And like with a river or a fire, if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up drowned or burned. Having a pretty wife wasn’t a blessing when she thought her husband little better than the mulch on a stable floor.
The train slowed to a crawl. Their car was open to the elements, so the reduced speed converted the wind from a biting blast to a mild chill. Lieutenant Kral climbed inside, and all the men stood to face him.
“We’ll arrive soon. Bakhmach Station is where the lines from the west merge, then go east into Russia. Red guardsmen are holding one of the lines open. I’ve received mixed reports of their reliability, but for now, they’re working with us. Most of the German Army is to the west, but reports have come through of advance units already reaching Bakhmach. We can’t get the station by radio, so we’re not sure who has it. Our job is to keep the trains moving and throw out anyone not willing to cooperate.”
“For how long?” Dalek asked.
“Until the entire legion is evacuated.”
“What do we know of the First Division?” Filip asked.
“Communication has been sporadic. There was a battle in Kiev, with our men trying to hold the bridge over the Dnieper and the Germans trying to take it. We took some losses, but so did they.”
“Enough to stop them?” Dalek asked, a hopeful tone to his voice.
“As I said, communication has been off and on. But I expect the Germans are still at their heels.”
Dalek leaned against the stack of sandbags. “So the First Division is pulling back from Kiev toward Bakhmach, moving east. We’re going to Bakhmach, moving west. And the Germans are everywhere.”
“Add in the Bolsheviks fighting the Ukrainian Nationalists, and that about sums it up.” Kral looked around. “We’re unlikely to get more information until we reach Bakhmach. Stay together and follow orders. If something happens and you get separated, make for Russia—Kursk or Penza. We’ll try to gather stragglers here, but it will be easier to do in Russia, without the German Army to contend with.” Kral paused for questions, but there were none. “Sedlák, take a patrol to the left. See what you find and report back. Zeman, you take the rest and go right.”
The engine slowed further. Filip checked his Mosin-Nagant rifle. Not all the men had firearms, but most at least had grenades. And sometimes the eyes were the most valuable weapon. Everyone had those.
“I’ve never fought in a town before.” Anton stood next to Filip, checking the bolt of his rifle.
“You’ll be behind walls instead of inside a trench. Keep out of sight as much as possible. Don’t walk in the middle of the street because then they can shoot you from both sides. And don’t stop moving unless you’re sheltered.”
Anton nodded. He didn’t say much, not normally. Filip couldn’t tell if he was nervous or just clarifying tactics.
Filip was nervous. He’d done scout work before—that was the Družina’s specialty—but he usually went in quietly. He’d fought in battles before too, but always with a more thorough briefing. This time he was blind and exposed.
The train halted completely. They were on the outskirts of town, rather than at the station. He didn’t see anyone, which didn’t guarantee no one could see him, but they would have to risk it. “Come on.”
Filip climbed from the ore car and dropped to the ground, then made for the nearest shelter, some type of warehouse. Bits of gravel and rock crunched behind him as the other men followed. The sky was cloudy and dark, threatening rain or snow. He paused behind a wooden building and checked his men. Seven of them. “I assume the train station is that way.” He pointed along the track toward the center of town. “We’ll get the most important information there. Best if we observe first, then coordinate with the others if we need to attack. Dalek, Emil, get to the roof and observe from there. You have field glasses?”
Dalek nodded.
“Good. Watch yourselves. Don’t make silhouettes. You three”—he pointed to Petr and two recruits recently released from camps for Slavic war prisoners—“keep to the edge of town, note where the civilians are, and come back if you run into anything military. But find out who.” The Germans would want them dead, but the Ukrainians or the Russians might cooperate. “Use our standard small-group tactics. Two of you cover while the other moves.”
“Just like when we were tailing the grand duchess.” One of the new recruits chuckled. “But we’ll be avoiding bullets instead of glares.”
Filip almost laughed until it hit him that the grand duchess was Nadia, his wife in name only, and that they hadn’t delivered her to safety as they’d intended. The manor had become the Cheka’s killing ground the very next day, and Nadia had barely escaped.
He’d left everything behind once, except his pack and his rifle. He supposed that was something he and Nadia had in common. Maybe the only thing. But he’d crept away rather than run for his life, and his parents hadn’t been murdered. He’d deserted to the Družina and trusted them to look past his uniform and give him a chance to fight for something he didn’t despise. Nadia had fled to the Czechoslovak Legion for a chance to live. He’d found brotherhood and purpose. Only time could tell what Nadia would find.
Dalek and Emil disappeared behind a door with crooked hinges, and Petr’s group rushed ahead.
“You want me with you?” Anton asked.
“Yes. We’re taking a more direct route to the train station.”
Filip led Anton around the building and through a narrow alley. Had Dalek been the one following him, he would have made some quip about how “more direct” sounded a lot like “more dangerous,” but Anton didn’t seem to believe in unnecessary chatter. Unless it involved his wife. The two of them had plenty to say to each other, which didn’t at all ease the weight Filip felt from being assigned to lead this patrol. Anton and Veronika were happy. They wouldn’t be happy anymore if Filip fouled up and Anton ended up dead.
Of course, the lovebirds also wouldn’t be happy if the Germans captured Anton and shot him as a traitor. Technically, he was. Like Filip, Anton was a subject of Austria-Hungary. Or he had been in 1914; things were less clear now. Anton hadn’t voluntarily crossed the lines the way Filip had. When in a hopeless position, his unit had been captured by the Russians and made war prisoners. But regardless of whether defection or defeat had brought Anton to Russia, joining the Czechoslovak Legion would earn him a death sentence if caught.
“They’re up.”
Filip turned at Anton’s remark and caught sight of Dalek and Emil on the roof of the warehouse. In other circumstances, he would have waited for them to make their observations and report, but Kral was desperate for news. They didn’t have time for in-depth planning. They would have to rely on boldness instead.
Filip and Anton moved forward, doing their best to stay out of sight. The town was quiet—too quiet. If life in the town hadn’t been somehow interrupted, people would be going about their business as usual, selling, buying, cleaning, living. Instead, the streets were deserted.
“Hold up here and cover me.” Filip approached a house surrounded by a fence and sheltered by pine and hornbeam.
No one answered his knock. He pushed the door open, leading with his bayonet, then took a deep breath and rushed in. The room was abandoned. No one at the wooden table or beside the stove, but the stove still emitted warmth, and the air smelled of smoke. He moved aside a curtain that partitioned the room; no one was in the bed either.
He went back outside. Instinct made him pull his rifle to his shoulder as a man ran toward them. “Anton, get down! Never mind, it’s Dalek.” He lowered his weapon.