Lenin's Harem Read online

  ‘Ah-ha!’ Gaters put a good finger in the air, looked at Seskis, then back at me: ‘Why?’

  I gave him what he was after, got it over with: ‘For spreading the word of Catholicism.’

  ‘So you force your religion on us pagans and take our land.’

  ‘I’ve never taken anyone’s land nor told anyone which god to worship.’ I stood up to leave. Enough of this.

  Seskis again: ‘What would you get if you made me Jewish?’

  The bookworm on his bed added uncaringly: ‘Jews are The Chosen, not converted.’

  Seskis leaned back in his chair: ‘Well, maybe he does the choosing?’

  Standing over Gaters, I could see a periodical he’d been reading spread out on the table. Cina: Riga’s illegal socialist newspaper. So that was Gaters’s agenda.

  ‘Quiet, Mikelis. We’re having a real conversation here.’ Gaters motioned me over: ‘Okay, Rooks, sit down. So your family forces people at sword point to obey the pope and gets an aristocratic living for generations. Do you feel that’s right?’

  I didn’t sit. ‘I’m not Catholic. My family’s Lutheran. We’re talking about ancient times. Are you Catholic?’

  ‘No.’

  An atheist no doubt. Of course, if I had been burnt so, it might be hard to have faith. I continued: ‘How about you, Seskis? Catholic?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not, though I can cut you a good deal for Judaism, Father.’

  Gaters: ‘Do you feel that’s ethically right?’

  ‘What’s right?’

  ‘Your family living off stolen land for hundreds of years?’

  Stolen? This communist agitator turned my stomach. Now that I knew whom I was dealing with, I felt no need to pull the punches:

  ‘Lieutenant Gaters, the only reason your own family exists today, is they pushed aside the previous tribe: The Livs, or the Letts or whatever. And perhaps some of my ancestors, long ago, moved a few of the tribes they found as well. It happens, it’s natural. I’m not going to apologies for my family’s prosperity!’

  Somehow his scarred face hinted at satisfaction. He had goaded me into a class debate: ‘If that’s true, why not just let the kaiser push us all aside, Rooks? If it’s so natural?’

  Seskis taunted: ‘Maybe, he’d rather share space with the Germans, than us Latvians. Is that true Herr Rooks?’

  ‘No. No it is not.’ Though after this conversation who could say...

  I went over, moved my bag off my bunk, and climbed in. I stared at the ceiling. They didn’t realize the power I had. With one letter I could label them all communists and be done with them.

  I could hear them chuckling: derisive, victorious laughs. One letter, that’s all it would take.

  Lieutenant Gaters would head that list. Seskis, too, though I couldn’t recall if he had said anything blatantly communistic. Was he just belligerent? I’d need more time for observation. The blond had said little. What was his comment? I couldn’t remember.

  I started assembling the words of my report in my mind: ‘To the attention of Captain Vereshchagin…’

  *****

  Leaves of all sizes and colors blew across the late autumn field: apple red, oaken brown, cheddar yellow, caramel and amber with twisting veins of purple, even stunning, ghostly off-white. They moved back and forth over the fading grass in little formations of their own. Stopping and mixing, before being taken on their way again; Like the soldiers marching on this field.

  Yet, I thought, the leaves were better organized.

  The troops did not look good. Latvians culled from all the Russian battalions, they had not worked together long. Throw in a very substantial number of new recruits, obviously attracted to the idea of a Latvian army, and we had what could only be called a mess.

  Major Tentelis and his officers had quite the challenge ahead to turn these men into a battalion. Not my responsibility. I had quickly learned that a liaison officer has very little to do with troop development. I wasn’t in command of anyone, and rarely, if ever, needed. So far, I spent my days simply walking behind Major Tentelis, observing what he observed.

  The present drill required the men to march in waves toward targets at a short distance until their officer commanded them to stop. At that time the company would fall to the ground and await his orders to fire. Then they’d rise again, sprint ahead to burlap bags hanging on poles, and skewer them with bayonets. At command, they’d reform, turn around and begin an assault on the line of bags on the other side of the field. Again and again. All day long.

