He would gladly have torn Denikin into pieces if he could only have laid hands on him.
But he was angriest of all with his comrades, the members of the Black Sea Central Executive Committee, who had fled to Pyatigorsk from Ekaterinodar.
Their sole care had been to find measures for checking Sorokin's dictatorial tendencies. They had disregarded the most urgent orders, interfered in everything, and tried to pry into the innermost being of the Supreme Commander with their Marx-this and Marx-that.
The blonde Zena once more appeared in Sorokin's lounge car—a mark of Belyakov's care.
Zena was as rosy and seductive as ever, though now a trifle hoarse; her silk blouses and her guitar had been stolen on the march.
Her bearing towards the Supreme Commander was more independent than it had been before.
During the night, when the blinds were pulled down and Sorokin surrendered to a gloomy half-drunken exultation, Zena, after strumming for a while on the balalaika, would, like Belyakov, ramble on about the imminent end of the revolution, and the brilliant career of Napoleon, who had known how to bridge, the gulf between the Jacobin terror and the throne.... Sorokin's eyes would burn and his heart beat wildly, sending the hot blood, thinned with spirits, to the brain.... He would tear aside the blind and gaze out of the window into the darkness of the night, which seemed to be filled with the reflections of his delirious imaginings....
The onslaught of the Whites was slackening.
The Red Army at last managed to gain a foothold on the left bank of the Upper Kuban, and entrench itself.
By this time Commander of the Iron Division, Dmitri Shelest had returned from Tsaritsyn through the Kirghiz steppe, bringing with him a fleet of motor lorries, two hundred thousand rounds of ammunition, and an order for the Caucasian forces to turn north, to the aid of Tsaritsyn, now surrounded by the White Cossack army of Ataman Krasnov.
Sorokin refused point-blank to comply with this order.
The Ukrainian regiments, sick of fighting so far from their homes, were chafing and deserting, deaf to his entreaties and threats.
The only person able to hold some of the troops back was Shelest, who, born and bred in Poltava, could talk to them as a peasant to peasants, slowly, reasonably, meting out praise to them and to himself.
The Ukrainians saw that this was no mere outsider, but one of their own elders, and obeyed him.
Dmitri Shelest led them into action, and they routed a strong officers' unit at Nevinnomysskaya.
And Sorokin had burned with hatred towards him ever since.
Congratulating Shelest on his victory, he appointed him commander of a sector of the front, and the same day gave secret orders to disarm his units and shoot him and his entire staff.
Getting wind of this, Shelest and his Iron Division, now swollen by a following of Ukrainians, left the front, and marched across the salt steppe and shifting sands, upon Tsaritsyn, in compliance with the order of the Revolutionary Military Council of the 10th Army.
Sorokin's next step was to proclaim him an outlaw, and impose the duty of shooting him on every Red Army man; he also forbade anyone to supply the Iron Division with forage.
But Shelest marched, off, and no man's hand was raised against him.
If he found himself short of forage on the way, Shelest would ride into some village, take off his Cossack cap, and beg, with tears in his eyes, for hay, oats and bread from the Village Executive Committee, explaining that it was not he, but Supreme Commander Sorokin, who was a traitor and a White bandit.
Very soon came another blow to Sorokin's pride: Kozhukh, whom everyone had given up for lost, arrived from over the mountains and took Armavir by storm, driving the Whites across the river Kuban.
The Taman troops either fulfilled Sorokin's orders grudgingly, or totally disobeyed them.
Hardened by the arduous march, the Taman army was now the backbone of the disorganized Sorokin forces and took up strong positions all along the Armavir—Nevinnomysskaya—Stavropol line.
Autumn had come, and long, bloody battles were being fought for the rich city of Stavropol.
And everywhere the Taman troops were in the forefront of the battle.
Denikin's army had received reinforcements too—a wild band of human riffraff, formed into a kind of wolf pack by the White guerilla Shkuro, himself a scamp, a cutthroat, and a desperado.
Sorokin’s staff was transferred to Pyatigorsk, and he himself did not appear at the front any more. A new regime was descending upon the Caucasus, the Moscow influence had penetrated here, and was making itself felt more and more.
It began with the decision of the Territorial Party Committee to call a revolutionary military council.
Not venturing to oppose Moscow, Sorokin had to submit.
The Revolutionary Military Council was composed of quite new elements.
The authority of the Supreme Commander was transferred to its executive body.
Sorokin, who realized that his very life was at stake, put up a desperate fight.
He sat silent and morose through the sessions of the Council, but whenever he did speak, he fought for every point.
And he always got his own way, because the troops concentrated in Pyatigorsk were loyal to him.
He was feared, and with reason.
He sought an opportunity to show his power, and one was soon forthcoming.
Martinov, Commander of the Second Taman Column, announced at a military conference in Armavir his refusal to obey the Supreme Commander's orders.
Sorokin immediately demanded Martinov's head of the Revolutionary Military Council, threatening complete anarchy in the army.
There was no way of saving Martinov, who was summoned to Pyatigorsk, arrested, and shot in front of the army.
A storm raged throughout the Taman regiments, who swore vengeance.
A new staff was formed for the Supreme Commander.
Belyakov was dismissed, and Sorokin made no attempt to stick up for him.
The ex-Chief of Staff handed over his papers and moneys, and went to the quarters of his former friend to demand an explanation.
Sorokin was pacing up and down the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
An oil lamp stood on the table, beside it his dinner, untouched, and an opened bottle of vodka.
Through the window could be seen the thickly-wooded slopes of Mashuk, in dark silhouette against the sombre colours of the sunset.
Sorokin glanced up for a moment at the newcomer, and resumed his pacing of the floor.
Belyakov seated himself at the table, his head bowed.
Sorokin stopped in front of him, jerking up one shoulder.