The Last Eagle (A Christopher Sheppard Adventure Book 1)

by Richard Turner

  CHAPTER 10

  MOSCOW – THE TRAIN

  The Yaroslavsky Station is the main hub for trains going east or north from Moscow. Grusian walked out onto the long grey platform and was surprised to see that, even at seven o’clock in the morning, the station was already alive with activity. Hundreds of young men dressed in the uniform of the Red Army were waiting to board several troop-carrying trains, heading east to fight the counter-revolutionaries and their Chinese Warlord allies, constantly raiding across the long, porous southern border. Grusian hoped they would send the White agitators and their Mongol devils, trying to subvert the will of the people, straight to hell.

  The sound of several steam trains shunting back and forth, their steel wheels creaking and screeching along the track, combined with the noise from the people waiting at the station, overwhelmed the senses.

  Grusian tried to block out the noise as he strolled along, a small haversack slung over his shoulder. He made his way to the far end of the station where he found his ride. Grusian had never seen an armoured train before; to him, it looked like a cross between a battleship and a mythical dragon. Every inch of it appeared to be covered in dark grey-green sheets of iron plating, there were multiple cannons and machineguns mounted all over it. The only splash of colour on it were the two huge red flags mounted on either side of the engine, like burning red eyes on the long metal dragon.

  A young security soldier dressed from head to toe in red leather approached him, saluted smartly and then politely asked for his papers. Grusian indifferently returned the man’s salute, showed him his identity papers, and was escorted to a security officer waiting for him on the platform.

  The officer jumped to attention and saluted Grusian. “Good morning, Comrade Colonel Grusian. I am Captain Vasily Radek. I command the People’s Armoured Train, Red Hurricane, and all who serve in her.”

  Radek was a young man, who to Grusian appeared to be no more than twenty-five years old. He had very short red hair, was slightly overweight with a pug nose on his round face that somehow seemed to suit him.

  “Good morning, Comrade Captain. I have signed orders from Comrade Menzhinsky, the head of the OGPU, for you to take me to Mongolia without delay. My orders also state that you and your train are under my direct command,” Grusian said bluntly, so the young officer would understand that he now was in charge.

  “Of course Comrade Colonel, may I see your orders?” asked Radek.

  Grusian felt his neck getting warm, but realised that Radek was just doing his job so he handed Radek the order while fighting to control his hair-trigger temper. Killing enemies of the state was one thing, killing a fellow state security officer would be a lot harder to get away with, pondered Grusian.

  Radek read the order over several times and then handed the papers back without saying a word.

  “Comrade Captain, when do we depart?” Grusian asked, as he stared at the powerfully built locomotive.

  Radek removed his cap, scratched his head, and then looked down the track at several railway workers arguing over something. “Comrade Colonel, we will leave once we have finished loading all of our equipment, and when the track ahead of us is clear. My coded orders, which instructed me to be prepared to leave this morning, only came in late last night; as a result comrade, I regret to say that we are, unfortunately, already running a little behind schedule.”

  Grusian ground his teeth but said nothing.

  Noticing that Grusian was looking over the train, Radek asked, “Sir, have you ever travelled on a train such as this before?”

  Grusian shook his head.

  “Well, Comrade Colonel, since we have a little time, let me give you a quick tour,” said Radek, as he replaced his cap and then respectfully escorted Grusian alongside the train. “As you can see, there are nine cars on this train. From front to rear, the train is configured in what we refer to as ‘echelons’. This allows us to meet any and all challenges that we may face during our journey. The first two cars are flat cars, the first of these is loaded up with extra engineering equipment in case we hit a mine or are forced to make repairs to a segment of the line, which happens more than you would think.”

  “Really?” said Grusian, a disbelieving frown on his face.

