The smell of cordite hung in the air, and the crack of small arms was constant. Bolshevik artillery dueled with the legion’s armored train, and the train had to retreat.
“What’s the point of clearing a three-hundred-twenty-meter-long tunnel so we can have an armored train if it retreats and leaves us to fight alone?” Dalek shoved another clip of cartridges into his rifle.
“It’ll be back.” Filip hoped he spoke the truth. “They have to switch their position as soon as enemy artillery zeroes in on them.”
Kral approached, probably to coordinate the attack. His body jerked, and he slammed into a tree. Anton grabbed him and pulled him into a ditch. Filip crawled over to see how bad the damage was.
“Keep up the pressure.” Even wounded, Kral was calm, though his voice lacked its normal volume. Blood flowed from his arm, and Anton set to work bandaging it.
They moved closer to the enemy, crawling through grass and hiding behind trees. The sun had reached its zenith when Dalek let out a whistle.
“What?” Filip asked.
“They’re retreating.”
A few Bolsheviks were running, but Filip didn’t think that signaled victory. “Probably just switching positions to hold off the flanking attack. Maybe they’re making progress.” The frontal assault certainly hadn’t been effective enough to drive the Bolsheviks back, but the Bolsheviks were fighting on two fronts, facing two threats.
A few minutes later, though, Bolshevik intentions were clear. “Why are they withdrawing? We aren’t winning.”
“Who cares why, as long as they leave.” Dalek shot at one of the retreating men.
“Keep them running!” Kral’s arm was bandaged now, and he was back on his feet, still giving orders.
Filip led his men forward, into the Bolshevik trenches, then into Tankhoy Station. They were a few miles closer to Vladivostok, but they’d taken considerable losses that day. So had the Bolsheviks. Their dead lay strewn about the railroad tracks.
Most of the enemy wounded had gone, but the Reds hadn’t evacuated all their casualties. Filip found a man pierced with shrapnel in his legs and chest. He was on his way to death but taking the slow road. Filip gave him a drink from his canteen, then found the man’s cigarettes and lit one for him.
“Why did you retreat?”
“You had us surrounded. From the front, from the mountains, and from behind.”
That explained it. Lake on one side, legionnaires to the south and east, with more advancing from the north. They’d wanted to pull out before they were trapped.
The next day, Filip and the rest of his regiment reached Mysovaya.
Emil shook his head as they marched through the aftermath of the battle. “Looks like they should have retreated earlier.”
“Yes. But quite generous of them to leave us so much equipment, don’t you think?” Dalek walked beside Filip and picked up an extra rifle. “We might be able to arm all our men after this. Maybe the women too. Do you suppose your wife would be any good with a rifle?”
Filip chuckled. “I have a feeling Nadia can do anything she sets her mind to.” He just hoped that didn’t include an annulment.
They left Lake Baikal behind and chased the Bolsheviks to Verkhne-Udinsk after that. Filip and his squad survived the series of skirmishes. Colonel Ushakov, the Russian officer who had sailed across Lake Baikal to Posolska, destroyed most of the Bolshevik fleet, and scattered the Reds at Mysovaya, did not. Filip mourned him and his fallen brothers from the legion. They would never see the country they had died for.
Kral called for Filip when they’d been in Verkhne-Udinsk for two days. He wore his injured arm in a sling. “We’ve got most of the rail line now, but a lot of the Bolsheviks escaped. If they organize, they can wreak havoc on our rear. Ambush us. Cut off our communications. Slow us down or stop us completely. We have to follow them.”
“Yes, Brother Lieutenant.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll take my place. I’d go, but . . .” Kral gestured to his arm.
“I understand.” Survival depended on pursuing the enemy until they were no longer a threat.
“A group of White Russians will go with you. Follow the Selenga River. We don’t have enough ships for the entire group. The Russians will take the boats down the first half. You’ll switch at Novoselenginsk, unless you catch the Bolsheviks before then. Lavrov and Karandashwilli fled after our last battle on the lake, so they have a head start.” Kral sighed. “One last effort, then you’ll have a break. Nazdar, Sedlák.”
“Nazdar, Brother Lieutenant.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nadia and the rest of the women caught up with the Sixth Regiment at Verkhne-Udinsk in September, but she couldn’t find Filip among the legionnaires.
Dalek was easier to locate, at the telegraph station.
“I haven’t seen Filip yet, nor Anton,” she said after her initial greeting. “Are they well?”
Dalek’s face grew sober. Nadia held her breath. Were they dead? They’d had news of the battles around the lake, but she’d hoped Filip and Anton weren’t among the casualties. “They were dispatched to the Mongolian border. Supposed to cut off some of the Bolsheviks who escaped.”
“Oh.” They were alive at least, or had been recently. “Do you know when they’ll return?”
“I’m not sure. But don’t frown. I’ve got good news. We met up with the legionnaires from Vladivostok. The rest of the rail line is open—all the way to the Pacific.”
That had been their goal since setting out from the Ukraine. Now it was finally a reality. “That’s wonderful.” She sat when Dalek gestured to a chair.
“It seems a group of legionnaires also captured part of the imperial treasury when they took Kazan. It was moved from Petrograd when the Germans got too close.”
“Well, I’m glad the Bolsheviks didn’t get it.” She preferred them to stay unorganized, underfunded, and at risk of collapse.
“Eight boxcars full of gold.” Dalek whistled. “The Bolsheviks took Kazan again, but the gold is on its way east. Ought to be enough to fund an army capable of stopping the Communists. Of course, being a Czech, I have no desire to get involved in internal Russian affairs, not officially. But after fighting them since May, I will unofficially be cheering for anyone who opposes them.”
Nadia walked back to the women’s coach. Eight boxcars full of gold. Enough to turn the tide against the Bolsheviks? And if the Bolsheviks fell, could she reclaim her family’s lands? The manors and homes might not be there anymore. The hidden art might have burned to the ground. But the land, that would still be there. Part of her heritage, part of her soul.
In March or April, even in May or June, she would have let that hope keep her in Russia. But not now. She wanted Filip more than she wanted Lavanda Selo. But would he want her? Months had passed since their last meeting. She couldn’t begin to guess how he felt.
“They aren’t here, are they?” Veronika asked when Nadia climbed into the coach. She held Marek against her shoulder and patted the baby’s back.
“No. They followed a few groups of Bolsheviks down to the border with Mongolia. But they were alive a week ago.”
Veronika shifted Marek so she could see his face. “Anton’s missed so much.”
Nadia sat beside her friend. “Marek won’t remember that his father was gone for so long.”
“Sometimes I just have a horrible feeling that he won’t know both of his parents.”
Nadia put her hand on Veronika’s forehead without even asking permission.
“I’m not feverish. Haven’t been for a week.”
Indeed, Veronika’s temperature felt normal. But she’d had fevers often enough since the baby’s birth that the worry stayed in Nadia’s head. “If you’re not sick, is there another reason you’re so gloomy? Other than Anton’s absence?”