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 Botchkareva 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 Botchkareva 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, Botchkareva!” one of the men exclaimed.