As night enveloped the train, Sheppard called to attend an officers’ conference. Making his way forward, he found Shipov sitting beside the train’s engine, joined shortly by Major Baranov and Father Grigory.
“Vasily, how bad is it?” said Shipov to his deputy.
“Colonel, two more men have died from their wounds, so that brings the total of dead to eighteen, and we have five more who probably won’t make the night,” answered Baranov.
“God will protect them,” said Grigory as he crossed himself and then kissed his silver cross.
In unison, all the Russians crossed themselves at the Father’s words.
“How many horses made it?” asked Sheppard.
“Only eight,” replied Baranov as he rubbed his tired eyes.
The train’s engineer, a rakish thin Ukrainian with a smooth baldhead, leant down from his engine and said, “Gentlemen I don’t wish to be the bearer of more bad news, but I must bring to your attention that the plane damaged the train engine’s boiler. It needs to be fixed before we can even contemplate moving from here.”
Shipov swore and then threw his hat into the night in disgust and frustration.
Sheppard broke the silence. “Yuri, we need to push on. We’ve come this far. For the sake of your dead, we must continue towards Turta, train or not.”
Shipov looked up. “I am not about to give either. What do you propose, Christopher?” asked Shipov.
“I’ll take seven fit soldiers with me on horseback. We’ll ride on ahead and do what we can. You need to remain here with your men and fix this rusting piece of crap,” said Sheppard. “Once you’re ready to move, head east along the track and somehow by the grace of God, we’ll find one another again and finish this off together.”
“Colonel, I can pick the best men from the survivors and give them to Captain Sheppard,” said Baranov, nodding enthusiastically.
“You really think this will work?” Shipov asked, looking Sheppard in the eyes.
“Yuri, I have no idea, but we sure as hell need to give it a try,” replied Sheppard.
A weak smile formed on Shipov’s dirt-streaked face. “All right, I suppose you’re right. Chris, form your party and set off at dawn. It should only take you a day or so to reach Turta on horseback. I will meet you there in a day or two, even if it means having to fix this train myself,” said Shipov, as he fixed his gaze on the elderly engineer.
“Alright then,” said Sheppard, enthusiastically shaking Shipov’s hand, hoping that he wasn’t biting off more than he could handle.
CHAPTER 14
THE FORT
Gustav Reimer strode purposefully down the narrow candlelit hallway, his hands characteristically clasped behind his back. He wore a traditional loose-fitting white shirt with an old pair of dark-green pants. His long, greasy black hair tied back in a ponytail that reached down his bony back. Eyes that had once burned bright with passion were now puffy and bloodshot. Reimer was never a well man; ever since coming to Mongolia he had become increasingly despondent and erratic. He had grown emaciated from the lack of appetite caused by his overpowering dependency on opium.
Reimer stopped outside a highly polished gold-plated door, hesitating for a moment, unsure what he should do. He was torn. Should he proceed, or should he go back to his room? It was becoming harder, day-by-day, to make even the simplest decisions. Screwing up some courage, he decided that he needed to carry on. Reimer pulled his dirty white linen shirt down under his thick black leather belt and ran his long narrow fingers through his filthy beard. With a deep breath, he knocked on the door; his stomach churned while he waited…waited for her to answer.
“Who is there?” called an older woman’s voice from inside the room.
Reimer nervously bit at a long jagged and filthy fingernail then said, “It is I, Prince Reimer. I am alone.”
“You may come in, Prince Reimer,” replied an almost lyrical voice.
Turning a brass knob, Reimer pushed the heavy door open and then stepped inside. The room was lavishly decorated with a unique mix of Russian and Mongolian furniture and art. Colorful tapestries and carpets covered the room, and the pleasant smell of burning incense filled his nostrils. As always, the two women were waiting for him. The younger one sat on a large red and gold cushion, wearing a full-length red coat with a matching ornamental Mongolian hat heavily inlaid with gold; behind her stood a much older woman wearing a matching outfit in green.
The older woman addressed Reimer. “What brings you here so late at night, Prince Reimer, that you need to disturb our sleep?”
