“Because of your father. And because of your ties to the legion. And because you’re a nurse. I want to find what’s left of my army. They’ll need nurses, so there’ll be a place for you, if you want it.”
She nodded. “I’ll come.” She risked increasing her sentence tenfold. And if she failed this time, then failed again, she’d be sent to a revolutionary tribunal and probably executed. But if she didn’t escape soon, she didn’t think she’d survive her original sentence. Staying meant death; it was just a question of how soon.
“The anarchist is coming too. Four of us.”
Nadia smiled. She liked Tanya. And while an alliance between two former tsarist officers, a former aristocrat, and an anarchist was unconventional, they all had a common enemy and a common goal.
Her smile disappeared a few hours later when she heard their plan.
“You want me to do what?”
Tanya tilted her head in exasperation. “Just go up to the guard and ask if you can earn a little extra bread. Smile at him, put your hand on his arm, and undo one of the buttons on your coat.”
“You want me to sleep with him? I won’t do that.”
“Offer, lead him into the woods, and then Fedorov will take care of him. Before anything happens. That guard has been eying you for months. It shouldn’t take much convincing.”
She’d noticed his attention, which was one of the reasons she didn’t want to approach him. He reminded her of the bandits who’d taken her. “But I’m married.”
Sokolov seemed apologetic. “What do you think your husband wants more? Your escape, even if you have to flirt with a guard, or your complete fidelity and death in a work battalion?”
Of course she wanted to escape, and Filip would want that too. She longed to see him again, and this plan offered her a chance. Tanya, Sokolov, and Fedorov were all more capable than she when it came to survival. She’d be a fool if she refused to cooperate and lost their help.
When the other guards were distant and the other prisoners occupied, Nadia wandered toward the guard. She wasn’t a good enough actress to feign attraction, but hunger alternated between a gnaw and a ravage. She could tell him she was desperate enough to sell herself for a bit of bread. The hunger and desperation were real, so it would be believable.
The guard in question watched her walk closer.
“I’m hungry,” she said simply and truthfully when she reached him. “There’s not much I wouldn’t do for a loaf of bread.” She took Tanya’s advice and undid the top button of her coat. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement?”
The guard’s eyes widened, and his lips curled up.
Nadia took a step back and jerked her head toward the thicker trees of the forest, where he would assume they’d have privacy. That was where Fedorov waited.
The guard looked around, then followed her.
Nadia continued to walk, slowly, waiting for Fedorov to knock the guard unconscious.
“I think we’re alone here.” The guard’s deep voice rumbled up her neck. His hands gripped her waist and turned her toward him.
What was she supposed to do now?
The guard moved one of his hands to the back of her head and held her still while he kissed her. His lips were aggressive, and so were his hands. She couldn’t help it; she jerked away.
The guard grabbed and held her. “I thought you wanted bread?”
“I do, but I’m not sure this is the best way to get it.”
“You satisfy this craving for me, and I’ll ease your hunger.” His hands and lips were all over her again. It was all she could do to keep from screaming. Was it the guard or one of the bandits who had her now? She couldn’t even tell if she was in the forest or in one of those smoky, smelly huts they’d dragged her to. Her chest churned with terror, and her stomach turned with bile.
The guard fell into her, striking her face, and then he slipped to the ground.
She put her hand to her mouth and took a few deep breaths.
Tanya came into view. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Nadia started to shake. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so horrible if she didn’t have so many terrifying memories. But the past was still in her mind, and she couldn’t erase it at will.
“Are you all right?” Sokolov put his hand on her elbow.
No doubt he meant to be comforting, but Nadia jerked away. She didn’t want another man touching her just then. At that moment, she would have flinched from Filip’s hand.
“I’m sorry.” He held his hands out and stepped back.
Nadia hugged herself. “No, I’m sorry. That was just harder than I thought it would be.”
The look of concern didn’t leave Sokolov’s face, but he nodded. “Every minute counts. There’s a river about a mile east. We’ve got to cross it before they find out we’re gone and send the dogs after us.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Anton shivered as he stood guard near the Omsk train depot. It was only November, but winter already held Siberia firmly in its grip, with short days, cold temperatures, and gray views. Petr came to relieve him.
“Any letters?”
Petr shook his head. “No.”
Anton nodded and headed somewhere warmer. Maybe it was better, for now, not to know. If word did come confirming Marek’s death, he wasn’t sure he could take it. At least for now, he could hope his son lived. But if conditions in Vladivostok were anything like they were in Omsk, then it was a fool’s hope.
Omsk had a new nickname: City of Death. Refugees crowded inside, hoping to escape the Red Army only to find typhus and spotted fever instead. Those who lived slept in shifts, sharing the same dirty room in a cramped apartment with a dozen other people. They ate what they could. And they died in droves. Their bodies lay in piles, stripped of boots, coats, and usable clothing. If Vladivostok was similar, what chance did a fifteen-month-old boy with no mother have? Anton had begged God to protect his son, but he’d also prayed for his wife—from the moment they had parted until he’d learned of her death. Heaven hadn’t heard him.
“Anton? Could you lend a hand?” Dalek’s voice carried from a nearby platform. Several legionnaires and YMCA volunteers were transporting wounded men off a boxcar. The injured wore uniforms with the white and green epaulets of Kolchak’s Army.
Anton hustled to help. What would this war have been like if he’d been a doctor or a medical orderly instead of a soldier? Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference with what really mattered—regardless of how much he did or didn’t know about medicine, he hadn’t been with Veronika when she’d needed him, and he hadn’t been able to help her.
He grabbed the head of a stretcher, and Dalek grabbed the foot. But as Anton moved, Dalek stayed frozen in place.
“What is it?” Anton asked.
Dalek nodded to the patient, a field-rank officer with bandages around his left thigh. The injured man seemed to notice the delay and looked to Dalek.
“Oleg Petrov. That’s your name, isn’t it?” Dalek pulled the stretcher, and Anton followed.
“Yes. Have we met?”
Anton knew that name. Oleg Petrov was the man who’d run off with Filip’s wife. But if he’d gone to Shanghai with Nadia, why was he being unloaded from a hospital train in Omsk?
Dalek’s tone was measured. “I think we have a common acquaintance. Nadia Ilyinichna Linskaya Sedláková.”
Petrov smiled, as if sipping a glass of fine wine, and Anton was tempted to drop him on his head. He knew the pain of losing a wife. Revenge against the disease that had taken Veronika was impossible. But vengeance for Filip was within Anton’s literal grasp.
Petrov’s voice was weak from his injury, but the words carried to Anton’s ear. “Nadia. Yes. I was friends with her brother. Our families intended us to marry. I saw her last winter at some station near Yekaterinburg. So beautiful. She’d married one of you lot.”