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Interlude

Lenin and Trotsky: “What is to be done?”

Trotsky, Lenin and Sverdlov stood around Lenin’s desk in his flat. Trotsky had woken Sverdlov in the middle of the night with the catastrophic news. Sverdlov had dressed quickly and crossed the hallway to awaken Ilyich.

“Reports are confused,” Trotsky said. “But we are certain that Yurovsky and the bulk of our men at Freedom House are dead or captured. At least some of the Romanovs escaped . . . rather, to be honest, were rescued.”

Lenin slammed his fist into his desk, Sverdlov smoothed his mustache and glared out the window. They were arguably the most powerful men in Russia, they had sacrificed everything for the power to cast down the autocrats. Now that was all in danger, thanks to their leader’s indecision.

“How did they get there?” Lenin demanded.

“We don’t actually know,” Trotsky replied, “but I have a sneaking suspicion.”

“What’s that?”

“An airship, one of the big lighter than air jobs the Germans use, was spotted in a couple of places over the previous two weeks. It’s impossible to tell its direction from the spottings because literally nobody who saw it had a watch or a compass. But, for my money, it carried the Guards to Tobolsk.”

“Comrades,” Lenin said. “The Revolution has never faced more danger. We must do everything, everything to stop them. Right now as our enemies squabble among themselves, they give us time to prepare. A Romanov figurehead could unite them. This cannot happen.”

If only you had listened to us earlier, Ilyich.

“What are your orders?” Sverdlov said.

“Convene the Central Committee, meet me there,” Lenin said, reaching for his coat. “We will bring the full might of the Revolution against these imperialist traitors.”


Later, Lenin looked at Trotsky’s proposed deployments in and around Tobolsk for only a few seconds before handing the map and papers back to the Commissar for Military Affairs.

“I trust your judgment, Leon,” Lenin finally said. “But give your commanders one order directly from me—if they do not return with the Romanovs, they are not to return at all.”

“My judgment,” said Trotsky, “may be sound . . . at least when not dealing with rapacious Germans. The problem is that it takes information to have judgment and I don’t have much information. One small party of the town’s ruling soviet escaped, with a tale of monstrous airships, enemy battalions, incredible firepower, and a lot of killing. They had no idea how many of the Romanovs survived, only that some did and some didn’t. Oh, and that among those who didn’t was the small boy and one of the girls.”

Lenin felt an immediate tightening in his gut. Dead, sick boys and dead, beautiful girls were extremely bad propaganda for the cause.

Trotsky continued, “I’ve halted the battalion from Yekaterinburg before they could leave for Tobolsk and ordered the expansion to a regiment before they move. But will a regiment be enough? I don’t know. Nobody knows but the commander of the enemy at Tobolsk. . . . whoever he may be.”

“How soon will that regiment leave?” asked Ilyich.

“If there were any competence there,” Trotsky answered, “they’d have moved out long before my halt order reached them. Obviously there isn’t much. So . . . a week? Ten days? Two weeks? Even a month? It’s impossible to say. I can say I’ve sent three trains with roughly two-thousand tons of food, arms, ammunition, sleighs, and horses to try to speed them on their way.”

As the rest of the Central Committee carried out the business of the Party, Lenin stood alone in a corner of the room, eyes fixed on the embers of the slowly dying fire on the hearth.

It’s too late. I should’ve listened to Sverdlov. Now the Whites have their figurehead and the bourgeois abroad have their propaganda coup. We’re not merely murderers, but bungling murderers, which is far, far worse. What future for the Revolution now? What future for Russia?


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Framed