“I can’t sleep. It’s awful. I feel in my heart that something is wrong, terribly wrong,” Reimer answered as he hesitantly approached the women, his head sheepishly looking down at the floor.
“You are right to feel that something is wrong, that something is not right, my Prince,” said the young woman without looking up.
Reimer dropped onto his knees in front of her. “What is it, what is it my child? Why do I so dread the night?” the prince asked, crawling along the floor on his knees until his hands touched the pillow.
A slender pale hand suddenly shot out from under her dress. “Give me something that you possess,” she ordered.
Reimer clumsily fumbled at his belt and pulled out his knife. Slowly, he placed it on the pillow at the girl’s feet. The girl delicately reached down and picked up the knife, bringing it to her chest for a moment before placing it back down on the pillow.
“Things are not well, as you say, my dear prince. Two different and divergent forces approach this place. Someone is coming here to do good. The other force is evil. He intends to do us all harm,” said the girl, her voice calm, devoid of any emotion.
Reimer unconsciously stroked his long greasy beard. “Who are these people and why are they coming?” pleaded Reimer. “Oh, please tell me, my child.”
Gracefully raising her head, the young woman’s bright blue eyes looked straight into Reimer’s tired, sad eyes. “Prince, I cannot say, but what I do know is that they will both be here soon.”
Reimer jumped up, clutched his head in his hands as if dozens of unseen knives were stabbing it repeatedly, and whirled about the room screaming and kicking over the furniture. Suddenly stopping in place, the prince dropped his hands and lovingly looked down on his most prized possession.
“Child, this other force, the good one, is it coming to help me?” asked Reimer expectantly.
Slowly, and elegantly, the young woman stood and looked deep into Reimer’s soulless eyes. “No, prince, I do not sense that. A man has travelled a long-distance and faced many challenges. He comes to oppose you…to free me from your slavery.”
Reimer in a sudden flash of anger stormed forward, swiftly raised his hand to slap her, but the girl did not move nor flinch from Reimer. Collecting himself, Reimer slowly lowered his quivering hand. “My child, you will have to forgive me. I am tired. I am not myself these days.”
The young woman said nothing and remained standing, motionless, staring ahead as if Reimer were no longer in the room.
His nerve failing, Reimer slowly stepped back from the women. Turning, Reimer opened the door and left. With a loud bang, the door slammed shut behind him, echoing down the long empty corridor. Paralyzed with fear and indecision, Reimer let out a primal scream at the top of his lungs. Who are these people and why are they coming here? With tears filling his dark eyes, Reimer slid down the smooth wall onto the hard, cold stone floor. He lay there curled up in a ball, weeping uncontrollably.
A thin sliver of golden light penetrated the dark veil on the horizon. Dawn had come early.
Sheppard slid his rifle into place on his saddle and then checked that everything else was secure and accounted for before leaving. Having ridden a horse most of his life, Sheppard was glad to be off the train and out in the open where he could see his enemies coming. Confident that he was ready as he ever would be, Sheppard led his horse to the front of the train, where he found Shipov and Campbell wai
ting for him.
Shipov struggled painfully to stand. His left leg was still wrapped in a bloody bandage.
“Well, Christopher, I think Major Baranov has found you a good group of brave soldiers,” said Yuri, pointing over to a small group of soldiers still packing their kit.
Sheppard looked over at his party and shook his head. They all looked far too young for this kind of work. The only thing working in his favour was that his suggestion had been taken seriously, as Private Elena Zakharov was with them. To Sheppard, it made perfect sense that he should have a woman with them. She would be ideal in helping with the young girl once she was rescued. He would rather have Zakharov deal with her, leaving Sheppard and the others to focus on the business of staying alive.
Campbell walked over and then ran his hand tenderly over Sheppard’s horse’s nose. “So, sir, you’re just going to abandon me here in the middle of god-knows-where with a broken-down train and a bunch of people who can’t even speak the King’s English,” said Campbell, feigning being hurt.