  “Oh yes, Comrade Colonel, the anarchists, as you are no doubt aware, have taken to regularly destroying the lines running to the east,” replied Radek, as he pointed towards the train. “The next flat car is currently being loaded with two Austin-Putilov armoured cars. These armoured cars are an engineering marvel as each one mounts two 7.62mm machine guns,” Radek explained, pointing to the dual turrets, one mounted on either side of the cars. “These are excellent armoured cars. I think we in the OGPU have the better ones than our brothers in the Red Army,” Radek boasted. “I am very proud of them and their crack crews.”

  “How far can they go?” asked Grusian, watching the vehicles as they were secured to the train bed by long metal chains.

  “Comrade Colonel, these cars have a range of about 180 miles, over good road surfaces, slightly less over rough terrain,” explained Radek. “One unique feature they have is that they have a felt lining built into them, which is designed to reduce injuries from flying splinters should their armour be penetrated in battle.”

  “Comrade Captain, I have used similar cars to those ones, but never ones in such good shape,” said Grusian, genuinely impressed with what he saw.

  “Only the best for Comrade Menzhinsky and his organization will do, Comrade Colonel,” replied Radek smugly.

  “Please comrade, do go on,” Grusian said.

  “Behind these flat cars is a weapons and troop carriage. It is heavily armoured, with two 76.2 mm cannons mounted in rotating turrets atop the car. Additionally, it has ten machine guns—five on either side of the car.” Radek pointed to each weapons platform in turn. “Next are the engine and its tender.”

  “The tender?” asked Grusian.

  “Yes, Comrade Colonel. The tender is the car which supplies the engine with its fuel—wood, in this case,” Radek said, pointing to the tender. “Behind them,” he continued as they walked the length of the train, “is my personal car, which also serves as the train’s command centre. You will no doubt be traveling in there with me. Behind my car is another weapons and troop carriage, armed just like the other, followed by two more armoured cars on another flat bed, and so on. Just like the front of the train. Comrade Colonel, that is the end of the tour, do you have any questions?”

  “Most impressive Comrade Captain, how many men does she hold?”

  Radek stepped back as a soldier carrying a heavy load on his shoulder walked past without seeing the two officers busily chatting away. “The crew complement is ninety-five officers and men. If you take away those men needed to work the weapons, I have a dismountable platoon of soldiers and the crews needed to man those armoured cars. We are well prepared to deal with any and all threats to this train,” Radek said confidently.

  Grusian nodded. This was a train ready for war. “How long do you think it will take to get to the border with Mongolia?” he asked.

  “Under normal conditions, it would take about a week. However, as you are fully aware Comrade Colonel, these are not normal times. We will need to stop for fuel and water on a regular basis since wood burns at a much faster rate than coal. So you should expect an additional three to four days for the journey, just to be on the safe side.”

  “That will do Comrade Captain. Just make sure we do this as quickly as possible. I want to get to the border without interruption.”

  “Very well, Comrade Colonel, we will do our best. Now, please come join me for breakfast aboard the Red Hurricane,” said Radek, indicating with his hand towards the train.

  Grusian followed Radek to his personal car and then climbed up onto the train. Stepping inside the captain’s car, Grusian was stunned. It was not what he had expected at all. It was a very modern and spacious-looking carriage, with several desks and leather couches positi
oned about the cabin. Its interior was painted light grey, with gilt trim around all the windows. The floor really stood out as it was carpeted in an outlandish purple colour.

  “I have never in my life seen such luxury in a train,” stated Grusian, looking around the car in admiration.

  “Neither had I until we liberated this car from the man who used to run the Trans-Siberian Railways. The people needed it more than he did, so naturally it became state property. In the back of the carriage is my sleeper cabin. Naturally, it is yours Comrade Colonel, for the duration of the journey.”

  Grusian raised a hand. “No need Comrade Captain. I am a simple man with simple tastes. I will sleep out here on a couch. They look comfortable enough. It is your train, and even though my orders state that you are under my command, please do not put yourself out on my behalf. Just get me to Mongolia as quick as is humanly possible.”