  For occasional variety, they’d be given sudden turns, expected to spin in unison as if on a parade ground, or fire their rifles at an arbitrary set angle determined by their officer.

  The company presently under scrutiny was commanded by our dear friend Lieutenant Seskis. His men were having more trouble than most. Whole groups of troops confused: turning opposite of their neighbors or firing at 45º when he called for 20º.

  I enjoyed his failures, but was curious as to the cause. At one point I dared to ask the major about the miscommunication.

  ‘Are these new commands sir?’ They seemed basic enough.

  He turned to me gruffly, looking as if my remark had been sarcastic.

  ‘Did I give you permission to speak, Lieutenant Rooks?’

  ‘No sir.’

  ‘Then don’t speak.’ But I could tell his pride would not let an implied criticism remain unanswered. Without turning around he added: ‘There are many raw recruits and the experienced ones are not used to hearing orders in Latvian.’

  ‘Permission to speak, sir?’

  He observed one charge until it was finished, barked out a critique to Seskis, and then turned toward me. ‘Permission granted, Rooks.’

  ‘Since time is of the essence, why not keep the orders in Russian, sir?’

  He turned his back and said nothing more to me for a very long time.

  *****

  As the day waned to dusk, the major and I made our way to the blond bookworm’s field. He too marched his men until they skewered stuffed dummies, but after a couple of passes I noticed he never gave the orders to stop, drop and fire. They only sprinted from one end of the field to the other. I found this unusual. So apparently did the major.

  ‘Lieutenant Juskevics, get over here!’ He screamed so loudly, I instinctively took a step back. There was something evil inside me that enjoyed the idea of my obnoxious bunkmates being given verbal thrashings.

  ‘Juskevics, what the hell are you doing? Your men haven’t fired a round.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Major, we were practicing closing with the enemy, sir.’

  ‘Everyone is practicing closing with the enemy Lieutenant. Why aren’t you giving the command to fire?’

  I noticed Juskevics didn’t wear his glasses in the field. It made him appear even younger than me. He couldn’t be a day over nineteen.

  ‘We were practicing shock tactics, sir. The principal being that the quicker you reach an entrenched enemy, the faster you remove his advantage and even your odds.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If we lay down in the field of fire, many men may not get up. Recent tactical trysts…’

  The major looked as if he’d explode. ‘Enough of this Lieutenant! I’ve told you before. If you don’t have the courage to tell your men to fire, I will find someone who will.’

  He looked at Juskevics with absolute disgust.

  ‘Lieutenant Rooks, get out there and have these men fire at something.’

  ‘Me, sir?’ I was a liaison officer, not an infantry commander!

  The great man grabbed my arm in his bear paw, pulled me around, and shoved me forward. ‘You Rooks! And have them fire at something, or I’ll line you and Juskevics up and have them shoot at the two of you.’

  I walked slowly past the exhausted troops, still panting from their sprints across the grass. I could see the confused look in their eyes. Who was this? What had their Lieutenant done? They could all hear the major’s tirade at Juskevics
. Wait until they found out I was German.

  I’d be lucky if they didn’t shoot me.

  I aligned myself behind their first row. My heart was pounding, mind racing to remember my own training, desperate to recall what I’d casually observed this whole day. I had no sword, no rifle. Nothing to indicate a command was being given other than my voice. I took in a deep breath, until my lungs couldn’t contain another atom and shouted ‘Forward!’

  With all my might.

  As loud as possible.

  In Russian.

  About two out of three stepped forward. Others slowly, independently, turned toward me their frowns deep and expressions confused. Seeing that their fellows had stopped, those marching came to a halt after a few steps, standing alone or walking back at leisurely, disorganized pace. The precise parade ground rows had merged into an amorphous clump of strolling, stationary, and befuddled soldiers with my one swift command. Everyone looked at me waiting for clarification. A buzz of questioning, Latvian voices rose off the field. Undeterred or unobservant, three or four solitary soldiers marched off into the sunset.