“Sorry, Harry, you know you can’t ride a horse with your leg. I heard you were a near genius at fixing broken-down pieces of machinery on the estate,” said Sheppard. “Now, please show all of us some of that skill and get this wretched hunk of machinery moving again. I have a horrible feeling in my gut that I’m going to need your help before too long.”
Shipov limped over and said, “Don’t you worry now; I'll teach Mister Campbell how to swear in Russian while you’re gone. I’ll make sure he’s looked after,” said Shipov, placing his arm around Campbell’s shoulders, squeezing him tight.
Campbell, feeling more than awkward at Shipov’s display, broke his embrace and offered Sheppard, his hand. “Good luck, sir, and hurry back. I don’t want to get trapped in Mongolia without so much as a phrase book.”
Sheppard took his companion’s hand and shook it firmly. “Get this train moving, Harry, it’s our only ticket to freedom, and I intend on going home once this is all said and done.”
Leaving Campbell standing by the engine, Sheppard walked over to Major Baranov, who stood there, his hand resting on his pistol, waiting with the riders.
Sheppard said, “Vasily, thanks for Zakharov. I know she will be of great use once we find the girl. Now, who is the senior soldier here?”
“Corporal Ivanov is the senior man going with you,” Baranov replied, pointing to a soldier with a thick red beard, who appeared to Sheppard to be only slightly older than the others did. “I know what you’re thinking. Yes, they’re all young and mostly inexperienced, but they are loyal Russians, one and all. They will not let you down.”
“Right,” muttered Sheppard under his breath. Then, grabbing his horse’s reins, he placed his foot in a stirrup and then jumped up on his horse and whistled loudly to get his party’s attention. “We’re already wasting precious daylight, so mount up,” ordered Sheppard.
The soldiers all seemed to be natural riders; soon the group was all mounted and ready to go.
With a quick salute at Shipov, Sheppard turned his horse’s head east and with a slight kick of his heels into the horse’s sides, the horse began to trot away from the train followed closely by his band. Sheppard decided that they would follow the train tracks towards Turta, as it was their most direct route.
After a few hours riding, Sheppard observed the landscape along the enormous lake begin to change. Near the water, it steadily grew more and more heavily wooded; however, to the south, the ground gave way to be wide-open grass-covered steppes. They only ever saw the occasional farmer in the distance with their precious few cows or yaks grazing on the grass or drinking from the lake, but little else was seen. Neither man nor beast seemed to care that Sheppard’s party was there. The air around them seemed alive, buzzing incessantly with swarms of ravenous mosquitoes, irritating both riders and horses alike.
Sheppard was pleased to see that Corporal Ivanov knew his duties, keeping the less-experienced soldiers together, all the while ensuring that a couple of the better riders rode ahead acting as scouts for the rest.
They pressed on throughout the blistering heat of the day without ever pausing to eat. Sheppard’s back soon ached, reminding him that he had been behind a desk more than he had been in the saddle recently. Rising up in the saddle, Sheppard was happy to stretch out his sore back muscles. He wondered if anyone else in the group was feeling as bad as he was, when Ivanov called out to him, pointing to something moving in front of them.
“Sir, look over there,” said Ivanov.
Over on a ridgeline paralleling their route, a lone horseman was watching them. Sheppard drew his binoculars from a pouch on his saddle and raised them to his eyes. After adjusting the focus, he observed that the stranger was dressed in a long grey jacket and fur cap, his rifle cradled in his arms. Sheppard couldn’t be sure from this distance if the man was Mongolian or not and this bothered him. A thought crossed his mind: could Reimer’s renegade army have people this far west? Either way, from here on out, Sheppard knew that they would have to be wary.
They continued to travel east, following the train tracks for the remainder of the day, using what scant cover they could to hide their movements. However, each time that they thought they had lost their company, he would appear on the next rise, just far away that they couldn’t do anything about him.
