Red Wheels Turning

by Ashton, Hugh

  Thought was action, and in a few seconds he was stretched out face-down along the branch, looking back at his pursuers, screened from them by leaves and by the branch on which he was lying. As he watched them run towards the wood, the leaders of the pack stopped abruptly and stooped down. The soldiers following them all did the same when they came to the same spot, and then, to his surprise, started fighting among themselves. He realised that this spot was where the heel of his boot had been shot off, and the gold coins had presumably spilled out. He smiled as he watched one of his pursuers lead with a right to the jaw of one of his companions, only to be felled by a roundhouse punch from another of the soldiers.

  Eventually a portly officer came waddling up to see what was happening, and though it was too far away for him to hear what was being said, Kolinski had little doubt as to the content. The soldiers straggled into line and stood at attention. Much to his relief, the officer started to march half of them – presumably the train crew – back to board the train. The locomotive got up steam, and started off along the tracks into the compound, with the guards closing the gates behind it. Although the odds against him had just got markedly better, Kolinski was under no illusion that he was safe. The sentries and guards at the gate were still hanging around the area, and were still presumably under orders to continue searching for him. There was nothing for it but to continue hiding up in his tree. He considered ruefully that he seemed to have spent most of the day hiding away in cramped positions, but he had had little choice.

  The other soldiers had spread out now, and were moving in an extended line towards the forest. As they reached the undergrowth at the edge of the woodland, they slowed down and started prodding in the bushes with their bayonets. They kept their eyes on the ground, moving forward slowly and grimly in silence, obviously listening for the crack of twigs, or the rustle of leaves. Kolinski thought he might just escape the search if his luck continued. Sure enough, the line went past his tree, and continued searching deep into the forest. Kolinski continued to lie still, guessing that they would return the same way that they had come.

  His guess was right. In about an hour’s time, the line of soldiers returned past his tree, heading back for the gates. They were still searching, but not nearly as thoroughly as when they had set off. They had nearly reached the gatehouse, and Kolinski was just about to climb down from his perch when a straggler appeared from within the wood. He was limping slightly, supporting his weight with the butt of his rifle, which he propped against Kolinski’s tree, as he sank down and lit a cigarette. Kolinski considered his options. The man looked a little smaller than Kolinski, but then it seemed that none of the soldiers he had seen had well-fitting uniforms. Kolinski felt there was a very good chance of turning himself into one of the guards with this soldier’s uniform. His victim was now sitting and smoking peacefully, massaging his ankle, which he had presumably twisted.

  Silently as a panther, Kolinski slid from the branch, timing his movements to coincide with the noise of the wind in the branches, so that even the faint sounds that he made would be perceived as part of the forest.

  Once again the bayonet did its deadly work, and the red blood dripped onto the forest floor. Kolinski had taken care to prevent the dying soldier’s blood from staining the uniform, but he had not been careful enough, and a large bloodstain adorned the front of the tunic. He guessed it would look less obvious when dry, but the bright red splash would make a highly visible target. He’d have to keep hidden until the blood dried or he could clean it off.

  Still, the uniform fitted tolerably well, and he felt it would now be impossible to recognise him, given that his appearance had changed so dramatically and so many times recently. He believed that he would actually achieve his goal and accomplish his mission. All he had to do now was follow the train tracks to the depot he was sure was at the other end. Time enough for that after dark. For now, it was enough to move away from the stripped body, over which he kicked some dirt and dead leaves, and wait for nightfall.

  -oOo-

  Brian and Harry were enjoying themselves. Though the interior of the Zaamurets was quite noisy and cramped, and Brian kept bumping into projections and parts of the machinery, as he had done on the submarine, the general feeling within the rail cruiser was one of high excitement.

  Despite Harry’s initial impressions of the mechanics who had been servicing the Zaamurets in Moscow, he soon realised through a mixture of pantomime and Brian’s Russian that they were skilled workers, who had been frightened to ask for the materials, or even the tools needed to do their work properly. The gulf between officers and the other ranks in the Imperial Army seemed great enough to place a serious strain on the capabilities of the army as a fighting unit. The mechanics were astonished to see the British officer literally roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty alongside them, but once they had got used to the shocking idea, they seemed happy to work with him, and the Zaamurets purred happily along the test track at its set speed. Brian was working alongside Harry, acting as interpreter, but warned him that when the targets appeared, Harry would lose his interpreter, as Brian would have to move to his post at one of the machine-guns, as had previously been arranged by Petrov.

  The lookouts in the top cupolas were scanning the target range for the appearance of the targets, and when they spotted the red flag break out from the signal mast and the white wooden squares flip up, they shouted down to the engineers to stop the train. There was a loud metallic squeal as the brakes were applied, and the sound of the engine revolutions grew less as the motors were throttled back.

  Brian had leapt to his assigned machine-gun, and was squinting along the sights, as soon as the Zaamurets started sliding to a halt. Even before the train had reached a full stop, he was firing in short accurate bursts at one of the wooden targets, and by the time the train had actually stopped, the target was so damaged by the bullets that even as they watched, a light gust of wind snapped it off its supports, where it lay on the ground.