  I sighed and waited for the major’s comment. At least I hadn’t said it in German.

  ‘Rooks, get your ass over here!’

  *****

  I lay on my high bunk, uninvited while my fellow officers played card games. I thought about today’s humiliation. Embarrassed by Latvians in front of Latvians. Routinely denigrated by Latvians. And, for the most part, no one to blame but myself.

  It could not have gone worse.

  There was a rap on the post beam. Juskevics appeared, standing on the floor, his bespectacled head even with mine.

  ‘Lieutenant Rook?’

  ‘It’s Rooks…Yes?’ What now? Had he come to thank me for destroying my chance to steal his command?

  ‘Sorry. Rooks. I understand that you can read German?’

  What trap was this? ‘Yes.’

  ‘A friend of mine, in the Riga battalion, he sent me this book.’ He placed a thin, slightly faded pamphlet on the edge of my bunk. ‘Except, I can’t read it. It’s in German.’

  I rolled over, picking up the book with my right hand, and holding it out toward the light.

  It was faded and worn on the cover, but the pages were crisp and clean, like it had been wedged on a crowded shelf for quite a while. The German on the front was clear enough: The Field Service Regulations of 1908.

  ‘What is it?’ I said.

  ‘It’s a tactical manual, Lieutenant. It’s seven years old, but it’s what the Germans had been studying.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, I was hoping you might help me step inside the mind of our enemy.’

  Chapter Eight

  The tiny beads of perspiration reflected the moonlight off of Sergeant Licis’s skin, each a sparkling star in the constellation stretching across his darkened face. He remained crouching beneath the overhanging rock, a short distance from Juskevics and me. The electric torch beam held strong from the nearby field; a shivering yellow spot, revealing black-green moss, tiny flittering insects, and grey veins on the slate stone above the sergeant’s head.

  The moment the light’s oval disappeared he jumped up, his own torch flashing out into the valley. But it was too late, another beam, from another angle, shot down upon the rock close to where the last had vanished. With a brutal grunt, the sergeant recoiled again, taking cover from the light, waiting for it too to desist.

  And so it continued, there was no escape: One beam shining down for a few moments, only to be replaced in an instant with another, forcing the sergeant back into his position. All the while, they were getting closer, and there was nothing our man could do to protect us.

  Good.

  Then he came. Leaping over the embankment, he landed nearly atop the crouching Licis, shoving him back against the stone with one hand, flipping on his torch with the other. In the gleam, the sergeant’s craggy face grimaced.

  ‘That’s checkmate,’ said Juskevics.

  The sergeant unearthed a profanity as Juskevics and I stood up from our observation points in the cold trench. Juskevics made several rapid handclaps, a fluttering sound like startled city pigeons: ‘Excellent, excellent. Perfect work Ojars.’

  Sergeant Licis came up, a slightly embarrassed look to his countenance, but also a hint of pride, like a father first beaten by his son at a foot race. These were his men, after all.

  ‘I could never get a clear shot, Lieutenant. They had a beam on me the whole time.’

  Juskevics could barely contain himself. He swayed in an antsy motion, his eyes twitching back and forth from the men in front of him to images conjuring in his mind.

  He gave me a swift nudge to get my attention. ‘That’s it Rooks. This is exactly what the boys in the 6th and the 5th have been saying. Well done. Well done, everyone.’

  To my surprise Juskevics embraced me, hugged Licis and then raced off into the night to congratulate his remaining man in the field.

  Slowly, Sergeant Licis and I walked back toward the barracks, a large, waxing moon transforming the depths of night to silver-tinged dusk. I could see swaying tree shadows ahead with empty, spindly branches, like long greedy hands clawing at the shrubs and digging among the flat stones sheltered in the open grass.

  Yet, even with this visibility, Licis had been unable to stop the assault on his position.

  I watched Juskevics approach the last soldier armed only with a heavy electric torch, and characteristically he hugged him too, strolling toward the barracks with a hand over his shoulder, already giving encouragement for tomorrow’s drills. When required, he could be a far different man, little resembling the bookish, quiet resident of my lower bunk.

