The Red Horse （Chapter four）

Written by Carolus Warza. (myself) Hope you enjoy it. January 10, 1905, Old Style (January 23, 1905, New Style) What broke the quiet of convalescence that morning was not a rooster’s cry, but a hurried knocking at the door and a telegram from St Petersburg. “Georgi, you’ll want to see this.” Before I had time to say come in, Alexei burst into the room, out of breath, and stuffed the crumpled telegram into my arms. With his other hand he seized my teacup and took a great gulp from it. The next instant the scalding tea stung him so badly that he spat it out again, tears of pain running down his face. “Ah—damn it, that’s hot—” Since the failed assassination, he had been looking after my daily needs. We were living in an old house on the outskirts of Moscow, far from the newest political storm. Irina, however, could not come often. She had to remain in the city now, using the decency of her public identity to conceal our movements. For a long time, the outside world had reached us only through telegrams sent by the Party office in St Petersburg. “From St Petersburg?” “From Erna. And there are instructions from Azef too.” “Next time, knock before entering my room…” “Read it first.” I opened the telegram. It read: May this find you well, Comrade Georgi. On the twenty-second, a mass petition broke out in Petersburg. To resist the tyranny of Tsar Nicholas II, tens of thousands of Russian working people rallied around Father Gapon and marched toward the Winter Palace. Yet the unarmed crowd was met with armed repression by the gendarmes. Countless workers now lie dead in the streets; many Socialist Revolutionaries have been arrested without cause. The priest has already gone into exile. Comrade Azef is grateful for your attempt against the Governor-General of Moscow, and urgently hopes that you can carry out a new assassination as soon as possible. Once the Governor-General is dead, we will attempt to launch a large-scale armed revolution in Moscow. The revolution shall succeed. Salute! Only half a month had passed since the last failure. Under the tightened patrols in every district, another attempt against the Governor-General would be little different from suicide. Nor did I wish to throw the lives of the Combat Organization into fire and flood. But since this was a direct order from Azef, I believed his power of organization might yet summon a revolutionary storm. “No other news?” “None, boss.” “Do you have any recent information on the Governor?” “The old bastard managed to keep his life. He’s been hiding these past few days to nurse his wounds. But ever since the last attempt failed, he thinks God himself is protecting him, and that no one can kill him.” “We may be able to use that arrogance.” “Exactly. According to our informant, to keep his family safe, the Tsar recently had him moved quietly into the Kremlin. But our dear old Sergei can’t sit still. The informant says that in early February he still plans to accompany his wife to the theater for a charity concert raising funds for the Red Cross.” “His wife is going?” “And the children.” I fell silent. Alexei looked at me, as if he had suddenly remembered what had happened in the cathedral that day, and said no more. My right shoulder began to hurt again. It was a piercing pain, one that moved through my old wounds and into every joint of my body. “Hss—” Though I endured it with all I had and tried to conceal my weakness, that sharp intake of breath betrayed the truth. “I’m fine…” “Let me go, Georgi.” Alexei watched me for a long while, then spoke the words slowly, firmly. “I refuse. He is my target.” “I know what you’re thinking, Georgi. But I am the soldier you trained. From Warsaw to Petersburg, I grew from a cowardly, suffering fool who could do nothing but write poems and blame heaven into the revolutionary I am now. You taught me that the people must be masters of their own fate. You brought me into the Socialist Revolutionary Party. You took me with you on every mission. I have long since made my resolve. I won’t let you walk this hard road alone again.” This old schoolmate of mine—once my friend, now my comrade-in-arms—stood before me with courage and fearlessness shining across his face. Ah—besides my own command, what could have stopped him? And now, perhaps, not even I could. “Every operation is a rehearsal for death.” “I know the consequences. I’m not afraid to die. Besides—” His tone shifted, and he returned at once to the old fervor I knew so well. “This is for the liberation of tens of millions of Russian people! For the freedom of our descendants!” Freedom is the most expensive luxury in the world—so expensive that it demands life and blood in payment. “Prepare yourself,” I said. “Until then, you still have a chance to hand it back to me.” “I understand. Then I won’t disturb your rest. I’ll make the plan myself?” He turned toward the study. “Tell me the outline first.” “It’s like this. Since they’ve chosen to travel by carriage, I think a bomb will work better than a pistol. I plan to contact Heinrich and see whether he can make one. Then I’ll wait at the palace exit for the right moment.” “Keep watch first,” I said. “If there are children in the carriage, don’t act.” “Boss…” “I said: don’t act.” “I promise you.” Alexei closed the study door. I could not see his face. Outside the window, the snow-light fell across the telegram, washing the words pale. Suddenly I felt that the people who had fallen in the streets of Petersburg were looking at me through that thin sheet of paper. I did not know whether I was protecting a child, or betraying my comrades. (To be continued)