The rescued lieutenant spoke without emotion, deadpan, exhausted, and distantly, as if what he was describing had happened to someone else.
“There were forty-eight of us,” said Babin. “Well, forty-eight from my regiment, the Four-ninety-first Infantry. I don’t know how many were from the artillery units with us.
“We’d been sent on a transport to demobilize at Novorossiysk, together with the enlisted men. When we got there, the sailors of the fleet—the red fleet—demanded the men go and fight the anti-Bolshevik Cossacks on the Don. They refused but they were still on the transport ship. The Kerch then threatened to torpedo the transport, which would have killed a lot if not all of the men, unless they turned their officers over to the Reds. So they did.
“We weren’t too worried at first. Some of the officers were even willing to go fight; after all, not a single one of us was even minor nobility. But the Reds weren’t interested in that. They disarmed us, tied us, tied weights to our legs, and threw us over the side. Well, most of us; a few were shot over the side.
“I was lucky, just lucky, that they made a mistake when they tied my hands behind my back. I was able to get them free, and then one of my legs. If not”—here Babin showed just enough life to nod at Turgenev—“even your best and bravest efforts would have been too late.”
“Not a one of us even from the minor nobility,” Babin repeated, a tone of incredulity creeping in. “So… why? Why kill all those officers? What good did it do them?”
“Terror,” answered Turgenev and Mokrenko, simultaneously.
Babin shook his head, closed his eyes, and leaned forward to rest his head on his arms, above the table. Both Turgenev and Mokrenko had the good grace to look away, not wanting to see Babin’s shoulders shaking.
They were nearing land. There wasn’t a lot of time left to waffle over important matters. In this quiet time before sunrise, in their shared cabin, which was both guarded and sealed from eavesdropping ears, Turgenev and Mokrenko sat under the flickering light of a gimbaled lantern. The lantern was now fed by kerosene lifted from the late captain’s cabin.
“Speaking of murdering people at sea, Sergeant, what are we going to do about the crew?”
“Kill them, of course,” Mokrenko answered, “even though I don’t like the idea. Still, what else can we do? We can’t let them into port to raise a ruckus about the ones we killed or the captain’s chest we took all their money from. We can’t leave them here. It’s not even a good idea to leave the ship still floating, really. Besides, they’re all pirates.”
“But kill them in cold blood?” Turgenev objected. “C’mon, Sergeant; there’s got to be another way.”
The sergeant shook his head doubtfully. “We can put them in a ship’s boat with some food and water but no oars, sir. Then what happens when they get picked up by another ship? What happens if it’s that Bolshevik ship that murdered all of Babin’s comrades? The Kerch, was it? Think those cutthroats won’t be able to put two and two together and come up with at least some questions about us? We’re too military, too much a team even though we tried—not especially well, in my humble opinion—to hide it. And not under their authority, hence a threat to that authority.
“Or maybe,” Mokrenko continued, “we try to put them ashore somewhere deserted. They can walk, still, so about the time we get to, say, Yekaterinburg, there’s a battalion of Bolsheviks waiting for us with our descriptions.
“Or we leave them chained below, they get found and…”
A light and gentle knock on the door stopped Mokrenko mid tirade. It could only have come from one person aboard ship. This was confirmed when she asked, “You sent for me, Lieutenant?”
“Come in, Natalya,” Turgenev said, gently, then added, to Mokrenko, “There are some questions we need to ask her before we do anything rash.”
The girl entered, then closed the door behind her. She’d dispensed with her dress and put on some clothing taken from the chest of one of the deceased sailors, killed in the attempt at murdering the Russians. She was tall for her age and sex and the sailor had been short, but she still had to cinch her belt tightly, while rolling up the trousers and sleeves.
“Sit, girl,” Mokrenko said. “The lieutenant has some questions for you.”
“Natalya,” began Turgenev, “first off let me say you’re doing a fine job of captaining the ship. Could you do it if we left it to you?”
The girl snorted with derision. “The crew would have me on all fours within the hour. They have before, after all. If you gave me a gun, they’d wait until I was asleep and do the same. Or they’d ambush me when I came out of my cabin.”
Mokrenko scowled while Turgenev’s face began to look mildly ill.
“Not just Vraciu, then?” the Lieutenant asked.
“All of them but the two queers,” she answered, “Zamfir and Vacarescu, and they didn’t try to help me, either. Vacarescu was the one the sergeant had bludgeoned and dumped over the side.
“When the captain was done with me, any given night, he’d turn me over to his son. When the son was done, I was sent to the crew.”
“There’s your cold blood gone, Lieutenant,” Mokrenko said. “I hate the bastards already. They’re all fucking rapists and deserve to hang, except the one who is guilty by silent consent. But even he is still guilty.”
“That’s not the only question,” Turgenev said. “Natalya, I’m not too sure about actually going to port, but can we get this ship into port without them? I mean the sails…”
“Sure, sir; the engine is fine and there’s plenty of fuel for this short a trip. Let me know and we’ll be in Rostov-on-Don before tomorrow morning. Or someplace else if you prefer.”
“How about docking?”
She shook her head. “We’d need the deck hands if we were going to tie up at the pier, yes, but there’s no need to dock. We drop the anchor in the harbor, then you can row ashore in the two ship’s boats.”
“Too many questions of an empty ship in port,” said Turgenev. “I think we sink the ship well away from port, and find our way there on foot.”
“Yes, sir,” Mokrenko agreed. “And there goes the last argument for sparing any of them. Now how do you want them killed, sir?”
“Natalya?”
The girl thought about that a moment, then said, “Drowning’s as good as hanging. Just throw them overboard.” Natalya’s face when blank then, and when she spoke again her voice was like something from beyond the grave, creaking and lifeless. “Once, early on, when I wouldn’t cooperate, the captain had two of the men hold my head under water until I passed out, then revived me and did it again… and again… I don’t know how many times. Eventually, I cooperated.”
“Including…” Turgenev didn’t want o think about that. Instead, he struggled for the unfamiliar name, “Zamfir, was it?”
The girl’s voice returned to normal, though her face remained blank. “The sergeant said it, sir, he’s guilty by silent consent.”
Turgenev went silent for a bit, looking down at the deck. Finally, he said, “Sergeant, this court, having heard from sufficient witnesses to establish guilt for rape, conspiracy to commit rape, and conspiracy to commit piracy on the high seas, sentences the prisoners to death. No need for any ceremony; just take a large enough detail and drown them, please.
“Oh, and send Sapper Shukhov to me, if you would.”