The group scrambled into the shell hole.
“We hold here until they give up.” Kral aimed his rifle. “These bullets won’t go through the armor on that train, but the moment any of them show their faces . . .”
The Bolshevik train backed up once it reached the barrier. Then it crept forward again as if whoever was in charge had decided to barrel through. The huffs of the engine and the clack of wheel on track increased, then slowed.
Dalek chuckled. “I think they just realized they don’t have a track.”
The Bolsheviks continued to fight, even without a way forward. A few fired rifles, but whenever they did, Anton and the others replied in kind, so most of the Reds kept their heads down and let the armored train do all the work. Artillery hit on either side of Anton, making the ground shake and his ears ring. A few rounds hit legionnaires, and Anton crawled around to help with bandages.
The time between shells lengthened, and the Bolsheviks seemed to lose heart. Whether they wanted to go east or west, the line was blocked. They were trapped. Eventually, they pulled out of range, and the red guardsmen melted into the taiga, heading north or south, leaving their armored train behind.
Kral ordered a group of men to replace the rails, then led the rest to the train they all hoped was deserted.
Kral turned to Anton. “Tothova, you worked in a munitions factory?”
“Yes, Brother Lieutenant.”
“So you know something about demolitions?”
Making artillery shells wasn’t the same as firing them, and it was a far cry from using explosives to destroy things, but Anton had paid attention in training and at the factory. “A little.”
“If you were trying to sabotage a train, where would you put the explosives?”
“In the engine.”
“Right. See if you can find anything.”
“I’ll go with you.” Emil was probably trying to make up for his earlier fear. Regardless, Anton was glad for the help.
“How’s your back?” Anton asked as they approached the engine. Other legionnaires spread out to look at the carriages.
Emil shook his head. “It’s nothing. I was foolish to say anything. I just . . . I just wasn’t sure how deep it was, and it hurt.”
“There’s no shame in being nervous about a wound.”
Emil nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
The rat-tat-tat of a machine gun hammered along the line. Anton pulled Emil to the ground. “Can you see what’s going on?”
Dalek dropped to the ground beside them. “They knew we’d come for the train, so they left someone behind to get as many of us as they could.”
Another shot whizzed past Anton’s ear. He still couldn’t see the enemy, but he heard their weapons and watched the destruction they caused. Windows shattered all along the train, and some of his brother legionnaires collapsed to the ground.
“There!” Dalek pointed, and all three of them shot. But the machine-gunner had prepared his defenses well. He was hard to get at.
“Come on, we’ll flank him.” Emil started crawling.
Anton had seen men do stupid, reckless things after feeling as though they’d embarrassed themselves, and he didn’t want Emil to get hurt. He wasn’t as brash as Filip, but nor was he as skilled. “Careful, Emil.”
“They can’t see us if we stay low.”
Anton prayed Emil was right and ignored the grumbles coming from Dalek. Despite the protests, Dalek crawled along behind them.
The ground was soft in some places, slimy in others. A layer of grime coated them, some of it dried from their earlier work, some of it fresh, still wet and thick. Maybe after they took out the machine-gun nest, confiscated the train, and captured Omsk station, they’d find a bathhouse. Perhaps he could find a private bath for him and Veronika to share.
The machine gun still fired but not constantly—they were conserving ammunition. Two enemy soldiers crouched behind the MG 08, and another lay on the ground, wounded or dead. The Reds concentrated on the soldiers approaching from the east of the train, so Anton’s trio came from behind and got within fifteen meters. Dalek and Emil took the shots, and they didn’t miss.
They got to their feet and ran to the machine gun. Dalek bent over the dead men, pulling on their uniforms. “Hungarians.”
That explained why they were so determined. It wasn’t a just a military maneuver; they had a deep hatred for the legion.
Anton and the others searched the engine, but the Bolsheviks hadn’t sabotaged it. The legion had captured an armored train and a machine gun, and they were one step closer to Omsk.
***
Filip and Sokolov flattened themselves against a building and held perfectly still as a mounted red guardsman trotted past along a cross street.
“The Bolsheviks have been trying to rally the workers,” Sokolov said. “But no one wants to fight for them. They have no grievances with the Czechs, and the Bolsheviks have broken a lot of promises.”
“So will they blow up the bridge?” Filip and Sokolov were headed there now.
“My sources say they’re far more interested in emptying the local banks before they leave, but that doesn’t rule out sabotage.”
Bridges were more difficult to repair than a few torn-up rail lines. What Filip had helped destroy that morning could be fixed in an afternoon. A bridge, on the other hand, would take specialists, especially if said bridge were wired in eighteen different places.
The bridge came into view then, supported on a series of piers high above the Irtysh River so as not to interfere with shipping.
“All the wires lead there.” Sokolov pointed to the nearest support.
Filip slid toward the river and found the detonator. Then he found a good spot and settled in to wait. It wasn’t the easiest place to defend, but the slope from the river to the higher ground would make it difficult for the Bolsheviks to see him from the Omsk side. And the pillar would block any fire from the opposite riverbank. Sokolov stayed with him. Fedorov was somewhere else; Filip didn’t ask where. The White Russians and the Czechoslovaks were allies for the moment, but the legion wasn’t staying in Russia, so that alliance was temporary.
They waited. Filip tensed when a man in worker’s clothing ran toward them.
“One of mine,” Sokolov said. He joined his comrade and spoke for a while, out of hearing range. When Sokolov came back, he seemed unhappy.
“Bad news?”
“Partially. We cut them off along all three rail lines. There’s that bit of track toward Yekaterinburg that we destroyed this morning, and the legion’s blocking the other two directions. There was fighting to the west of us, but the legion drove them off.”
Filip looked across the river. The legion’s success in that direction would mean Nadia was probably safe, Dalek and the others too. “Any word on casualties?”
“No.”
“So what’s the bad news?”
“The Reds have steamships. And I don’t know how to block the river.”
“So they’ll regroup and fight us again somewhere else.”
Sokolov nodded. He eyed the surrounding area. A few people came and went, but none looked like Bolsheviks. “Do you know how to remove the charges?”
Filip shook his head. Anton could do that, but Anton was back with the rest of the regiment.
“I’ll try to find someone and send them. But first, I’ve got to gather my men and harass the Bolsheviks.” Sokolov pointed west. “Your people should be along soon enough.”
Filip nodded. “Good luck.”
Sokolov’s runner returned to help Filip. Two men made a paltry guard against saboteurs, but the Bolsheviks were leaving. Soon, the legion would arrive and take control of Omsk, and they’d set up a garrison to keep both train station and bridge open for their comrades farther west.
Night fell. Filip and the other man, a Kazakh, took turns staying awake. The bridge was on the edge of Omsk, so they couldn’t follow events taking place elsewhere. An occasional shot sounded but without the consistency to suggest a battle. He wished the legion train would arrive, but he understood their caution. They wouldn’t want to enter Omsk in the dark—literally and figuratively.