by Glenn Meade
Some provisions to help you, Leonid. You’re a very brave boy.
Please don’t worry about the future, I’ll be there to help.
Dr. Andrev
There was another note in a child’s neat handwriting that said simply,
It was good to meet you, Leonid Yakov. I’m glad your mama is well and you have a baby brother. I wish I had one. Perhaps we can share yours? Perhaps we could all be like brothers? I hope we meet again. Nina sends her good wishes.
There would be so much more Yakov would feel grateful for to the doctor in the years to come, but that night, staring at the two straw cases overflowing with food and warm clothes, at his exhausted mother and baby brother sleeping, Leonid Yakov could only weep, deep fits of sobbing that racked his body with a wonderful warm feeling of relief and gratitude, and a newfound faith in human kindness.
13
The door burst open and jerked Yakov back into the present. A gust of wind howled into the carriage as Stanislas stepped in, looking such a child in his oversized uniform, and over sixteen years passed in the blink of an eye. “You sent for me, commissar?”
Yakov warmed his hands by the stove. “Relax, you’re not on parade, little brother. Are you still on picket duty?”
Stanislas joined him at the stove, rubbing his palms. “Until midnight, and it’s freezing out there. Any word yet from Uri?”
“No. That’s why I wanted to see you. I’d like you to talk to him.”
“Why would Uri listen to me?”
“Because he’s always had a soft spot for you. Uri treats you like a kid brother. He trusts you.”
Stanislas’s face tightened with worry. “You know that neither of us could bear to see him executed. You said you had a plan, Leonid.”
“If I can call it that. Remind Uri of his duty to his wife and son. Hammer that home. Try to appeal to his common sense. It’s worth a try.”
“What if he still refuses?”
Yakov said, “Tell him I’ll transport all of his men to the camp on board our train. No one will have to walk and no one will perish. He has my word on that if he agrees. That’s my plan—it ought to appeal to Uri’s strong sense of duty to his men. Go see him after your watch ends.”
“But you’ll be disobeying Lenin’s orders. You could be shot.”
Yakov put a hand on his Stanislas’s shoulder. “That’s my problem, little brother. Just make sure that you talk to Uri.”
Just before midnight Andrev heard two double raps on the window. The dimly lit room was filled with the sound of the other prisoners snoring. Uri got up off his bed, his blanket still draped over his shoulders, and felt his way to the window. He tapped a reply on the frosted glass, then crossed to the sick bay door and lifted the latch.
Corporal Tarku stepped in, squinting through his glasses, wearing his fur hat, woolen scarf, and mittens. He had on two overcoats, his boots crusted with snow, and he carried an armful of garments. He whispered, “Captain Vilsk donated an overcoat, sir. And I’ve given you one of my sweaters. You better keep your blanket with you. It’s freezing out there.”
Andrev shut the door and accepted the clothes. Tarku helped him place the coat over his shoulders and tie the sweater around his neck, using it as a scarf. “You’re sure you’ll be able to manage with your wounds, sir?”
“I’ll have to. Any trouble getting here?”
“None. The guards are busy changing the picket.” Tarku produced a ferocious-looking butcher’s knife from his coat, the steel flashing in the wash of light that filtered into the room. “I have a weapon. I’m a jeweler, sir. It cost me a valuable gold ring I managed to keep hidden.”
“I won’t ask where. Remember, don’t use the knife unless you have to.”
“What’s the plan, captain?”
“A simple one. You and I are going to walk out the front gates.”
The corporal’s face dropped as he tucked the blade back into his pocket. “You’ve got to be joking, sir.”
“We’ll have to gauge it just before the Omsk train is set to pass the camp, so that we’ll have time to jump aboard.”
“How do we do that?”
“Yakov’s carriage is parked in a siding near where our train passes. He’s expecting to meet me to discuss his proposal. If we can get the guards to take us to Yakov’s carriage, we’ll judge our moment to jump them and climb on board the Omsk train.”
“But Yakov only wants to see you.”
Andrev moved to the door. “Leave that to me.”
“It sounds risky. What if the alarm’s raised and Yakov follows us in his train?”
