“You must see to it that a committee is formed immediately in the Battalion of Death, and that she,” pointing at me, “ceases to punish the women!”
I was thunderstruck. All the officers in the room strained their ears. There was a tense moment. I felt my blood rush to my head like a flame. I was furious.
With two violent jerks I tore off my epaulets and threw them into the face of the War Minister.
“I refuse to serve under you!” I exclaimed. “Today you are one way, tomorrow, the opposite. You allowed me once to run the Battalion without a committee. I shall not form any committees! I am going home.”
I flung these words at Kerensky, who had turned very red, before anyone in the room had recovered from the shock, ran out of the house, threw myself into the Corps Commander’s motor and ordered his chauffeur to drive to Redki instantly.
A friend of the Chief of Staff, Kostiayev, told me later that there was a great commotion as soon as I left the room. Kerensky was furious at first.
“Shoot her!” he ordered in a fury.
“Minister,” said General Valuyev, the Commander of the Tenth Army, in my defence, “I have known Bochkareva for three years. She first tasted war as a member of my Corps. She suffered more than any other soldier at the front, because she suffered both as a woman and as a soldier. She was always the first to volunteer for any enterprise, thus serving as an example. She is a plain soldier and a word is a pledge to her. If she had been promised the command of the Battalion without the aid of a committee, she would never understand a violation of the pledge.”
The Commander of my Corps and other officers also spoke up for me. Finally some remembered that Kerensky had abolished capital punishment.
“Capital punishment has been abolished, Minister,” they said. “If Bochkareva is to be shot, then why not let us shoot some of those fifteen hundred deserters who are raising the devil here?”
Kerensky then abandoned the thought of shooting me, but insisted before departing from Molodechno that I should be tried and punished. The trial never took place.
The Corps Commander was very agitated when he discovered that I had disappeared with his car. He had to borrow one to get to Redki, and although pleased in his heart with my outburst he decided to give me a scolding and remind me of discipline. I was too excited and nervous to do anything when I returned from Molodechno, and so lay down in my barrack, trying to picture what would now become of the Battalion. I knew I had committed a serious breach of discipline and reproached myself for it.
I was called before the Commander late in the afternoon, and he reprimanded me for my unmilitary conduct. The General’s rebuff was severe. I acknowledged every point of it without argument, recognizing that my behaviour was unpardonable.
The hour for dinner came, and I went to Headquarters. The scene at the table was one of suppressed merriment. Everybody knew of what had happened at Molodechno. The officers winked knowingly and exchanged smiles. I was the hero of the secret rejoicing. Nobody dared to laugh out loud, for the General at the head of the table had assumed a grave expression, as if struggling not to sanction by an incautious smile the clandestine mirth of the Staff over my treatment of Kerensky. Finally the General could not preserve his gravity any longer and joined in the laughter. The restraint was removed.
“Bravo, Bochkareva!” one of the men exclaimed.
“That’s the way to treat him,” said another.
“As if there weren’t enough committees in the army, he wants still more!” spoke a third.
“He himself abolished capital punishment, and now he orders her to be shot!” laughed a fourth.
The officers were plainly hostile toward Kerensky. Why? Because they saw that Kerensky did not understand the temper of the Russian soldier. His flying excursions to the front perhaps left Kerensky and the world with the impression that the army was a living, powerful, intelligent organism. The officers who were with the soldiers day and night knew that the same crowd which had given an enthusiastic welcome to Kerensky an hour before would accord a similar reception to a Bolshevist or Anarchist agitator. Above all, it was Kerensky’s development of the committee system in the army that had undermined his reputation with officers.
After dinner I applied to the General for seven officers and twelve men instructors to accompany the Battalion to the trenches. One of the officers, a young Lieutenant named Leonid Grigorievitch Filippov, was recommended to me for the post of adjutant in battle. Filippov was known as a brave fellow, as he had escaped from a German prison camp. I addressed to the group of instructors a warning to the effect that if any of them were unable to consider my soldiers as men it would be better for them not to join the Battalion, and thus avoid unpleasantness in the future.
The Battalion was assigned to the 172nd Division, situated within four miles of Redki, in the village of Beloye. We were met by the units in reserve, who were drawn up to welcome us, with great enthusiasm.
It was a sunny day in midsummer. We spent little time at Division Headquarters. After lunching we resumed our march, having been further assigned to the 525th Kuriag-Daryiuski Regiment, about a mile from Beloye and a little over a mile from the fighting line. We arrived at Senki, the Regimental Headquarters, after sunset and were met by a “shock battalion,” formed of volunteer soldiers for offensive warfare. There were many such battalions scattered throughout the army, comprising in their ranks the best elements of the Russian forces.
Two barns were placed at
