In the fog, Captain Stepanov, took one last swig of bitter tasting coffee, and then threw the rest to the ground. He stamped his numb feet to warm them up while he looked down at his watch. It was nearly time. Placing a whistle to his lips, Stepanov, watched as time slid away. Fifteen seconds later, he blew his whistle, as did numerous other officers all along the line of Red trenches.
It was beginning of the assault.
With a mighty cheer, men scrambled out of their shallow trenches. Large Red banners were raised aloft as the men of the first wave formed up under their officers, ready to commence the attack on Reimer’s fort.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sheppard saw Orlov kneel up on his seat and hurl two grenades behind their speeding car. Seconds later, they exploded under a pursuing armoured car, causing it to rise up on two wheels, hang there precariously in the air for a moment and then fall over on its side, sliding along in the dirt, until, with a loud crash it smashed into a low brick wall, stopping it instantly. Orlov let out a cheer.
Sheppard’s car burst out of the town and headed onto a long open road. Changing gears, he smashed the accelerator to the floor, speeding away into a thick morning fog. Just when Sheppard thought they had made it, he realized that he had forgotten about the Red trenches dug around the fort. Peering into the grey mist, Sheppard looked in vain for the Reds’ position.
With a loud snap, more machine-gun bullets flew past their car. Cursing their pursuers, Sheppard hunched down in his seat to avoid the volley. The sound of bullets hitting their vehicle, like hail off a tin roof, made Sheppard’s blood turn cold. Turning the car away from the stream of bullets, he tried to escape into the fog. With a loud crash, the passenger side rear-view mirror exploded, causing all three women in the back seat to yell out. Sheppard quickly looked around. Everyone seemed all right, but he could just make out two armored cars closing in behind him.
Damn, these bastards are persistent. Sheppard turned to Orlov and asked him if he had any more grenades.
“Yeah, one more,” replied Orlov.
“See if you can take out another one of those bloody armored cars,” shouted Sheppard, steering wildly from side to side on the road trying to throw off their attacker’s aim.
Orlov looked back, pulled the fuse on a grenade, and then knelt up in his seat to get a better view of the closest armored vehicle, just as another burst of machine-gun fire swept over their car.
Sheppard watched in horror as Orlov’s body jerked back from the impact of several rounds tearing into him. Blood sprayed out of his chest. A second later, Orlov lost the grip on his lit grenade. Sheppard saw the grenade tumble out of Orlov’s hand and onto the floor, out of view. Sheppard tried reaching for Orlov with one hand, but it was too late. His dead body slumped to one side and then spilt out of the car.
“Elena…grenade!” was all Sheppard had time to yell at the top of his lungs as he swerved around the carcass of a dead yak in the middle of the dirt road.
Fear swept over Sheppard. They had mere seconds before the grenade detonated, killing them all.
Suddenly, Elena dove over the seat, hands scrambling for the grenade rolling around on the floor of the car. A split second later, she turned and hurled the smouldering grenade over the side of the car. It didn’t make it to the ground before exploding, showering the side of the car in a hail of sharp metal shards. Luckily, none penetrated the side of their speeding car.
Sheppard shook his head in anger and disbelief at Orlov’s death. All of a sudden, more machine-gun rounds flew passed him, barely missing his head. Realizing that staying on the road would be suicide, Sheppard turned the steering wheel hard over to the left, taking the car off the road and onto the fog-filled grassy plains. It worked. Their pursuers hadn’t expected that move, and Sheppard was soon able to put some distance between himself and the other cars.
“What happened to Orlov?” asked Elena, her eyes filled with tears.
“Elena, he’s gone,” said Sheppard sadly. “Just make sure our company keeps their heads down.”
Captain Stepanov, jogged beside his men. Thankfully, it was gradually becoming lighter. He could now see a little bit further into the fog. He could hear firing in front of him, coming from outside the destroyed town. It made no sense whatsoever. The traitors were all supposed to be trapped inside their fort. Who could be firing in front of him? It didn’t matter, as they would be on whoever it was firing in a matter of seconds. With a call to encourage his company, Stepanov, awaited the coming clash.