  “Very well, if that is your wish comrade,” replied Radek, shrugging his shoulders. He was used to superior officers taking the best for themselves.

  They sat down and ate a hearty breakfast of tea, smoked meats and black bread, all of which Grusian thought to be of a better quality than he had eaten in quite some time. Maybe things were not so different after all. It appeared that the elite, even in an egalitarian state, was still being treated a cut above the rest of society, all of which made Grusian uncomfortable. The sooner this task was over the better he thought. It wouldn’t do to ponder how his superiors lived in a ‘class-less’ society.

  A short while later a whistle sounded, the train rocked forward and then started to move down the tracks and out of the station. The steam from the engine enveloped the train for a moment, but soon joined with the wind and blew away revealing the dark grey beast once more as it started to pick up speed.

  Radek wiped his hands in his napkin before the breakfast plates were taken away by a young orderly. “Comrade Colonel, if you don’t mind my asking, what is so important that a heavily-armed people’s security train is dispatched to such a godforsaken place in such a hurry?” Radek asked, studying Grusian’s stone-faced visage.

  Grusian turned his head and looked out the window. “We have an appointment with destiny Comrade Captain, and I for one don’t intend to miss it.”

  With that, the conversation ended. Grusian continued to stare out the window as Moscow passed him by while the train headed east towards what Grusian was certain to be a defining moment for the revolution and his career.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE BLACK SEA

  Sheppard sat on the deck of the freighter soaking up the sun, idly watching the seagulls noisily calling to one another while they flew in circles high above the ship, when Harry Campbell strolled over on unsteady feet and joined him.

  “Damn Harry, this is a surprise. I thought you never came up on deck when we’re on open water,” exclaimed Sheppard, offering a seat beside him.

  “Couldn’t stay below anymore, besides sir, I figured you could use the company for a change,” said Campbell as he sat down making sure he was as far from the edge of the ship as possible.

  “You’re right, as always Harry. Thanks for coming by.” Sheppard noticed that Campbell was still favouring his good side. “How’s your leg treating you today?”

  “Not too bad today,” fibbed Campbell. “Sure will be glad to get back on solid ground though. All this rocking plays havoc with my bad knee. I’ve got to tell you sir, my Russian is well and truly abysmal, but I think Colonel Shipov said to one of his men that we land in Kazakhstan in the morning.”

  “Not too shabby Harry, see you’re starting to get it,” said Sheppard offering Campbell some tea. “You’re quite correct in your understanding. We’ll be back on dry land tomorrow, and then we have one hell of a long train ride to the border of Mongolia. After that, I’m honestly not sure what we’re going to do.”

  Colonel Shipov was in a good mood as he bounded up the stairs and walked out onto the main deck. Looking around, he saw Sheppard and Campbell sitting drinking some tea. Strolling over he said in English, “Hey, you two layabouts, want to help us break in our new rifles?”

  “Where?” asked Sheppard.

  “From the stern,” replied Shipov, pointing to the back of the vessel.

  The little colour there was instantly drained from Campbell’s face. “No thank you, sir,” answered Campbell. “I think I’ll stay in the middle of the boat if you don’t mind sir, can’t see the water from here.”

  “Of course, my apologies,” said Shipov.

  Sheppard said, “Its ok Harry, you stay here. I’ll see what is going on and get a rifle for you as well.”

  Sheppard left his seasick companion where he was and strolled over to Yuri Shipov, who had opened up one of the crates they had been lugging around. In his hands was the oddest-looking rifle Sheppard had ever seen. It looked like a standard rifle but had a large curved magazine much further back than normal, along with a wooden pistol grip slightly forward of the magazine housing.

  “What on earth do you have there, Yuri?” asked Sheppard.

  “This my young English friend is the 6.5 mm Federov Avtomat. It is without a doubt the best piece of Imperial Russian engineering ever built,” replied Shipov as he handed one to Sheppard.