  ‘He sure does seem happy, Lieutenant,’ said Licis, a good-natured soldier that Juskevics referred to as the ‘best-sort’ of NCO.

  ‘He does indeed, Sergeant.’ Though honestly, I failed to quite see the significance of the achievement: Advancing two men in the dark against one was hardly safely moving an entire company under fire or breeching an entrenched enemy. Not even close.

  But whatever the reason, it had made Juskevics absolutely giddy.

  *****

  Juskevics and I entered the dark, silent Officer Quarters Number ‘5’ shutting the door as quietly as possible behind so to not to wake our slumbering roommates.

  ‘Please, Wiktor,’ his voice was barely hushed, ‘two minutes. I’ll keep my hand over the shade…’

  His enthusiasm was infectious. Using the moonlight seeping in through the lone window, I sorted through Juskevics’s stack of manuals finding the dog-eared Field Service Regulations near the bottom. Juskevics lit a small lamp, cupping the glass with his hand, the shadows retreating to the corners of the room. ‘There’s just one footnote I want you to read.’

  I swiftly thumbed through it, finding an illustration. ‘This one?’

  ‘No.’

  Seskis, on top his bunk across the room, turned a sleepy, night-swollen face toward us, then collapsed into the pillow again: ‘Uhhh…What are you doing?’

  ‘Me and Rooks are just checking some facts Mikelis, we won’t be a moment.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nearly three o’clock.’

  Muttering profanities, Seskis turned his face to the wall. Gaters, his voice muffled by the rags wrapped about his head: ‘What cathouse have you two been at?’

  ‘No cathouse, just trying some new tactics.’

  He moved the bandages aside, drops of moisture and salve slipping down his flattened face as he sat up. ‘In complete darkness?’

  ‘It may be a little too unconventional for the major.’

  Gaters blue eyes glimmered, nearly green in this light: ‘What? What is it?’

  Seskis screamed from his bunk: ‘Will you all go to bed? We have field exercises in two hours.’

  Gaters knocked on the bottom of Seskis’s bunk: ‘Keep a lid on it, Mikelis.’

  He crumpled his rags, soaking up the mixtur
e on his forehead. ‘What have you learned?’

  Juskevics was surprisingly cocky: ‘How to win, Guntis. Nothing more.’

  *****

  The spring rains fell hard in 1916. The mud made traction difficult, the German positions that much harder to assault. Gaters gave the order, and his men charged across the swampy field. The German rifles fired at will, smoke rising from each muzzle, linking with their neighbors to form a giant, grey caterpillar undulating above their entrenched lines. Men dove, men died, falling aside as Gaters, a vision of Satan in Hell with his tortured, reddened face, barked commands behind the drifting smoke, rising dust and writhing bodies, egging them on, driving them forward. At last, he ordered them to drop. Those still in line did so, and we could hear his struggling voice yell the command to fire.

  A few Germans fell stricken by Latvian bullets, but most sat safe beneath the earthen walls. By the time our troops were up and charging again, the Germans had reloaded, sending more Latvians spinning to earth. It was a massacre. Gaters had no choice but to call them back.

  This German infantry, entrenched on the embankment had kept Seskis’s third company pinned down most of the day as well. A flanking maneuver along the ridge had only resulted in sixteen dead and a tongue lashing by Major Tentelis. I’d watched his charging soldiers, Latvians yes, but still living, breathing men, falling, slipping into that ravine as the German guns found them, their bodies clogging the rapids flowing through the valley bottom.

  After these disastrous assaults, Gaters’s men at long last took the misty hill across the field from the German trenches. It seemed that victory was at hand. The enemy was now cut off from their fellows, the gap growing ever distant as German 8th withdrew to defend their fortified lines against the massive 12th army assault kilometers away.

  The Germans behind the embankment were left all alone, surrounded by our troops, with no hope of rejoining their army. Major Tentelis expected surrender. It did not come. Instead, within the hour, two more men were wounded having wandered within the surprising range of their rifles.