The headquarters of the Second Guards Corps had already been under the control of the Revolutionary Committee for several days.
The portraits of the Emperor had long since disappeared from the walls.
Some of the former officers had been arrested.
Others were under house arrest.
A few had agreed to continue serving under committee supervision.
The old order had collapsed with remarkable speed.
But now Yevgenia Bosch faced a far more difficult question.
Seizing power had proven easier than deciding what to do with it.
The leadership of the Revolutionary Committee gathered in the former office of the corps commander.
Maps of railway lines covered the table.
Telegrams from Petrograd lay beside them.
The latest committee resolutions were stacked nearby.
Several delegates had been arguing for nearly an hour.
—"The corps should remain where it is," one insisted. —"We must first consolidate our authority within the units."
—"And how long should we wait?" another replied. —"A month? Two? Half a year?"
—"As long as necessary."
—"By then the enemies of the revolution will have had time to prepare."
The discussion grew louder.
Bosch listened in silence.
She had long noticed that many revolutionaries preferred talking about seizing power to discussing what came afterward.
Eventually one of the delegates turned toward her.
—"Comrade Bosch, what do you think?"
The room gradually fell silent.
Bosch rose from her chair.
—"I think we are discussing the wrong question."
Several men frowned.
—"Why?"
—"Because the issue is not whether we stay or move."
She stepped toward the map.
—"The issue is who will exercise power in Ukraine."
The word Ukraine carried no particular national meaning in her voice.
Not as a nation.
Not as a state-building project.
Simply as the territory where the revolution was unfolding.
—"In Petrograd, power belongs to the Council of People's Commissars."
She traced a finger across the map.
—"Yet here there are people who believe they can create an alternative center of authority."
One of the committee members immediately understood.
—"You mean the Central Rada."
—"Of course."
—"But they are socialists as well."
Bosch allowed herself a faint smile.
—"There are many socialists these days."
Several people chuckled.
—"The name of a party is not the issue. The question is whether they recognize the authority of the Soviets."
Everyone already knew the answer.
That was why the room fell silent again.
One delegate cautiously asked:
—"Are you proposing action against Kyiv?"
—"I am proposing that we do not wait for Kyiv to act against the revolution."
This time there were far fewer objections.
Such ideas had already circulated among activists for weeks.
Now they were being voiced openly.
The meeting continued for several more hours.
They discussed the corps' capabilities.
The number of trains available.
The condition of the railways.
Food supplies.
Communications.
With every new report, one fact became increasingly obvious: the Second Guards Corps remained a formidable force.
Even after the collapse of the army.
Even after the decline of discipline.
Tens of thousands of armed men were still tens of thousands of armed men.
Toward the end of the meeting, a former frontline soldier asked the question that concerned many of those present.
—"Will the soldiers even agree to go anywhere?"
Several men exchanged glances.
It was a fair question.
The war had entered its fourth year.
Most soldiers dreamed of home.
Not of a new campaign.
Bosch did not answer immediately.
—"Not all of them."
—"Then what?"
—"Enough of them will move first."
She paused briefly.
—"The rest will follow."
After the meeting, new appeals from the Revolutionary Committee spread throughout the corps.
Meetings followed one after another.
On parade grounds.
Near railway stations.
Outside barracks.
Speakers talked about defending the revolution.
About fighting counterrevolution.
About supporting Soviet authority.
The reaction varied.
Some listened with genuine enthusiasm.
Others applauded simply because everyone around them did.
Still others were openly bored.
For many soldiers, the most important question was neither Petrograd nor Kyiv.
It was when the war would finally end.
At one station, a young soldier sat on a crate beside a train and listened to yet another speech.
His friend sat nearby.
—"Do you know where they're sending us?"
—"No."
—"Neither do I."
They were silent for a few seconds.
—"They say we're going to defend the revolution."
—"Let them defend it."
—"What about us?"
—"Looks like we're going for the ride."
His companion laughed.
Such attitudes were becoming increasingly common.
Not hatred.
Not enthusiasm.
Simple exhaustion.
Yet the Revolutionary Committee was not relying on individuals.
It was relying on the mass.
On momentum.
On the inertia of events.
A few days later, the first trains began leaving the corps' deployment area.
Locomotives slowly pulled long columns of railcars southward.
Across snow-covered tracks.
Through stations and junctions.
Toward events whose true scale most of the soldiers still could not imagine.
Back at the former corps headquarters, Bosch received another telegram from Petrograd.
After reading it, she stared at the map for a long time.
Then she carefully folded the paper.
And for the first time in many days, allowed herself a faint smile.
The march had begun.