As night began to fall, Sheppard ordered a stop at an old abandoned wooden shack just inside the tree line. They all needed to feed and water their horses before they ate a much-needed supper meal. Sheppard informed Ivanov they would be spending the night and that sentries would be needed until they left in the morning. Knowing how small their party was, Sheppard volunteered to take the last shift before dawn. It was a practice that he had followed during the war. It allowed him to collect his thoughts before anything happened at first light.
Settling down for the night, a small fire was quickly started to cook their meagre canned rations. Sheppard had not eaten since leaving the train that morning and his stomach rumbled in anticipation, no matter how awful the food looked and smelt. He opened his can and looked inside. It contained some kind of brownish-red congealed meat, which Sheppard proceeded to devour as if it were the best food from the finest restaurant in all of London. As the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon, Sheppard had the fire extinguished; there was no point in giving whoever was out there a beacon to guide them, should they prove to be hostile, which Sheppard, deep down, suspected they were. Why else would they have been tailing them all day? Certainly not to welcome them…
Sheppard finished his meal and stood. His body ached in places it shouldn’t. He stretched his tall frame out, picked up his Avtomat, and then walked over to Ivanov, who was taking the first watch with one of his men.
“Any sign of our friend?” Sheppard asked as he scanned the horizon through his binoculars.
“None sir, he dropped out of sight when we stopped here for the night,” replied Ivanov.
“I don’t like it one bit.”
“Neither do I sir. Do you think he could possibly be one of Reimer’s men?” asked Ivanov.
“Hard to say, but I would not be surprised if he were,” said Sheppard as he handed Ivanov his binoculars. “Take these; believe it or not, they help at night as well. Make sure you pass them along until I get them back for my shift at four.”
“Thanks, sir,” said Ivanov, taking the binoculars from Sheppard.
Sheppard took one more look at the horizon. Seeing nothing, he walked back to the decaying shack they were using as shelter for the night. The temperature soon dropped significantly. A mist had already started to form out on the lake and would soon creep onto the land, covering it in a cold, grey blanket. The night air was refreshing and cool on Sheppard’s face. Thankfully, the number of mosquitoes fell with the drop in temperature, making conditions a little more bearable for them all. Sheppard saw that Ivanov’s soldiers had spread themselves out all around the hut, leaving no room for him. Deciding that he did not really want
to sleep inside the shack anyway, he grabbed his thick woollen grey blanket and found a comfortable spot under a nearby tree. He hadn’t realised how fatigued he really was and soon found it hard to keep his eyes open.
The rhythmic beating of machine guns filled Sheppard’s ears. Fog seemed to be everywhere. He clawed forward, his hands digging deeper and deeper into the soft, wet mud; however, he never really moved forward at all. It was as if he was swimming in a river of slime. Sheppard felt as if he was sinking into the sludge and would soon drown in the vile brown muck. Suddenly, he found himself standing in front of himself as he hung on a German barbwire obstacle, which appeared to go on forever, ensnaring thousands of soldiers like rats in a trap. He yelled at himself to get up, but the man on the wire hung there unable to hear his own voice. Soon the dark shapes behind the machine-guns found him, laughing out loud; the demonic shapes turned their infernal weapons towards him and then as if in slow motion, he watched the bullets one by one leave the German weapons and fly toward him at an agonisingly slow pace. A bullet struck Sheppard in his left shoulder and then exited out his back, spraying blood everywhere. Another one raced towards his face…
Sheppard bolted upright. Throwing off his blanket, he gasped for air and then looked down at his chest expecting to see the barbwire entanglement holding him there, waiting for him to die. He found himself shivering uncontrollably. Sheppard slowly realized that he was covered in a cold sweat and was breathing as if he had just run for miles. Reaching over to his aching shoulder, Sheppard realised that it was just dream, just another one of his nightmares. He never spoke about them with anyone, but for Sheppard the war still sometimes found a way to invade his dreams. However, it had never been so real - so terrifyingly real, as it had just been. Taking long, slow, deep breaths to calm his beating heart, Sheppard was startled at how genuine and vivid his dream had seemed this time.
The Last Eagle (A Christopher Sheppard Adventure Book 1) Page 14