“It’ll take at least fifteen minutes for Yakov’s engine to get up steam, even longer to catch up. We’d have a head start. Even if he telegraphs ahead to the next station, we’d have left the train by then and be on our way to Perm.”
Andrev silently lifted the door latch, peered out. A few voices soared in the snowy darkness, the sounds of guards talking as the picket changed. The camp appeared asleep, the snow no longer falling, the horizon ink-black. The moon was out, bruised clouds marching across the silver lunar light.
Beyond the camp gates stretched endless acres of impenetrable forest as black as night.
“It’s time, and don’t forget a prayer,” Andrev said, then jerked his head for Tarku to follow as he stepped out.
As they trudged in the snow toward the west gate’s barbed-wire perimeter, they saw storm lamps illuminate the sentry hut. Andrev said, “See that pinprick of light on the horizon beyond the gates?”
Tarku squinted through his broken glasses and could just about make out a faint dot that looked like a low, twinkling star, but he knew it was a locomotive’s powerful headlamp. “The Omsk train is right on schedule.”
“We’ve got about ten minutes before it passes the camp.” Andrev approached the perimeter gates, crisscrossed by barbed wire. Two guards leveled their rifles. “Halt, who goes there?”
Andrev spoke up. “Prisoners Tarku and Andrev to see Commissar Yakov.”
The door of the nearby guard hut opened and the big Ukrainian with the mustache, Sergeant Mersk, stepped out, wearing his sheepskin hat. His left arm was bandaged and he was in foul mood. “What do you think you’re doing here, Andrev? I could shoot you for breaking curfew.”
“You’d be making another mistake, Mersk. The commissar wants to see me.”
The Ukrainian’s face twisted with anger as he strode over. In his right hand he carried a short, brutal-looking Cossack whip, the nagaika, a metal tip braided into its end. He thrust the whip handle into Andrev’s face. “Don’t think you’re going to get away with the trouble you caused today, you piece of royalist muck. What business do you have with Yakov?”
“Ask him yourself.”
“I’m asking you.” Mersk’s hand came up and he struck Andrev a blow with the whip handle.
Andrev fell back and Mersk said, “You’ve always been a troublemaker.” He tossed away the whip, drew his Nagant pistol from his holster with his good hand, and there was a click as he cocked the hammer and aimed the barrel at Andrev’s head. Mersk grinned and said to the guards, “He tried to flee and I shot him, right? You’ll both back me up?”
The men readied their rifles. “Whatever you say, Sergeant.”
Mersk’s grin widened. “I say we kill these two traitors for attempting to escape.”
There was the sound of a rifle bolt being cocked, and a voice said, “If I was you I’d drop your revolver, Comrade Sergeant. Unless you want to face a firing squad.”
Stanislas stood with his rifle in his hand, his breath fogging in the icy air. He stepped closer, pushed his rifle barrel into the Ukrainian’s neck. “I said drop the revolver. My brother wants to see the captain.”
The Ukrainian grimaced, tossing his Nagant in the snow. “You ought to show more respect to your superiors, Yakov.”
“Really? I thought one of the reasons we started the revolution was to put an end to all that ‘respect for your superiors’ no
nsense.” Stanislas kept his rifle aimed at the Ukrainian and said to Andrev, “Who’s your friend, Uri?”
“Corporal Tarku. I need him with me when I speak with Leonid.”
Stanislas considered, then stepped back and pulled open the gate for them. “Both of you come with me.” He grabbed one of the oil lamps hanging near the guard hut and said to Mersk, “I’ll borrow the lamp if you don’t mind. In the future, I’d be more careful and follow the commissar’s orders. Good night, Comrade Sergeant.”
Mersk watched as the three men retreated toward the siding where Yakov’s train was parked. Hatred blazed in the Ukrainian’s eyes, the kind that went beyond all reason. He picked up his revolver, replaced it in his holster, and retrieved the nagaika whip. “Who does that little troublemaker think he is, talking to me like that? Just because he’s Yakov’s brother.”
One of the guards grinned. “Still, the kid put you in your place, Sergeant. Are you going to let him get away with that?”
