from their packs, leaving their Austrian ski boots behind, made barely a sound on the thick pad of ice. Only the sleighs made any noise, and that not much.

In short, the passage to the warehouse was as secret and quiet as anyone might have hoped for.

Recognizing a landmark, Natalya whispered to Kostyshakov, “We turn right here, sir.” The column duly cut right, crossing just south of the little river port. From there, the column filed by twos into the warehouse standing just west of Zavodskaya. Lavin was there first, and opened the wide double doors facing the river.

Kostyshak stopped, listening carefully, once he reached the door. There was no sound from the town other than the distant hum of the power station and the occasional barking of a dog.

Inside, in the relative darkness, the senior noncoms manhandled the men into something resembling an orderly arrangement for sleeping.

Will anyone sleep? wondered Kostyshakov. I certainly won’t. Which reminds me . . . 

“Natalya?” he whispered.

“Here, sir,” came the reply from the darkness.

“You and Lavin need to get back to the safe house. Can you lead me and a couple of guards there, along some route that won’t be hard to retrace our steps with?”

“No problem,” she replied. “Though . . . now that I think about it, the best way lies through a park with no road, with Ulitsa Yershova dead-ending on either side.”

“That will be fine. Sergeant Major Blagov?”

“Here, sir.”

“Couple of pistol armed guards, no white smocks, as soon as you can drum them up.”

“Five minutes, then, sir. Maybe a little less.”

Cherimisov then asked Daniil, “Sir, I’ve got three platoons that are going to be stretched out a good distance. Do you mind if I send three three-man teams to secure up to the last position with concealment? And my first sergeant to run herd on them?”

“Mayevsky plus nine? Sure, go ahead.”

“Also, sir, I was thinking.”

“Go on.”

“We’ve got those ladders, but are they the right tool? The rope diagram Strat Recon brought us shows two sets of perfectly useful stairs, and from the side we’re coming from. I think we can get more combat power to the second floor using those, quicker, than we could with twenty ladders. Sir, we’re presuming we’ve got surprise, anyway; let’s use it. Besides, we’ll need the ladders for the stockade.”

“Do it.” Note to self, we need a way to inculcate more individual initiative, at least among our leaders. Cherimisov should not have had to ask me a question like that, but just should have gone ahead and done it.

The sergeant major returned, saying, “Your guards are ready and standing by, sir.”


The only dangerous spot on the route was in the relatively open area south of the Governor’s House. There, Daniil elected to take a right, and then a left, before turning north again at Ulitsa Volodarskogo. A knock on the back door and they were face to face with Turgenev and Mokrenko.

“I want to see the two prisoners,” Daniil said.

“Take him to them, Sergeant,” the lieutenant said.

The lights still worked, so there was no problem getting down to the storage room. When the door was opened, both Chekov and Dostovalov sat up, squinting against the sudden light. The latter had a worse problem than light sensitivity, though, and held his head against a cosmic scale headache.

“I need to ask you two a few questions,” said Daniil, without identifying himself. “It would be better for you to answer, if not . . .”

“If not, we separate them and apply duress,” said Mokrenko, “until the answers are forthcoming and match.” He then added the lie, “I have the iron pokers, in the fire, all ready for that eventuality.”

“Why not just shoot me and put me out of my misery?” Dostovalov groaned.

“I’m not especially interested in putting anyone out of their misery,” Daniil said. “What I am interested in are your feelings toward the Romanovs. And the Bolsheviks.”

Chekov answered, “Fuck the Bolshviks. We don’t care all that much for the tsar, and the Nemka can go to hell, as far as we’re concerned, but the children . . .”

“. . . are wonderful,” Dostovalov finished. “I would die for Olga, and he, though he is loath to admit it, would fight for Tatiana.”

Daniil raised an eyebrow. Would he, indeed?

“Yes,” said Chekov, “I suppose I would.”

“Why should I trust you?” Daniil asked.

“In your shoes, I would not,” Chekov replied.

“That’s an honest answer, at least.”

“I’m an honest man,” said Chekov.

“Could I trust your parole?”

“You couldn’t trust mine,” said Dostovalov, “but, then, you don’t need to. If you’re trying to save my Olga that is all the trust you need. His word, on the other hand, you can trust. And I generally do what he tells me.”