Turning what he thought to be due east and then south, Sheppard tried heading in the direction of the main road leading away from Turta. The car mercilessly bounced up and down on the bumpy terrain, making driving fast near impossible. Slowing down slightly, Sheppard leant forward in his seat. Unexpectedly out of the mist emerged a long line of khaki-clad Red soldiers advancing straight towards them. A man seeing them started waving his arms, trying to get them to stop. However, Sheppard had no intention of stopping for him or anyone else and drove straight at the soldiers. A second later, he was on them. Seeing that the car wasn’t going to stop, the Red officer leapt out of the way. One of his soldiers didn’t react so quickly. Sheppard hit him head on. The man’s body instantly crumpled on impact and flew over the hood of the Vauxhall, landing on the ground behind the car. Sheppard heard more screaming from behind him, but blocked it out and kept his eyes fixed on the broken ground in front of them.
Captain Stepanov, stood there with his mouth agape. He couldn’t believe his eyes; one of his men had just been run down by a car. Turning his head, he suddenly saw two armored cars speed out of the fog, rushing towards them. He was just about to order his men to engage the onrushing vehicles, when they opened up on him and his men, killing and maiming his soldiers as they drove through his shattered line. Captain Stepanov, his blood seething, cursed the cars and fired at the speeding armored cars with his pistol. As the vehicles raced past him, he was disgusted to see that they had large red stars painted on them.
Sheppard was beginning to think that they might have finally lost their pursuers, when a long burst of machine-gun fire from the pursuing armored cars struck Sheppard’s vehicle from the side. Watching in horror, Sheppard saw the rounds rip into the engine block. In that instant, he knew in his heart that severe damage had been done to his car. Steam started to spit out noisily from under the hood. Sheppard cursed aloud and struck the wheel as hard as he could. It was only a matter of time before their engine seized up, and they would be caught.
There was no way in hell Sheppard was going to give in—not when they had come this far. He turned to where he believed the Red trenches were and once more floored the gas. The ground was very uneven. The car rocked up and down, like a bucking bronco, with each pothole the wheels hit. In the distance, Sheppard saw what he hoped for: the lip of a trench. Quickly looking over his shoulder, he saw that the Red armoured cars had split apart and were manoeuvring to try to cut him off. They were built to be driven off road; his car however, was not. Gripping the steering wheel as hard as he could, Sheppard aimed the car straight at the trench line. He flipped on his lights, hoping to blind anyone who got in their way. Turning his head, he yelled for his passengers to hang on. Suddenly, Sheppard saw a curious soldier pop his head over the top of the trench to see what was going on. Sheppard laughed to himself as the man barely had time to pull his head down just as the car hit the top of the trench and then flew over it.
Sheppard hoped that they had enough speed and momentum to carry them over the trench. With a bone-jarring bounce, the car landed hard, but safe, on the other side of the trench. Keeping his foot on the accelerator, Sheppard turned off the headlights, and a second later, like a ghost, they disappeared into the fog. Turning to look into the rear-view mirror, he saw the lead armoured car try to jump the trench. Lacking speed, the heavy, turreted vehicle smashed into the far wall of the trench, sending dust, dirt and vehicle parts flying into the air. The other car stopped short, wisely deciding not to a
ttempt the trench.
Sheppard let out a cheer at finally being free of their pursuers, then drove on as best he could for about ten miles out of town, before pulling the creaking and moaning car over to the side of the dirt trail. Getting out, Sheppard saw that the Vauxhall was finished. Shrapnel from Orlov’s grenade had cut into the vehicle’s tires and had chewed up the engine. The car could go no further. His body ached and protested from all the pounding his body had taken during the escape. He stretched his arms over his head, felt his spine crack, and then reached inside the vehicle to retrieve his rifle and small pack. Opening his pack, Sheppard grabbed his water bottle and took a long refreshing gulp, before handing it back to Mrs. Alekseev, who thanked him and took the bottle.