The Ukrainian’s whip suddenly cracked and snaked around the guard’s neck. The man let out a tiny gasp as Mersk reeled him in close. “Who asked you what to think?”
The guard wheezed. “You … you’re choking me.”
“Next time I will.” Mersk pushed the man away, releasing the whip. He opened the gates and glared at Yakov’s train parked in the siding. A dangerous look flashed in his face as he slapped the butt of the nagaika into his thigh. “Someone needs to learn a lesson. If anyone asks, you two never saw me, or so help me I’ll skin you alive, understand?”
The guards nodded. And with that the big Ukrainian slipped out between the gates, fury in his face as he disappeared into the darkness.
14
As they walked together toward Yakov’s train, their feet crunching in the snow, Andrev said, “I owe you our thanks, Stanislas.”
He grinned. “The Ukrainian didn’t like being outsmarted. It’s just as well I came to fetch you.”
“Mersk’s the kind who enjoys inflicting pain. A word of warning, Stanislas. An animal like Mersk is trouble. Watch your back from now on, I beg you.”
Stanislas waved his rifle. “I can look after myself. And I’m a good shot, Uri. Tell your corporal to walk a dozen paces ahead, where I can keep an eye on him.”
“Why?”
“We need to talk. Please, no arguments.”
Andrev heard a faint rumble of a train and peered into the darkness ahead but couldn’t see the engine’s headlamp. “Move ahead of us, Tarku.”
The corporal’s eyes flicked wildly with concern. “But, Captain …”
“Do as I say for now, Corporal.”
“Yes, Captain.” Tarku sighed and reluctantly moved ahead.
Stanislas slowed his pace and whispered, “Leonid’s worked hard for your release. He’s desperate to help you, Uri.”
The train rumbled louder as its headlight appeared and sped closer. Andrev guessed the engine was no more than three or four minutes away. Tarku anxiously glanced back at him.
Stanislas noticed and said, “Your corporal seems on edge.”
Andrev tensed. “He’s always on edge. Don’t think I’m ungrateful for Leonid’s help.”
“They say my brother’s ambitious, and he is because poverty lit a fire under him, but he’s a man worth being loyal to. Zoba and I idolize him. We know what he went through when his wife died, and when our mother passed. You know that he’s not one usually to show his feelings. He keeps things inside. But I know he cares about you, Uri.”
“I know.”
Stanislas put a hand on Andrev’s arm. “That’s why there’s something he wanted me to tell you in private, an offer he wanted to make you …”
As the train’s light sped closer Tarku suddenly spun round in a panic. The knife appeared from inside his coat and the blade flashed in the lantern’s light. “We haven’t got time, Captain—”
Tarku lunged toward Stanislas but Andrev blocked him and pried the knife from his corporal’s fingers. “No, don’t harm him!”
A confused Stanislas dropped the lantern and raised his rifle. “What … what’s going on here?”
Andrev slapped his hand over Stanislas’s mouth, catching the cry in his throat. He spun him round and slammed the youth face-first against the nearest carriage. Tarku stepped in quickly to snatch the rifle from his hands.
Andrev whispered, “Listen to me, Stanislas. Much as I hate it, I’m going to have to knock you out.” He leaned in close, their frosted breaths mingling. “When you come to, we’ll be long gone. I’m sorry I have to hurt you, little brother.”
Andrev applied pressure to the neck artery, and the youth struggled and grunted, then his eyes flickered as he began to pass out.
Andrev said, “Don’t fight it, Stanislas.”
A gruff voice said from behind, “I knew you two scum were up to no good. Now you’re going to pay.”
Andrev spun round as Stanislas slumped to the ground. The Ukrainian sergeant held the nagaika in his good hand. Malice and anticipation shone in his face.
Tarku aimed the rifle. There was an instant swishing sound and the nagaika cracked. It struck Tarku’s hands and he cried out and dropped the weapon. The nagaika cracked again, coiled around Tarku’s neck. The big Ukrainian dragged him closer, head-butted him, and the corporal went down like a sack of flour, unconscious.
The Ukrainian grinned. “Your turn now, Andrev. I’m going to enjoy teaching you a lesson.”