  Immediately after this, the other machine-guns started their mechanical clatter, bucking and kicking in their mounts.

  “No, no!” shouted Brian, knocking the gunners’ hands away from the triggers. “Short bursts. Like this. A light touch,” and demonstrated once again what he had achieved with the first gun. The other gunners tried to follow his lead, with less success than Brian had achieved, but hitting their targets more often than they had been doing earlier.

  The two 57-millimeter Nordenfelt cannon in the turrets fired in quick succession, deafening the crew, and throwing the machine-gunners off their aim as the recoil caused the car to rock. The gunners reloaded and fired again. One of the cannon targets went down, and there was a cheer from one of the turrets, but before they could fire again, the red flag was lowered, indicating that the targets were no longer available. The engineers released the brakes and let in the clutches, and the Zaamurets continued its journey to the end of the line.

  -oOo-

  “Impressive,” said Brian. He and Harry were sitting round a table in the officers’ mess, together with Colonel Petrov and the commander of the Zaamurets. Maria had made her way to bed after dinner when the vodka bottles had come out.

  “But if I may make a suggestion, Major?” he said to the Zaamurets commander. Receiving a nod in answer, he continued. “Your machine-gunners are waiting for the train to stop before they open fire. It seems to me that because the Zaamurets almost glides to a halt compared to a normal train, they can start firing effectively well before the train actually stops moving. I managed to destroy a target while the train was still braking. When the cannon fire, there is a lot of recoil, and the noise is disorientating, so it’s good if the machine-guns can get their shots in before the cannon start up.”

  “It’s a good idea in theory,” replied the Major, “but we don’t all have your skill. It’s going to take some time before we can come up to your level.”

  “Well, that was my other point,” said Brian. “Your m
en seem to find it very difficult to fire in short bursts. Instead, they seem to just point the gun in the general direction of the enemy and hope for the best. Quite frankly, that isn’t going to get very good results, especially with those Maxims. They need to practice static firing, but they need only a little practice, I think. They got much better as soon as they started firing in short bursts, rather than trying to run through the whole belt in one go.”

  “It sounds good,” said the Major. “We’ll start practising that sort of tactic tomorrow. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I must retire.”

  He made his farewells and left.

  “Lieutenant,” said Colonel Petrov after the vodka bottle had passed between him and Brian once more. “I’ve been worried for some time about the traitor in the British Embassy in Moscow. It seems to me that we have to bait a trap for this man, and the Zaamurets is one way to do it.”

  “You do realise, Colonel, that the man in our sights as the main suspect is a relation of one of my good friends?”

  Petrov gave a start. “No, I was not aware of that. I wish you had told me this earlier. I am genuinely sorry if this is causing you personal difficulties. Would it be better if this were assigned to somebody else?”

  Brian shook his head. “I can’t honestly say that I find this a pleasant task, Colonel, but it is my duty, and I will perform it to the best of my ability. And in any case, I am here in Russia now, and valuable time would be wasted before a replacement could be sent out here.”

  “I am sorry,” repeated Petrov. “May I, however, present my idea about the Zaamurets, for you to pass judgement on?” Brian nodded in assent. “First, may I ask your candid opinion of the rail cruiser?”

  “I was impressed, despite myself,” admitted Brian. “I have to confess that when I first saw the machine, and heard about the concept, I had severe doubts as to its feasibility. But having seen how fast the train can travel, even over sustained periods, and how quickly it is able to become a dangerous fighting machine, I can see that two or three of these could create havoc in the right places. Given a little more training of the crew, of course.”

  Petrov turned to Harry, questioningly.

  “If I may add my opinions?” said Harry. “Your mechanics are actually much better than I first gave them credit for, but there seems to be some sort of gap between them and your officers that prevents them from doing their job as well as they might.”

  Petrov sighed. “You’re perfectly correct, and it is a fault of our Army that the officers tend to regard all those without a commission as illiterate peasants who can only be kept in order with blows and kicks. Major Tchukalski is definitely one of the better officers as far as this sort of thing is concerned, but you are right – the rail cruiser crews must act as one unit, not a collection of officers, soldiers, and mechanics travelling together.” He made a note in his notebook.

  “Your ideas regarding the traitor, Colonel?” invited Brian.

  “My suggestion is that you make a report on the Zaamurets to your people in the British Embassy in Petrograd that deliberately underplays the capabilities of the cruiser. Make the armour a little thinner than it is in reality, the speed slower, the machine-guns fewer, and the cannon of a smaller calibre than the real thing. And then add that a troop of them will be dispatched to a certain area of the front. We will soon discover, from the sort of reception committee that the Germans prepare, whether the leak has come through the British Embassy or not.”

  “Yes, that may well be true,” agreed Brian, “but it really won’t help us find out who the traitor is.”

  “Oh yes it will,” said Harry, grinning. “If we send copies of the same message to all those people at the Embassy who might possibly be passing on the information to the Germans, we can find out who it is.” Brian frowned, and Harry continued. “All we have to do is to change the information about where the Zaamurets will be dispatched to in each message. And when we see the Germans getting ready to meet the train, we work out which message they had read by seeing where they are assembling.”

