“And you?” She hoped he wasn’t a Bolshevik. He’d proven himself far kinder than the men from the Cheka, but what if his beliefs grew more radical? She’d seen it happen before—a peasant who wanted his own land being whipped into a fury and wanting not only land but noble blood as well.
“Me? I’ll be happy to see the end of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. That’s why I joined the Družina. And why I’ve convinced a few hundred men to join the legion.”
Revolt. Revolution. They were closely tied. She was safer with the Czechoslovak Legion than she was with the Cheka, but she couldn’t relax. They might be her traveling companions, but they were not sympathetic allies.
The journey to Vladivostok would normally take eight days, but the legion was large, so it would move slowly. The Trans-Siberian Railroad had fallen into disrepair with the war, and she’d seen a portion of the motley collection of passenger coaches and freight wagons the legion had gathered so far. Most were old. The journey would take longer than usual. Significantly longer if any of the local authorities slowed them down. She would have to be vigilant until they reached the Pacific Ocean.
Penza and the surrounding villages were full of legionnaires gathering for the journey to France. The number of foreign troops must have made the Soviets nervous, because they’d set up a checkpoint manned with red guardsmen. She’d grown used to the Bolshevik soldiers, even if she didn’t feel at ease around them, but she stopped in her tracks when she noticed that the man commanding them wore a black coat—a leather one.
It was a Cheka agent. And she recognized him.
“What is it?” Filip asked as people behind them bumped into and brushed past them.
Nadia swallowed and managed a whisper. “That’s the man who killed my parents.”
Filip’s hand went to his pistol. “Is he the one who ripped your blouse?”
“No.” But the other man might be nearby.
“We’ve been ordered to stay neutral in Russian affairs. I can’t provoke him.”
“You aren’t going to turn me over to him, are you?”
“No! No, but I can’t confront him, not in a crowd.” Filip pulled her along toward the man. He shifted the packages into one arm and put his other arm around her shoulders. “If we move against the crowd, we’ll attract more attention, so we’ll have to go through. Pull your scarf down a bit and look at the ground.”
Nadia tugged on the fabric and kept her eyes away from the Chekist.
“Good, now hunch your shoulders like you grew up working in the fields. We’re just a couple returning to the trains. Try to relax your muscles a little.” His hand brushed her shoulder. “There, like that.”
Nadia’s chest felt tight. Her knees still bore bruises from kneeling before the agent and pleading for mercy. Not that it had done any good. The man had been absolutely merciless.
“Breathe,” Filip whispered.
She focused on that, filling her lungs with air and then emptying them. Now wasn’t the time to think of her parents’ desecrated bodies or of the man who’d attacked her in the stable. She had to trust Filip to get her through the checkpoint. Nadia moved closer to him, pretending they were a happy couple, just like Veronika and her husband or Larisa and hers.
“We’ll make it.” Filip handed her one of the packages. “And if not, I’ve got my pistol.”
“I thought you were supposed to stay neutral?”
“That changes if someone threatens my wife.”
It seemed she had acquired not just a husband but also a defender. Her money and her family had once protected her, but now they were gone. She never would have expected a Czech corporal to take up that role.
Filip’s arm relaxed on her shoulder. “We’re past.” With his words, Nadia felt relief and gratitude settle into the internal spots that had so recently been occupied by fear and worry.
***
Dalek had worked as a telegraph clerk in the Austro-Hungarian Army, so he wasn’t surprised when Kral sent him to the Penza telegraph office. “Any messages for the Sixth Regiment?” he asked when he arrived.
“No.” The Russian official didn’t even look up from his desk.
Dalek nodded and was about to leave when the equipment behind the man caught his eye. It looked brand-new, far better than anything he’d used before. The man at the desk wasn’t paying attention, so Dalek went to take a closer look. “May I?” he asked a clerk.
Excitement lit up the man’s pockmarked face. “We replaced the hammer just yesterday and shined up the wiring post. I’ll show you.” Then he frowned and placed a hand over the left side of his headphones. “In a minute.”
A blast of cold air swirled around the room as someone walked inside. Dalek looked over his shoulder to see a Cheka agent in a black leather greatcoat clicking his heels together and saluting.
“Comrade Abramov,” the Chekist said.
“At ease, Comrade Orlov.”
“I was told to report.”
“Yes. What would you suggest we do with the Czechs?”
Dalek forgot all about the fancy telegraph equipment and focused on the conversation going on behind him. He took his cap off so the red and white ribbon members of the legion wore wouldn’t be noticeable. The clerk was still writing out the incoming telegram, so Dalek grabbed another pair of headphones and pretended he worked there. The legion was clothed in surplus Russian uniforms, so if he kept his mouth shut and if Abramov forgot he’d come in asking about messages for the Sixth Regiment, he might get away with it.
The Cheka man took his time answering. “What would you suggest, comrade?”
Abramov chuckled. “Answering a question with a question?” Papers crackled. “The first orders we received said to get them out of the way as soon as possible. Free the railroads, remove a potential threat.”
“A threat?”
“There are a lot of them. And they have better training than most guardsmen.”
“Yes. Their discipline is admirable, something I wish more of my men had. There is wisdom in that order. Let them clog up the rail lines in Vladivostok or Arkhangelsk. We need local rails to function with speed.”
Dalek hoped that meant they’d be given the engines they needed soon.
The clerk finished his message, put it aside, and motioned to the telegraph key. “Now this—” He stopped as another incoming message sounded, then he sighed and returned to his work, hunching over as if the new position might improve his hearing.
Behind them, Abramov rustled his papers. “The next instructions suggested we keep them nearby, on this side of the Urals, where there is plenty of bread. We could use them, should we wage war against the Germans again. Or against the White movement, for that matter. The local commissar is eager to recruit from their ranks.”
Dalek forced his hands to relax. The Reds wanted the legion to fight for them? Not a chance. The legion was just passing through Russia on its way to France. They weren’t here to fight the Bolsheviks’ opponents.
Orlov’s voice was quiet. “So that is what we will do. Use them to further the revolution.”
Another shuffle of papers, and Abramov’s voice again. “This one says to halt them here.”
Three different orders. Each more threatening than the last.
The clerk finished taking down the message and stood. Dalek watched as the clerk strode to Abramov. He feared the clerk would remind the official that a legionnaire was still in the office. Instead, he simply handed over the telegram.
Abramov shook his head after reading it. “This one says to disarm them.”
Disarmament? That would leave the legion vulnerable. He’d heard rumors about the bandits and warlords who roamed Siberia. The legion needed the ability to defend themselves when they were sent through that lawless mess. The Bolsheviks were either crazy, or they were becoming a serious threat to the legion’s survival.
“Shall I organize it, comrade?” Orlov’s voice carried a hint of enthusiasm.
“Not at this time,” Abramov said. “There are three thousand of them here, with more coming, and only two thousand of us. We have more artillery, but they have more cohesion. I prefer to avoid battle.”