  “It’s not too heavy at all,” remarked Sheppard, balancing the rifle in his hands.

  Shipov picked up another rifle and cradled it in his hands. “It’s about five kilos in weight fully loaded.”

  “What else can you tell me about this funny-looking rifle of yours?” said Sheppard, intrigued with the odd-looking weapon.

  “My dear Christopher, the Federov Avtomat is not a funny weapon, not at all. It has a 25-round magazine and is semi-automatic. So, unlike one of your antiquated bolt-action rifles, this weapon will keep firing until you expend all of your ammunition. All you have to do is aim and pull the trigger, a brilliant weapon, and a testament to Old Russian ingenuity…if you ask me.”

  “This is amazing; how many do you have?” asked Sheppard, still checking out the weapon.

  “I have about 125 Avtomats, a dozen Lewis machine guns and more than enough ammo for them. What we lack in numbers, I intend to make up with firepower. On board, we also have two older, but still reliable, Maxim machine guns and a 47mm Likhonin trench mortar in storage, should we need it,” rattled off Shipov. “If we get into a scrap, we’ll give better than we’ll ever take from those Red bastards,” Shipov announced proudly.

  Firing suddenly erupted from the back of the ship, catching Sheppard off guard.

  “I had had an empty barrel thrown overboard. My men are zeroing their weapons. Come, let us join them,” said Shipov, waving in the direction of the firing.

  “Yes let’s, I can’t wait to see what this rifle can do,” replied Sheppard, cradling the Avtomat like a prized possession.

  Plumes of water shot into the air as the bullets struck the water around the floating barrel. Sheppard waited patiently until it was his turn to practice with his rifle. Taking up a supported firing position on the ship’s railing, Sheppard first adjusted the weapon’s sights and then pulled the weapon tight into his shoulder. Taking careful aim at the barrel bobbing up and down behind them in the ship’s frothing wake, Sheppard slowly pulled back on the trigger and then felt the weapon kick as the first round went off. He was surprised by the kick as the rifle fired, but somehow managed to keep his sights on the floating barrel. “Yuri, I can’t tell if I hit the barrel or not,” he said to Shipov, who was watching the firing practice through a set of binoculars.

  “Neither could I. Try again,” said Shipov.

  Sheppard took aim, drew a couple of slow breaths, and then slowly pulled the trigger once more. The gun fired. Sheppard focused on observing the splash of the round behind the floating barrel.

  “Dead-on Christopher…damn good shooting!” Shipov shouted as if he were encouraging a recruit. “Now let’s see what you can do with your new toy. Empty your magazine into the barrel.”

  S
heppard did not need any more encouragement. Taking aim, he fired round after round into the barrel, until his magazine was empty. Smoke lazily trailed in the breeze.

  “Yuri, that’s one impressive rifle,” said Sheppard, with a grin on his face as he stood and removed the empty magazine. “Come on, Yuri, let’s not be cheap now, give me some more ammunition, I’m just getting started.”

  Night fell; a storm that had been brewing in the south for most of the afternoon arrived in full force. Brilliant flashes of lightening followed by loud claps of thunder filled the pitch-black night sky. Tall, dark waves soon turned the sea treacherous and deadly.

  The ship rocked back and forth like a child’s toy in a bathtub. The motion was too much for Harry Campbell, who became bedridden, resting his sorry head on his pillow with a large iron bucket clenched tightly in his hands. The smell and the sound of poor Harry Campbell retching was awful. Sheppard decided to leave Campbell to his misery and went in search of company. He carried with him a bottle of vodka and a couple of glasses, all of which he had ‘borrowed’ from the galley. Sheppard found himself being bounced off the ship’s hard metal walls as he tried moving down the narrow corridors, bottle in hand. He soon found Yuri Shipov sitting alone in his room intently studying his tattered nineteenth-century map of Russia and Northern Mongolia.