Chapter Sixteen
The hospital train had been relatively calm since they’d left the Ukraine, but that wasn’t the case anymore. Nadia spent the afternoon of the attack caring for the wounded. Most of the next day too. The injured red guardsmen had been carried to a nearby warehouse, and she had spent time there as well. They’d attacked the legion, so they were the enemy, but they were also men who needed help.
Few acted like committed Bolsheviks. Since the fall of the tsar, Russia had been buried in waves of chaos and violence. If people didn’t join a side, they were susceptible, made a victim by all sides. In some ways, they weren’t so different from Nadia. She’d joined the legion for protection. She approved of their cause, but even if she hadn’t, she doubted ideology would have stopped her. Her choice had been to join the legion or die at the hands of the Cheka. How many men had joined the red guard to escape starvation or to keep from being alone when the next round of violence broke out?
Nadia changed bandages on a man who’d been shot in the stomach. He moaned. She hadn’t tended many stomach wounds before. Most men injured in the gut didn’t survive long enough for transfer to a Petrograd hospital like the one where she’d volunteered. It was overwhelming to think of how many men she’d seen and how it was only a tiny portion of the war’s wounded.
When Nadia finished in the warehouse, she returned to the boxcar for Czechoslovak wounded. Larisa sat with Petr, both on the floor because the hospital car didn’t have beds. Larisa smiled up at her as she approached. She had never smiled at Nadia before.
“How is he?” Nadia had tended Petr that morning, and he’d been well then.
“Stronger than yesterday, I think. Thank you. He says you’re a good nurse.”
Surprise left Nadia momentarily mute. Had Larisa really given her a compliment instead of a snicker because she didn’t know how to braid her own hair or wash her own clothes? She swallowed, then managed a soft, “You’re welcome.”
She checked the other men in the boxcar, all stable, most improving, then stood to stretch after changing the bandages on someone’s legs. She nearly bumped into her husband.
“Filip, you’re back!”
Stubble covered his cheeks, and his hair curled with whimsy. She felt warm inside, seeing him there safe and whole. And . . . had he come to see her? She wanted to throw her arms around him. She’d been worried about him, and rumors of some sort of incident at Chelyabinsk had made the worry worse. But he might not welcome an embrace. Perhaps he’d come to the hospital car for treatment.
“Are you well?” she asked.
He nodded, and a soft smile creased his lips. “We pulled in a few minutes ago, and I wanted to check on you. No sign of Orlov or Zeman since we left?”
“None.”
“Good.” He glanced around at the casualties. “I see you’re busy. I don’t want to interrupt your work.” He stepped toward the exit.
Was he leaving already? “I haven’t had a break all day. No one will mind if I step out for a few minutes.” She was being too bold, but the orderly would stay with the wounded, and she hadn’t seen Filip in weeks.
To her relief, he seemed pleased. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
She watched him hop down, and then she quickly refilled a few canteens.
Filip smiled when she joined him, and that warm feeling inside returned. She could do far worse than Filip when it came to husbands. But that was a silly thought. Their marriage was just a ruse.
Ruse or not, she took his arm when he offered it, and they strolled along the train depot. It wasn’t the most scenic of excursions, but the company was pleasant. She told him about the attack, and he answered all her questions about Chelyabinsk, ending with a summary.. “Trotsky ordered any armed Czechs shot on the spot and everyone else forced into the Red Army or one of the work battalions. So I guess we’re at war with the Bolsheviks now.”
“I’ve been at war with them since they shot my parents, maybe before. So I suppose that puts us firmly in an alliance against a common enemy.” The Bolsheviks worried her. Papa had never thought they’d last this long. Were they simply enduring longer than expected, or were they in Russia to stay?
A figure came toward them. Dalek.
He nodded to her, then turned to Filip. “Kral sent me to find you.”
“Already? I left him less than an hour ago.”
“Talks with the Omsk Soviet broke down. They aren’t going to let us through, so he needs scouts. And he trusts you more than he trusts anyone else.”
Filip glanced at Nadia. He seemed apologetic, almost reluctant to say goodbye. “Can you see yourself back to the hospital car?”
She nodded.
Watching Filip leave was almost painful. She wasn’t an expert on war, just a woman who had listened to her father and talked with wards full of wounded officers. No expert, but wise enough to know that scouting work was dangerous, especially in Omsk. The Bolsheviks there had attacked without warning. And now Filip was going into that?
Omsk. She’d never been so far east before. She knew nothing that could help the legion get past it. But nearly one hundred wounded men who had attacked from Omsk lay in a nearby warehouse. Perhaps the right questions from a friendly nurse could encourage them to share their knowledge.
***
“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Dalek asked as he and Filip walked to Kral’s boxcar.
Filip hadn’t wanted to bring up the subject of annulment. “I didn’t have a chance.”
“Did she seem pleased to see you, despite how scruffy you look?”
“How should I know?” Filip ran a hand over his face. Maybe he should have shaved. But if he’d taken the time to freshen up, he wouldn’t have gotten to see her at all. “Do you know what Kral wants?”
“Reliable information about what the Bolsheviks are doing in Omsk. I gather a few men have gone out, but they either haven’t returned or haven’t returned with the right information.” Dalek grinned. “That’s what you get for being the best scout in the echelon.”
Filip and Dalek had been insulting each other since boyhood, so the compliment felt strange. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t kill for each other, maybe even die for each other, but that level of comradery was best hidden under a hail of abuse.
Kral stood before a map when Filip and Dalek stepped into his boxcar. “Omsk is the largest concentration of Bolshevik power in Siberia. And it’s in our way, so we’ve no choice but to take it. You know what I need?”
Filip nodded. “Where they’re concentrated, how many men, how much firepower. Any weaknesses we can exploit. Disposition of the local population. Anything else?”
“Yes. I don’t expect they would treat legion spies with much mercy, so don’t get caught. I’d like you to come back. You heard about the attack while the band played?”
Filip nodded. He’d heard snippets on his way to the hospital train, plus Nadia’s version. He studied the map of Omsk and the surrounding areas. It showed the river, a few streets, and the rail lines, but not much else. “You don’t have a better map, do you?”
Kral shook his head. “Yet another reason we need good reconnaissance. Find out what you can and be back in two days’ time. There’s a horse waiting for you a few cars back.”
Filip took a last look at the map, committing what he could to memory.
Dalek joined him as he went for the horse. “I’ve heard rumors of how the Bolsheviks torture people. Would you like to hear them?”
“No. But I suppose you’ll tell me anyway.”
Dalek shrugged. “If you don’t want to hear, then there’s no reason for me to tell.”
Would knowing about torture make it any easier to survive? Dalek had gone and stirred up his curiosity. But Filip wasn’t going to get captured. He’d scouted out enemy positions countless times before. The red guardsmen at Omsk couldn’t be any more dangerous than the Austro-Hungarian Army in Galicia.