Looking back towards the town, Sheppard saw a black plume of smoke on the horizon, where the fort once stood. “We can’t stay here. We have to get moving,” he said to the Alekseevs, both of whom looked absolutely shocked at what they had just been through. “It won’t take them long to figure out where we are, and you know that they will be coming after us.”
Looking around, Sheppard guessed that they were at least a couple of miles past where he wanted to be. Sheppard said, “Ladies, we need to put as much distance as we can between ourselves and the Reds.” Sheppard then offered his hand to Mrs. Alekseev and helped her out of the car.
Elena got out of the car and then looked around in disbelief. “I can’t believe Orlov is gone. He was such a kind man. Why did he have to die?” she said glumly, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Elena, these things happen,” said Sheppard, trying to comfort Elena. “There’s no way to adequately explain them. Orlov was a good man. He died helping us get away. We’ll mourn his loss when we can. Until then, I want you to take up the rear and help herd our guest as best you can.”
Elena nodded and grabbed her rifle.
Sheppard took his bearings; he knew that they needed to head west. That path would bring them closer to Shipov and their train. He knew that their only viable route would be to follow the lakeshore and use whatever cover they could from the trees all along the lake.
“All right, ladies, let’s get a move on,” Sheppard said, turning to walk away.
“Captain Sheppard, you nearly killed us all back there,” Nadya said, her voice filled with fear and anger. “I hope you can do better than this in the future.”
Sheppard snapped. Turning on his heels, rage filled his eyes. Grabbing Nadya by her shirt collar, he pulled her close to his face. “You know what, right now I don’t care who you are or anything about you. A man just died for you. That makes four in just a couple of days. If you throw in the ones on the train, somewhere around twenty or more young men and women are now dead. They’re all dead because for some God-forsaken reason, they believed in helping you. Now, my precious little Czarina, I for one don’t want them to have died in vain. So shut up and follow me, unless you would rather go back to your beloved Prince Reimer?”
Nadya Alekseev stood there speechless for a moment and then broke down crying.
Disgusted with himself for taking out his anger on the girl, Sheppard let go of her, turned, and started walking away.
“Walk!” Elena said firmly to the two stunned women.
Mrs. Alekseev placed her arm around Nadya, and together they walked behind Sheppard without saying a word.
Campbell’s train crawled down the track, leaving a grey plume of steam wafting behind it.
“Can’t we get any more speed out of this engine?” Shipov asked, frustrated at how slow they were moving.
Campbell, his face covered in sweat and soot, turned to face Shipov. “Sir, we’re lucky we’ve gotten this far. The stopgap repairs we made on the engine aren’t the best,” said Campbell. “We’re doing the best we can, Colonel, but I don’t hold out much hope that we can go any faster or very much further,” explained Campbell, as he helped one of Shipov’s men feed more wood into the engine’s voracious furnace.
Shipov knew he could trust Campbell, but he needed to know if the elderly engineer shared Campbell’s gloomy assessment. The old man said almost the same thing, leaving Shipov feeling powerless. Looking to the east, Shipov cursed his bad luck and wondered what was going on and if Sheppard and his party had been successful.
The ground dipped away and led towards a small copse of pine trees out of sight from the main road. Sheppard led the women to the cover by the lake and then stopped.
“All right, by my reckoning we’ve been on the go for about two hours now. We’ll take a break here for fifteen minutes and then head off once more,” said Sheppard.
Mrs. Alekseev instantly collapsed onto the grass and lay there struggling to catch her breath.
Turning to Elena, Sheppard said, “I want you to keep watch. We don’t want to be caught with our britches down.”
Elena smiled, nodded at Sheppard, and then walked to the edge of the woods. Dropping to one knee, she looked back in the direction of Turta for any sign of pursuit.
Sheppard sat down and then held out his canteen to the two women. His voice still bitter, Sheppard said, “Drink up. You both need to drink plenty of water, or you’ll dehydrate, and then you’ll both be good for nothing.”
Nadya stopped rubbing her sore calves and took the canteen from Sheppard. She took a deep drink of water, and then another. With her thirst quenched, she handed the canteen to her grandmother, who also took a long swig of water, emptying the canteen.
