"That's not the right approach, Comrade," said Sorokin, in tones unexpectedly mild.
"Of course we must have discipline ... but there are things a thousand times more important than your discipline.... The will of the masses!
The revolutionary impulse must be encouraged, even if it should run counter to your science.... What if the operations of the Varnav Regiment are useless, what if they are even harmful! What the hell!
There's a revolution on. If you cross them nowadays, they simply call a meeting—I know those hotheads, they'll start yelling again that I am ruining the army for a drink."
He dashed over to the stove, and this time the glance he shot at Sokolovsky was full of fury.
"Hand over your report!"
Telegin immediately drew a paper from his pocket and placed it on the desk.
Pouncing upon it, the Commander in Chief ran his eyes over it and, with a shake of the pen, began writing:
"I command the Varnav Regiment to set out in marching order and perform its revolutionary duty."
When, however, he extended the paper towards his Chief of Staff, the latter, who had been regarding him with a mocking smile, retreated a step, and put his hands behind his back.
"You may have me committed to trial, but I shall not accept this order...."
Before he could finish speaking, Ivan Ilyich rushed forward and seized Sorokin by the wrist, just in time to prevent him raising his revolver.
Sokolovsky shielded the Chief of Staff with his body.
All four were breathing heavily.
Sorokin tore himself free, thrust his revolver back into his pocket, and went out of the room, banging the door so violently that pieces of stucco flew about.
Doors banged, and the sound of the Commander in Chief's furious steps died away;
The Chief of Staff began to speak in conciliating bass tones':
"I assure you, Comrades—if I had signed that order, the misfortune might have assumed enormous proportions."
"What misfortune?" asked Sokolovsky huskily, clearing his throat.
The Chief of Staff looked at him queerly.
"Can't you guess what I mean?"
"No."
The corners of Sokolovsky's eyelids quivered.
"I am speaking of our army...."
"Well, what about it?"
"I have no right to divulge military secrets to the commissar of a regiment.
You know that, don't you, Comrade?
You would be the first to have me shot for such conduct.... But we have gone too far.
Very well, then.... Take full responsibility upon yourself...."
He went up to a map pinned up on the wall, with tiny flags dotted about it.
Sokolovsky and Telegin moved up to him and stood behind him.
The Chief of Staff's shoulder blades twitched beneath his tunic—apparently he did not quite enjoy the hot breath from two mouths on the back of his neck.
But he calmly extracted a dirty toothpick from his pocket, and drew its chewed end over the map from the tricolour flags in the southern direction to the thickly concentrated red flags.
"That's where the Whites are," said the Chief of Staff.
"Where? Where?"
Sokolovsky moved close to the map, his bemused eyes roving over its surface.
"Why, that's Torgovaya...."
"Yes—it's Torgovaya.
And when it falls, the way will be almost clear for the Whites...."
"I don't understand. We thought the Whites were miles and miles ... to the north...."
"That's what we thought, Comrade Commissar—but the Whites thought differently.
Torgovaya is at present being attacked from several directions.
The Whites have airplanes and tanks.
This is no Kornilov band.... They work along interior lines, striking at will.
The initiative is in their hands...."
"Dmitri Shelest's Iron Division is north of Torgovaya," said Telegin.
"Smashed...."
"And the cavalry brigade?"
"Smashed...."
Sokolovsky craned forward to see the map better.