The first alarming reports reached Kyiv before most members of the Central Rada fully understood the seriousness of the situation.
At first they were isolated telegrams from railway workers.
Then came reports from local commissioners.
After that arrived messages from Ukrainian organizations across the region.
Taken separately, none of them appeared especially threatening.
Gradually, however, they formed a clear picture.
The Second Guards Corps was moving toward Kyiv.
In one of the offices of the Central Rada, several officials had spent hours sorting through the incoming documents.
Telegrams.
Reports.
Railway maps.
One secretary rapidly flipped through a stack of papers.
—"Another message from a station."
—"What now?"
—"They confirm the passage of another train."
Another official frowned.
—"How many have already passed?"
—"No one knows exactly."
The answer pleased no one.
The main problem remained the lack of reliable information.
Everyone understood that the corps was moving.
No one could say with certainty how many units were already on the way.
Before long, the matter was brought before the leadership of the Rada.
The atmosphere there proved far more tense than usual.
Only days earlier many deputies had been discussing administrative reforms, budgets, and the organization of authority within the Ukrainian People's Republic.
Now the discussion centered on something entirely different.
Mykhailo Hrushevskyi listened attentively to the latest report.
When the speaker finished, silence settled over the room for several seconds.
Volodymyr Vynnychenko spoke first.
—"We should avoid drawing hasty conclusions."
Several people immediately turned toward him.
—"Why?"
—"Because so far we are only seeing troop movements."
Symon Petliura frowned.
—"Not simply troops. Troops under Bolshevik control."
He tapped a document lying before him.
Vynnychenko shrugged.
—"That is all the more reason to seek a political solution."
—"A political solution?"
A noticeable edge entered Petliura's voice.
—"They have already seized control of an entire corps."
—"They still call themselves socialists."
—"And what exactly does that change?"
Vynnychenko remained silent for a moment before replying.
—"It means negotiations are still possible."
From the opposite side of the table, Dmytro Doroshenko finally spoke.
Until then he had watched the exchange quietly.
—"Negotiations are useful only when both sides want an agreement."
The room fell silent again.
Doroshenko continued.
—"If an armed corps is advancing toward Kyiv, the first responsibility of the government is to guarantee the security of the state."
—"The state?" one socialist repeated.
—"Precisely the state."
Doroshenko met his gaze calmly.
—"We have proclaimed a republic. If we are unwilling to defend its existence ourselves, no one else will do it for us."
Petliura gave a slight nod.
For once, their positions were nearly identical.
Hrushevskyi remained silent for some time.
Then he looked down at the map before him.
—"What forces can we use?"
It was an uncomfortable question.
Everyone in the room already knew the answer.
The Central Rada did not possess enough reliable military forces of its own.
The Ukrainian Army existed.
But it did not answer directly to the Rada.
In practice, it had been organized and built by Skoropadskyi.
That was why the discussion gradually began revolving around a single name.
At first cautiously.
Then more openly.
Finally Petliura spoke it aloud.
—"We need Skoropadskyi."
Several people immediately grimaced.
Relations between the general and many of the socialist leaders of the Rada remained strained.
They had argued too often in recent months.
Their visions for Ukraine differed too greatly.
Yet this was no longer a matter of political preferences.
It was a matter of protecting the capital.
One deputy spoke with obvious displeasure.
—"He will only increase his influence."
Petliura looked at him with poorly concealed irritation.
—"And the Bolsheviks will reduce it?"
No one answered.
The question was too obvious.
Vynnychenko stared thoughtfully out the window for several moments before speaking.
—"If we turn to him, his authority and responsibilities must be clearly defined."
Petliura allowed himself a brief smile.
—"If that corps is truly advancing on Kyiv, authority will soon belong to whoever can stop it."
This time even many of Skoropadskyi's opponents chose not to argue.
The reports continued arriving.
Each hour brought more disturbing news.
By the end of the meeting, a decision had been reached.
Not unanimously.
Not enthusiastically.
But it had been reached.
They would contact Skoropadskyi immediately and discuss the situation.
As the participants began leaving the room, Petliura remained behind near the map.
For several moments he studied the railway lines in silence.
Then he spoke quietly.
—"I hope we are not already too late."
No one answered.
Because no one yet knew the answer.
The following day, a special train carrying representatives of the Central Rada was already on its way to Skoropadskyi's headquarters.
By that point, Pavlo Skoropadskyi had already received the first reports concerning the situation.
Bezruchko's intelligence summaries.
Information from Ukrainian organizations along the railways.
Reports from his own officers serving in various formations of the Russian Army.
For that reason, the arrival of the delegation from Kyiv came as no surprise.
