He then went back to second class, asking the same series of questions. One answer was different: “Six men, twenty-seven horses.”
“Cook his face for a count of five,” Mokrenko commanded, then went forward again, giving the same order. When the screaming subsided, he explained, “One of you lied to me. You will both suffer for it. Face to the heater for a count of five,” he ordered Novarikasha.
“Twenty-seven horses!” the prisoner blurted out. “Six men! Please don’t burn me. Please.”
“Count of five,” Mokrenko repeated. The screams went on for a lot longer than five seconds.
“How will they hold the horses?” Mokrenko asked, once the screaming subsided.
“They won’t,” said the prisoners, through gasps and tears. “They’ll be tied to a rope and that to two trees.”
Mokrenko went back to second and got the exact same answer.
“Where is your camp?” he asked Vladimir.
“Not too far, maybe twelve versta; that’s the truth.”
“Do you have any captives there?”
“A dozen women, last I counted. No, wait, the chief had two for himself, so fourteen women. Well… some are more girls than women.”
“Very good.”
Back in first class the answer was substantially the same, except that Stanislaus had no trouble remembering the correct number of women and girls.
“How many men are back at the camp?” Mokrenko asked.
“Just two,” Stanislaus answered. “The women and girls get locked up when we go on foray, except to cook and… well… you know.”
What a shitty fucking world, thought Mokrenko.
Once the robbers’ rifles and pistols were passed around to willing men who gave a reasonably convincing story of previous shooting experience, and the Strategic Recon Section’s were assembled, there were twenty-five rifles and nine pistols manned and waiting for the word. Strat Recon kept their pistols in their belts.
Mokrenko asked the old colonel if he’d be so kind as to tell the locomotive’s engineer and brakeman that, if they didn’t stop, he’d certainly shoot them.
“But why, Rostislav Alexandrovich?” the colonel asked. “You can… ah, you don’t want them to see your faces or ask any questions?”
“Even so, sir. As a matter of fact, I’d appreciate it if you would take complete credit for all of this, for having tackled and shot the robbers yourself, plus organizing the passengers.”
“I don’t really understand,” said the colonel.
Mokrenko thought quickly, coming up with a suitable tale. “Well, sir, the Reds have put a price on our heads. If they have any inkling of where we are…”
“I see,” said Plestov. “Well, I don’t know how believable I will be, but I’ll try.”
“I’m a much better liar than you are, dear,” said the colonel’s wife. “You will be a little confused by a blow you took to your head, so I will tell them in Tyumen of your fierce courage and how you led the passengers of the train to victory.”
“Flatterer,” said the colonel, a warm and loving smile spreading across his face. “No wonder I’ve stayed with you for the last fifty-five years.”
Wonderful woman, thought Mokrenko.
After Mokrenko briefed him on the situation, Lieutenant Turgenev covered his face and walked the length of the train, giving orders to his own men and the newly armed passengers. “By order of Colonel Plestov, acting commander of the train, put on as much of the robbers’ garb as you can. When we start to slow, open the windows no matter how cold it is. As soon as we stop, rifles out the side and kill anything human that looks armed. Shoot the ones right in front of you, first, then look to the sides. Try not to hit the horses. When the rifles go out, all unarmed civilians drop to the floor and cover your heads. By order of Colonel…”
Six men, wondered Mokrenko. Odd that there should be six men for twenty-seven horses. I’d have expected no less than seven, really. Because, after all, the robbers—the mostly late robbers—didn’t walk to the station where they boarded from here. They must have ridden and then these six brought the horses to this stop. But there should have been seven or even eight men for this. Unless….now damned, what was that breed of horse… the one’s the Tatars’ cousins use? Short… furry… survive out in the open in the worst weather… find their own…? Hmmm…
Mokrenko went over to the bound robber with the seared face. Kicking the man lightly, he asked, “What kind of horses do you people use?”
“Yakuts,” the thief answered. “Well… related to them anyway.”
“Aha; that’s the name I was trying to remember. Where did you acquire Yakuts?”
“Where else; we robbed a train that had them.”
“I see.”
“What’s going to happen to us?”
“Probably nothing very bad, if you cooperate,” Mokrenko replied. “You’re going to lead us to your camp. Once we’ve freed your captives, I see no reason to kill you.”
I also see no reason to keep you alive, either, but that’s for another time.
Colonel Plestov got up and walked, slowly and carefully, to the locomotive. A few minutes later, Lieutenant Turgenev felt the train begin to slow, causing him to be pressed back into his plush seat.
Turgenev wore a mask taken from one of the thieves. His rifle, sans bayonet, had its muzzle resting on the seat opposite him. As soon as he felt the train start to slow, he reached up and unlatched the window, then opened it. After that, leaning forward, he took control of the rifle, while still being careful to keep it below the level of the windows. Up in first class only Colonel Plestov was armed, though each other car, plus the dining car and first-class sleeper car, had three or four armed men to it, each under one of the men of Strat Recon.
Turgenev didn’t have much hope for accurate fire from the civilians, but at the very least, They’ll draw fire from my men. Shame about Visaitov. Can’t afford to lose any more. And at least he wasn’t a specialist. I don’t know what we’d have done if Sarnof had been killed. Note to self, for the future any team dispatched like this must have redundancy.
Mokrenko, standing on the small platform outside of his car, saw the horses all lashed to a single rope stretched between two trees. Never ridden a Yakut before. Should be interesting.
Natalya stood with him.
As soon as he caught a glimpse of the getaway party, he began to wave furiously. He also held up Natalya by one arm and shook her, to show the remaining thieves that the foray had been most fruitful. Her head hung down and her hair swished on her neck as if all the will had been beaten or raped out of her. He couldn’t hear them cheering the prospect over the shrieking of the train’s brakes, but he saw it well enough.
“Thanks for going along, Natalya,” he said. “Good acting job. Now I’m going to pretend to throw you to the floor. As soon as I do, crawl to cover inside.”
“Kill them all, Sergeant Mokrenko,” she said, as soon as she was out of sight.
Mokrenko started counting and evaluating. Only one man by the horses—his life is mine—and the other five… five?… yes, five… waiting roughly mid-way between the train and the horses. He looked more carefully at the horses. Hmmm… no, they’re not all tied to the rope. There are two sleighs, two horses each, also.