Daniil nodded, “I’ll trust you this far, if you accept. You can come with my headquarters group, under guard, with your hands bound and your ankles tied a single arshin apart. Any false move whatsoever and your throats will be cut on the spot. I only needed you two out of the house so that when we go in, you don’t get killed and set the girls to hysterics. But whether you are alive or dead when we’ve brought them out safe doesn’t really matter, we can chivy them along at that point. Accept or refuse, now.”

“I accept,” said Chekov. “So does he.”

“Sergeant Mokrenko, bind them please.”

As his hands were being bound, Chekov’s eyes adjusted enough to take in the submachine gun in the hands of one of the guards. “What is that?” he asked.

“Think of it as a short range machine gun that can carried and operated by one man,” Kostyshkov replied.

“My,” said Chekov, “isn’t that a very nice idea?”

Warehouse, Tobolsk

One of the squads, rather, a squad sized composite, from Fourth Company, left the warehouse early, as Daniil had allowed. One of the squads from the remainder of Dratvin’s Second Company had left ten minutes before. Already, Dratvin’s men were lining up at the warehouse door nearest the river, to begin their slightly longer trek to the Girls’ School and the communists from Omsk. As they left, Daniil thought, Maybe we should have left the heavy machine guns covered on the sleighs . . . nah, if a hundred and eight armed men aren’t enough to excite suspicion, a couple of Maxims aren’t very likely to, either.

The little Yakut horses seemed as excited as the men, but no more fearful. I suspect they pick their cues for fear up from us. If they’re not skittish, it’s probably because they can’t smell fear off the men. I can only consider that a good sign.

In a column of twos, Dratvin leading and with the T-Gewehr and the Maxims in between his first and second platoon, that company left out the rear door and began their movement to action. They had bayonets fixed and orders to try to kill anyone potentially hostile that they encountered with cold steel, rather than hot—and noisy—fire.

Daniil consulted his watch just as the last member of Second company disappeared through the door.

Twenty-five minutes and we start to move.

Safe House, Tobolsk

If we don’t leave now, thought Turgenev, there’s a small chance we’ll run into Dratvin’s crew somewhere. This would be what we call a “bad thing,” at least potentially.

“Are we ready, Sergeant Mokrenko?”

“No, sir,” the sergeant replied. “We’re eager.”

“Engineers?”

“No less than Strat Recon,” the young officer replied. He and his men had a single large log perched on alternating shoulders.

Natalya ran out and threw her arms around Turgenev. “I won’t try to stop you,” she said, “but even if I am too young, if you don’t give me a kiss for your own good luck, you’re a fool.”

“You’re not too young for a good luck kiss,” he said, and then delivered on the statement. “Now stay here and keep down in the basement, even if it’s miserably cold. There’s going to be a good deal of firing from many points and in all direction, especially from that nest of communist vipers across the corner. Will you promise me?”

“I promise.” She stood back, freeing him to leave. “But you should have let me go to the house to get everything ready.”

“With those fanatics on guard? With all that lead flying around? Oh, no; you, my girl, stay here.”

Well, at least he called me his girl.

Turgenev raised a hand, with his middle and index fingers projecting, and the rest forming an O with the thumb. As he said, “Then at the double, let’s . . . go!” he brought them down, pointing north, then led the way out the side gate of the safe house yard.

If there was a guard on the back of the Girls’ School he hadn’t been paying much attention.

The men quickly took up a trotting pace. Once on the street, Turgenev turned left and led them almost two blocks to Christmas Street. From there the group went right, travelling two more, but double, blocks to where a little footbridge crossed a corner of the sharp-turning River Kurdyumka. At Epiphany, the street that on a different timeline might have been named for Rosa Luxemburg, they turned left again. With a one hundred and thirty or so meter dash, they reached the main door to the power plant. The engineers took their log off their shoulders and prepared to beat the door in.

“Just one second,” said Mokrenko, who reached out, turned the knob, and found the door completely open.

“Well, fuck,” said the engineer officer.

In through the open door they poured. They found one guard, asleep, and butt-stroked him off his chair and onto the floor. Lavin dropped out to tie the man’s hands and feet. Moving inward, they came to a very hot open area, glowing with fires from the coal that ran the steam turbine. There were two sweating men there, shoveling coal into the open maw of the furnace. As soon as those men sensed the presence of Turgenev’s little task force, they turned. When they saw the red glow reflecting from ten bayonets and almost a score of rifle barrels they dropped their shovels and raised their hands.