Sheppard took back the empty canteen and then strolled over to the lake to refill it. “Well, at least we won’t die of thirst,” he said to himself looking out over the vast expanse of the lake, before heading back to check on Mrs. Alekseev. Her condition seemed to be deteriorating with every step she took. Sheppard knew that soon she wouldn’t be able to keep up.
The sound of gunfire rumbled across the lake.
“Captain Sheppard, what do you think our chances are?” the old woman asked while fanning her face with a handkerchief beneath the cool shade of a tree.
Sheppard looked over at Elena keeping guard and then at the Mrs. Alekseev. “Well, it sounds to me like the Reds are giving it to Reimer and his men, so they’ll be distracted for at least a few more hours. After that, I suspect they’ll want to come after us with everything they’ve got,” said Sheppard. “So our only hope is to put as much distance as we can between ourselves and Turta, and pray that they got that bloody train of mine on the move again.”
“Those sound like very long odds to me,” replied Mrs. Alekseev. “Are you a betting man, Captain Sheppard?”
Sheppard absentmindedly ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “Ma’am, if I were good at playing the odds, I would say it’s four-to-one against us making it to nightfall before we’re caught.”
Nadya sat up and looked over. “Captain I saw you in my mind. You came for us and helped us escape. I don’t understand why things are going so terribly wrong,” she said, doubting herself. It was something that she was not used to doing.
“Don’t be hard on yourself, my child,” consoled Mrs. Alekseev. “You said Captain Sheppard would get us out of that awful place, and he has. Have faith that he can get us all to safety,” said Mrs. Alekseev, lovingly hugging her granddaughter.
“Look, we have a saying in the army—no plan survives contact with the enemy, and ladies we most definitely have been in contact,” said Sheppard, with a grin. “We’ll make it, one way or another.”
CHAPTER 19
THE FOX HUNT
General Platov removed his peaked cap, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. He was standing outside his command post, proudly watching as the Red Army’s banner was triumphantly raised above the fort. He had gambled and won.
A loud cheer rang out as men around the tent clapped each other on the back, congratulating themselves. A minute later, a dust-covered armoured car pulled up in front of the tent, a battered and furious-looking Grusian opened the passenger door and stepped out.
Grusian looked
around like a hawk looking for a meal. Seeing Platov, he threw his battered cap back inside the armoured car and strode towards the waiting general. “Comrade General, I demand that you immediately give me a squadron of your best horsemen,” said Grusian, inches away from the general’s face. “It is a matter of vital state security.”
Platov looked at Grusian’s dishevelled appearance. “Why Comrade Colonel, what on earth happened to you?” said Platov smirking at Grusian.
“That’s none of your damned business,” snapped Grusian.
“Comrade, before I make up my mind what to do next, I want to know why you want the Red Army’s help.”
“Comrade General, I cannot and will not get into specifics with you. All you need to understand is that there are enemies of the state on the run right now, and I have been charged by Moscow, to apprehend them.”
Platov scrunched his face up and said, “Comrade Colonel, let me see if I understand you. You want me to give you one of my two sorely needed cavalry squadrons so you can go after people whose identity you refuse to reveal,” said General Platov disapprovingly.
“That’s right, Comrade General. I need to find the counter-revolutionaries who escaped from the fort just before your unannounced attack this morning,” said Grusian, gritting his teeth. He was wasting precious time talking to this buffoon, and he knew it.
“Comrade Colonel, as you can see, I am now the master of the Colonel Reimer’s fort, and I still have some work to do. Reports indicate that Reimer is nowhere to be found amongst the dead. It would appear that not all of his men died fighting. If some of them have escaped with Reimer, it is my duty to hunt them all down and hang them from the fort’s walls. For that, I will need all of my available cavalry. I am sure even you can understand that,” said Platov condescendingly. “Comrade Colonel, I don’t have the time or the patience for private security vendettas,” Platov said, hoping that Grusian would just go back from wherever he came from and leave him in peace.
The Last Eagle (A Christopher Sheppard Adventure Book 1) Page 21