When the visitors were escorted into the штаб carriage, Skoropadskyi was already standing beside a large map.
Oleksandr Sliwinski, Marko Bezruchko, and several senior staff officers stood nearby.
After the formal greetings, the conversation quickly moved to the matter at hand.
One of the representatives from the Rada spread several telegrams across the table.
—"According to our information, the Second Guards Corps has begun moving toward Kyiv."
Skoropadskyi calmly nodded.
—"Yes."
The answer made several members of the delegation exchange glances.
—"You already know?"
—"We do."
He pointed at the map.
—"The first trains left several days ago."
The representatives of the Rada visibly straightened.
—"Then you understand the seriousness of the situation."
This time Sliwinski spoke.
—"We understood the seriousness of the situation before your arrival."
There was no hostility in his voice.
Only a statement of fact.
One of the socialists frowned.
Skoropadskyi noticed but did not intervene.
Instead, he stepped toward the map.
—"The problem is not the corps itself."
One of the delegates raised an eyebrow.
—"Not the corps?"
—"No."
Skoropadskyi traced several railway lines with a pencil.
—"The problem is that its appearance near Kyiv could trigger a chain reaction. Bolshevik activists inside the city will become more active, demonstrations will begin, panic will spread, and some garrisons may start wavering."
Now everyone was listening carefully.
—"Even if the corps cannot capture Kyiv by itself, it can create enough chaos to make the situation extremely dangerous."
No one objected.
That was precisely what many in Kyiv feared.
One of the delegates cautiously asked:
—"Can you stop it?"
Skoropadskyi remained silent for a few seconds.
Then he looked toward Sliwinski.
The chief of staff immediately understood.
He stepped closer to the map.
—"Allow me to explain."
Unfolding another railway diagram, Sliwinski began speaking.
Not like a politician.
Not like an orator.
Like an officer of the General Staff.
—"Most people see the Second Guards Corps as a single military formation. In reality, it is already stretched across several directions, its units are moving in separate trains, communication between them is limited, and its command relies almost entirely on the railways and telegraph."
Several representatives of the Rada were already beginning to understand.
Sliwinski continued.
—"If we deprive the corps of its ability to act as a unified formation, it will cease to be a corps."
One of the delegates frowned.
—"So you intend to attack it piecemeal?"
—"No."
The answer was so calm that several people looked surprised.
—"Then what?"
A faint smile appeared on Sliwinski's face.
—"We do not intend to attack it at all."
The room fell silent.
Even the staff officers watched the reaction of the visitors with interest.
—"We intend to isolate it."
At that point Bezruchko stepped toward the map.
—"According to our intelligence, several groups of trains are moving with significant gaps between them."
He pointed toward a number of stations.
—"Here. Here. And here."
Then he indicated several railway junctions.
—"If we secure these points, communication between the different groups will be disrupted. They will lose the ability to coordinate quickly and will begin receiving contradictory information."
One of the delegates looked at the map.
—"And that is enough?"
This time Skoropadskyi answered.
—"For revolutionary committees, yes."
The man looked at him with confusion.
Skoropadskyi continued.
—"An army exists because of command and control, not because of slogans, meetings, or resolutions."
He tapped the map lightly with his finger.
—"Remove communication, coordination, and leadership, and what remains is not a corps but tens of thousands of men carrying rifles."
The room became quiet once more.
For the first time, everyone clearly understood the plan.
No grand battle.
No frontal assault.
No bloody struggle outside Kyiv.
A carefully planned operation against the corps' system of command.
One of the representatives of the Rada spoke thoughtfully.
—"It could work."
—"It can," Skoropadskyi agreed, "provided we move quickly."
From that point onward, the discussion shifted entirely toward operational preparations.
Bezruchko presented new intelligence reports.
Sliwinski refined routes and timetables.
Staff officers marked stations on maps.
Only then did one of the visitors ask the question that had remained unspoken until now.
—"What forces will be used?"
This time Skoropadskyi answered immediately.
—"The infantry will remain on the front."
Several delegates looked surprised.
—"Entirely?"
—"Entirely."
He had no intention of weakening the front for the sake of a single corps.
Even a corps moving toward Kyiv.
—"The operation will be carried out by the three cavalry divisions."
At last Bolbochan, who had remained silent until then, joined the conversation.
—"Speed matters more than numbers. We do not need to occupy cities or storm fortified positions. We need to reach the stations before they do."
For the first time since arriving, even the representatives of the Rada began to relax slightly.
Someone was finally speaking not about fears, but about an actual plan.
By the end of the meeting, the decision had been finalized.
The operation would begin immediately.
And while politicians in Kyiv were still debating, the Ukrainian Army had already started moving.