“Who else is in the plant?” asked the lieutenant. “Your lives depend on the honesty of your answers.”

“Just one, the night shift manager,” the fire stokers answered. “Well, two, if you count the woman with him.”

“Where are they?”

Both of the men pointed at a room on the upper level, at the head of a flight of steps.

“Sergeant, see to them.”

“Sir.” He came back shortly with a man and a woman, both trying to get dressed in a hurry. At the same time, Lavin dragged the now well-trussed guard in by his heels.

“Did my wife send you?” the man demanded, while being trussed up.

“Ummm . . . no,” said Turgenev. The lieutenant consulted his watch. “And now we wait a bit.” Addressing the night shift manager, he added, “But in the interim, you are going to explain to us how to shut off all power to the town, or we’ll try to put out the fire by stuffing you into it.”

“Well, if you will promise not to tell my wife? Yes? Then the first step . . .”


Daniil consulted his watch again. Three minutes. He felt his heart rate begin to pick up as it had not on the strenuous ski trek to the town. Under three hundred against over six hundred. Bad, yes, it’s bad . . . but I’ve got better men, better armed and trained, and total tactical surprise. They don’t know we’re here or there would be firing by now.

Was it smart to let Cherimisov use the ladders for the stockade? Yes, I think it was. It made sense to be ready for a second floor ascent without stairs but with the stairs and surprise? Yes, I think it made sense.

Should I have told Turgenev to put the power back on after a period of time, maybe ten or fifteen minutes? I don’t know. But I do know that with the headlamps and the flash grenades we’ve got an advantage in the dark the enemy can’t deal with. I think . . . yes, it was better to leave the power and lights off. And Dratvin and Cherimisov have flare pistols if they need a little short-term light.

What have I missed or screwed up? Dear God, I know I haven’t thought of everything.

Two minutes now. The three platoons under Cherimisov are already forming in three columns. Too dark to make out faces. I wonder if any of them are reconsidering their claim they’d mutiny. Maybe one or two, but they’re good men and not afraid of much.

I know I’ve screwed up something. What is it? Can I fix it in the . . . ninety seconds left to me? No, not a chance, even if I knew what.

One minute. Blagov and Mayevsky are opening the front doors, the ones facing the town. It’s still lit . . . AHA! That was something I missed. While the town is lit, the guards’ eyes will be used to light and less likely to see us. No lights between here and our assault positions.

And another thing; why the hell didn’t I arrange to get some vodka smuggled to the old regiment of guards to put them at ease or asleep? Am I going to lose men and Romanovs because I didn’t?

Ten seconds . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . good luck, boys . . . five . . . four . . . God go with you . . . two . . . this is a holy cause!

The three columns left at the same time, with Dratvin’s detached third platoon peeling off half to the left and Cherimisov’s first peeling off to the right. They had the longest way to go, since they had to get at least one squad and the platoon’s Lewis gun all the way around the Kornilov House without alerting the guards.

In the center, behind Second Platoon, following Lieutenant Collan, the short Finn, Daniil and his command group trotted along, to the east-northeast. Behind Daniil, under a couple of guards, Chekov and Dostovalov simply could not keep up, given how their legs were bound. Even so, they crouched as low as possible while shuffling forward, an approach that set the guards to wondering if perhaps they could be trusted.

Daniil and his party passed across barren fields, over a thirty-foot wide patch of ice, then more fields before entering some woods. They they veered slightly to the right, following the woods to an open field.

Looking east, illuminated by street lights, he saw an open field and Cherimisov’s men past it, hard up against a building that stood perhaps ninety or so arshini west of the target. Daniil held up one hand and whispered, “We wait here.”

Still looking, Daniil was able to discern single guards, none too alert, at the corners of the stockade around the Governor’s House, plus two men at the gate. He’d seen earlier that this pattern was repeated to the east.

Well, we’ve got the ladders to get men over the stockade quickly.

After some minutes, Chekov and Dostovalov joined them.

“Now keep quiet,” Kostyshakov reminded them.

“Yes, sir,” they both said, almost as if they considered themselves part of the rescue effort.

Well, thought Chekov, maybe I do.

“Take their bindings off them,” Kostyshakov told their guards, “but watch them even so.”