  Petrov smiled. “Exactly the idea I had in mind, Lieutenant. Well done.” Harry smiled back.

  “I suppose I should have thought of that myself,” grumbled Brian. “Good thinking, Harry.” He still seemed troubled.

  “I’ll give you the names and locations of half a dozen likely locations where the Zaamurets might be dispatched,” said Petrov. “Each is roughly equally strategically important, and all are distinctly feasible locations. None of them, by the way, is the place we have picked for the first actual Zaamurets raid.”

  “I wish I could feel a little happier about all this business,” said Brian.

  “I can sympathise with your feelings, believe me,” said Petrov. “If you want to feel a little better, I can point out that this will make it almost certain that only the guilty party is punished, with very little risk of the innocent suffering.”

  “That’s true,” sighed Brian. “What’s the word on the Netopyr?”

  “Ah, there I am able to give you some good news. Lebedenko has sent word that the problem holding things up now appears to be fixed, so we will be able to see the Netopyr in action tomorrow. However, I have something to counterbalance that good news. We Russians would never be completely happy without a little gloom and misery to enliven our days.” He smiled without humour. “I don’t know if you were listening to any of the conversations this afternoon, but there was a strange sort of incident earlier today.”

  “I heard a little,” confessed Brian. “But I felt it wasn’t my business to be listening.”

  “Actually, it was very much your business, but I really didn’t want to bring you into it until I had more details. It concerns the train the Zaamurets was competing against. Just before it reached the perimeter gates here, it seems a man was spotted on the roof of the train – not a member of the crew, as he was in civilian clothes. The officer in charge fired at him with his pistol, and thought he had hit the man, who then fell off the train.”

  “They thought it was a spy of some kind?” asked Harry.

  “That was their assumption. Anyway, when they stopped the train, there was no sign of the man on the train, and no sign of him anywhere near the tracks. It seems that the officer was mistaken about his shooting. The mystery man seems to have slipped off the train as it stopped, and hidden in the bushes at the side of the track. He then distracted the gate guards from their duty and slipped through the gates. He was spotted going into the woods and a few shots were fired at him.”

  “Hitting him?” asked Brian.

  “I’ll come to that in a moment. That’s one of the rather interesting things about all this. Anyway, he made for the woods, and there was a sweep made through the woods by the sentry company. They found nothing. My guess is that he’d climbed a tree or something, but the fools were only looking on the ground. When they returned to their barracks, they discovered that one of their number was missing. The search party sent out to find the missing man found their comrade with his throat cut, and the body stripped of his uniform.”

  “Very nasty indeed,” said Brian. “And what was so interesting about the shooting?”

  “It appears that one bullet missed the man himself, but knocked off the heel of his boot, which they discovered as they were chasing him. They also discovered that the heel was hollow, and contained gold coins, which had spilled out.”

  “Our friend on the submarine,” said Harry.

  “Whose orders, if you will remember, were to come here to this establishment and spy on the Netopyr. From the sketchy descriptions that the train crew provided, it would appear that our friend Kolinski has indeed managed to follow us all the way from Reval.”

  “That’s not cheerful news, to be sure.”

  “There’s actually a little more. Just before the train was due to begin its practice shooting against the Zaamurets, they had to take on ammunition, having none on board during the journey from Moscow. When they opened one of the ammunition
lockers, they discovered a corpse in there, again with a cut throat.”

  “One of the train crew?”

  “No. They made enquiries, and it seems this was one of the railway workers in the yard in Moscow. As yet no definite identification has been made, but this seems to be the most likely explanation at this time.”

  “Well, it would be hard to mistake friend Kolinski for anyone else, with that dirty great beard of his, and that mass of shaggy hair. It’s going to be easy to spot him. Surely he can’t hope to pass himself off as one of the guards here?” asked Harry.

  “That, I am afraid, is where you are wrong. According to the officer who spotted the man on the roof of the train, he was clean-shaven, and his hair was short. However, judging from the general size and physique, it does indeed look as though the man was Kolinski. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but most of the guards in this area have been selected for their height and general strength. Kolinski won’t stand out as much here as he would in a normal group of soldiers. We’re just going to have to be extremely careful, and challenge anyone suspicious. We’re all going to have to keep our eyes open until we catch him, and I’m counting on you gentlemen to do your part here. Please don’t trust any of the ordinary soldiers that look to you anything like your memories of Kolinski until you have had an officer verify them for you. I don’t think that he’ll be able to pass himself off easily as an officer, so that’s not something that worries me very much. I have arranged for the officers commanding the guard units to make surprise inspections of the sentries as often as possible – at least once an hour, but not at fixed intervals, to identify personally all the men on duty.”

  “Not much more you can do, is there?”

  “I can’t think of much at the moment. I’m tired. It’s been quite a day.” Petrov yawned. “And on that note, gentlemen, I will bid you both a very good night. Many thanks to you both for your invaluable assistance today.”