Andrev went to sidestep but the nagaika cracked and struck his injured shoulder. He yelled in agony, feeling a stinging jolt.
Mersk sneered, tossed aside the nagaika, and withdrew a frightening-looking double-sided Cossack dagger, the blade flashing. “It’s time I finished this once and for all. I’m going to skin you alive, Andrev.”
A train whistle shrieked as the Omsk train came round a bend near the camp. The headlight wasn’t more than five hundred yards away, a plume of smoke blowing from its funnel. Mersk saw the oncoming engine. “Is that what you were up to, Andrev? A fast ride out of here? Too late. You’ll never make it.”
Stanislas groaned, dazed, and staggered to his feet. Mersk said to him, “Where do you think you’re going, you little rat?”
The youth was barely conscious, hardly able to stand. “My—my rifle.”
As a dazed Stanislas went to pick up his rifle the Ukrainian’s blade swung down hard and the hilt buried in his back. Stanislas grunted as his body arched and then went stiff, horror blazing in his eyes. He slumped to the ground as the Ukrainian withdrew the blade and wiped it on his coat sleeve, still grinning.
“No!” Andrev said hoarsely, his cry of disbelief trapped in his throat.
“Now it’s your turn, Andrev.”
“You evil animal!” Andrev exploded as he stared in horror at Stanislas’s body. He moved quickly and his fist came up and struck the Ukrainian hard on the jaw. The big man staggered back, dazed, but only for a second and then the blade appeared again and slashed through the air.
“Say hello to the devil, Andrev, you’re about to meet him.” Mersk thrust with the dagger but Andrev dropped to the ground, sliding forward on his feet, kicking Mersk’s ankles and making him lose his balance. The Ukrainian’s legs went from under him and he toppled into the snow.
As he struggled to get up Andrev slid his good arm around the sergeant’s neck, placed his knee against the man’s back, and pulled. The Ukrainian struggled and gasped, then all the breath went out of his body and he slumped and fell still.
Andrev staggered to his feet, his shoulder in agony.
He tried to catch his breath as the Omsk train powered toward him, puffs of steam clouding the night sky, and then came a piercing engine whistle. He leaned over Stanislas, whose eyes were open wide. He felt his neck for a pulse but there was none.
“You poor, innocent boy.” Overcome, Andrev’s eyes welled with tears as he used his fingers to close Stanislas’s eyelids, then he rocked him in his arms, shaking his head, disconsolate. “Why him? W
hy? He was only a child, for pity’s sake … only a child.”
When he heard the train’s whistle again he wiped his eyes, laid the body down gently in the snow, and pulled Tarku up by the lapels, and shook him. “Wake up, wake up, do you hear?”
Tarku came awake groggily and it took him a moment to adjust his glasses and recognize the bloody carnage around him. “What—happened?”
“Later. The train, Tarku. Run for the line.”
“Did … did you kill Mersk?”
“I don’t have time to find out. Run!”
The cargo train came closer and suddenly it was on top of them, its whistle shrieking like a banshee, the rumbling carriages shaking the ground beneath their feet as it slowed rounding the bend.
Andrev took one last, grief-stricken look at Stanislas’s corpse, then grabbed Tarku by the scruff of the neck and started running toward the train.
It was past midnight when Yakov heard the banging on his carriage door. He was dozing in his bedroom cot, still wearing his boots and overcoat, and he clambered to his feet as the banging grew louder. “I’m coming, hold your horses.”
He rubbed sleep from his face, strode out, and snapped open the door. Two of his Red Guards stood there, an ashen-faced officer beside them.
“Commissar, I—I need you to come with me at once.”
Yakov jumped down and pulled up his collar to keep out the cold, his greatcoat billowing around his legs. He joined the officer and men, their feet crunching as they hurried in the snow toward the rear of the train.
“What’s going on here?” Yakov demanded. The camp was alive with light and noise, prisoners being roused from their huts, beaten with rifle butts, and herded out into the snow. The guards formed them into rows and counted heads.
The officer quickened his pace. “It seems Andrev and his corporal escaped. The guards say both came though the west gate with your brother, on your orders. Now we can’t locate them.”
Yakov’s jaw tightened. “What?”