South of the Kornilov House

Lieutenant Molchalin had never been the overly talkative type, anyway. Tonight, this was an advantage. He led his reinforced platoon due west, across the same barren fields and frozen streams Kostyshakov had crossed. Before reaching Great Friday Street he detailed off the infantry cannon west of Little Pyatnitskaya Street.

“Federov, your two guns and the antitank rifle here. Is there any problem with firing on the Kornilov House?”

“Not the ground and upper floors; they’re easy. I can displace forward as the enemy gets suppressed to engage the basement windows if I need to.”

“Right. Shouldn’t. You’ll know they’re suppressed by the amount of screaming you hear as the fire reaches them.”

“Now wait a minute,” Federov said. “Did you just tell a joke? The ever so silent and serious Lieutenant Molchalin told a joke? I can’t wait to write my parents  . . .”

He stopped his quiet little tirade only because he realized that, without a word, Molchalin had simply left him behind.

At Great Friday Street, by the opposite corner from the Cathedral of the Annunciation, Molchalin halted them, gathering the lot into a very tight lump of humanity.

“Nomonkov?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Anyone looking our way from the Kornilov House?”

The sniper, with his remarkable vision, looked northward, scanning carefully left to right and then right to left again. “No, sir.”

Taking the sniper’s word, Molchalin led his platoon pell-mell, charging across the street and into the cover provided by the church.

“Nomonkov?”

“Here, sir.”

“You and your spotter, up into the bell tower. The church is open. Don’t ring any bells. Your orientation is generally to the north.”

“Yes, sir. Come on, Strelnikov.” Without another word, his spotter and guard in tow, the sniper went to the main church door to find that it was, indeed, open.

From there, Molchalin led the rest of his platoon north. Just shy of Tuljatskaya Street he dropped off two squads and two of the flamethrowers with his platoon sergeant. He then, with his headquarters, one squad, the Lewis Gun, the other sniper team, and the other two flamethrowers, skirted wide around the Kornilov House before taking up a position to its northeast.

They found a single guard, armed but passed out apparently drunk, in the lee of one of the buildings. Without another word, Molchalin cut the man’s throat. No sense taking needless chances.

“Ladder, here,” Molanchin ordered, then stood by as the squad with him erected one ladder on the far side of a building from both the Governor’s and Kornilov houses. That squad, with the Lewis gun team, scrambled up then took station behind the peak of the roof.


Sergeant Oblonsky and Corporal Panfil went through the routine of unlimbering their guns, maneuvering the limber, and getting the ammunition chests opened. Though they’d done it for speed, and silently, many times before, this time was different.

This time, thought Panfil, we might just get our fucking heads blown off.

“Gunner,” Panfil whispered, “take aim at the northernmost window on the upper floor. Once this circus starts, we’ll put a round in every window, then start again at the northern one. Unless of course, someone shoots back when he gets his own little donation of shells.”

Meanwhile, Sergeant Oblonsky was giving slightly opposite instructions to his gunner: “Main floor, southern window.”

“And now we wait for a bit,” said Federov.

Girls’ School, Tobolsk

Billeting troops in a place that doesn’t have barracks, and where it’s too cold for tents, even if available, is a problem. Occupy the government buildings? This brings government to a screeching halt. Occupy factories? The economic costs of this can be devastating. Occupy hospitals? Not a great idea, actually. Put them in peoples’ homes? Ask the British how badly that can turn out.

So . . . schools. Education may be delayed, but that can be made up by shortening vacations. They’ve got offices. They’re almost always well heated. Commonly they’ve a kitchen suitable for feeding large numbers. There will be gymnasiums and nearby open fields for physical training.

It was never entirely clear if the commander of the men from Omsk, A. D. Demyanov, really understood any of this. Expelled from a seminary, his military credentials were vanishingly tiny. But he had seen the Girls’ School as a place out of the cold. This was enough.

Of course, his men ran riot in the town, creating one incident after another. He not only lacked any clue as to how to control them, Demyanov also had no interest in controlling them.

His assistant, Degtyarev, was a former cavalry ensign. Thus, while he did have some military training, he—the current Bolshevik—had formerly, some years before, in university, been a member in good standing in the Union of Archangel Michael, one of Russia’s more reactionary groups. Having held membership in both tended to indicate a certain fecklessness and lack of principle in former Ensign Degtyarev.

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.


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Framed