The sun seemed to be right overhead, following her, tormenting her. The afternoon heat was stifling and the mosquitoes buzzed relentlessly around her head. Elena had long ago given up fighting the flying pests. She had been moving parallel to the railway tracks running west. Her hatred of the Reds and her intense burning desire to free Sheppard and the Alekseevs pushed her on.
The ground ahead shimmered under the hot afternoon sun. A large black ox came towards her. Elena ran her filthy uniform sleeve along her forehead to soak up the sweat. Stopping momentarily to catch her breath, she stared in fascination as the large beast came closer. She wondered if it would be scared off if a train were to come down the tracks right now. Her curiosity started to get the better of her. Against her better judgment, she left the cover of the trees and stumbled down an embankment towards the railway tracks, towards the oncoming ox.
“Hello, Mister Ox, how are you?” she asked as the creature slowly came to a halt beside her. Reaching over to pat it, Elena was surprised to find that it wasn’t very soft or furry at all; in fact, it felt downright metallic.
“Good day to you, too,” the ox replied.
Surprised, Elena shrieked, stumbled back, and fell straight onto her rear.
Shipov cradled Elena in his arms and looked east along the tracks, hoping to see Sheppard or perhaps some more of his missing men. With so few of his people trickling in one by one, he was becoming worried that things had gone terribly wrong in Turta.
“Somebody quickly fetch Father Grigory, and some water,” Shipov yelled.
“What’s up with her, and where’s Mister Sheppard?” asked Campbell, from the train’s engine compartment.
“She’s suffering from heatstroke. I don’t have a clue as to where Captain Sheppard or the rest of my men are,” Shipov replied glumly.
Christopher Sheppard’s head felt like he had been on a bender for weeks. He slowly opened his aching eyes and saw that he was sitting on the ground; his hands were still tied behind his back. Pain shot through the right side of his head, and only then did he recall being struck by the Red soldier. He tried to adjust his position and look around; all he could tell was that he was securely fastened to a pole outside of a large green canvas tent, oddly reminding him of his days in the army.
A young female signaller came out of the tent and, as she walked past, looked down at Sheppard as if he were a dog or something worse. An officer followed the signaller. Through the fog in his head, Sheppard realised that he must be outside the Reds’ field command post back at Turta. Straining his head from side to side, he looked around for Nadya and her grandmother, but they were nowhere to be seen. Tugging at his bindings to see how strong they were, Sheppard found that he couldn’t move at all…he was going nowhere. Sitting back in defeat, he knew for now, that he had to wait.
Sheppard sat there for about five minutes, stewing in his growing frustration and anger, before deciding that had had enough. “Hello! Hello, in there!” he yelled, hoping to get someone’s attention.
A soldier dressed from head to toe in red leather stepped outside the tent, loaded his rifle and then pointed it straight at Sheppard’s head.
“Comrade Colonel Grusian says for you to be quiet, or I get the chance to blow your brains out,” said the soldier, a broad grin etched on his young freckle-covered face.
“Fair enough,” mumbled Sheppard. He had the information he wanted. If Grusian was near, then so were the Alekseevs.
Sheppard adjusted his position on the ground and looked up into the sky to try to get a feel for how late in the day it was. The sun was dipping on the horizon…it was already early evening. He must have been unconscious for the better part of the day. Storm clouds were gathering over the lake again; he figured that it was only a matter of a time before a heavy downpour started again. He hoped to be somewhere dry by then, or he risked dying from exposure in his weakened state.
Hearing footsteps approach, Sheppard looked down at the ground to see a pair of highly polished black leather boots at his feet. Raising his head, he saw Grusian towering over him, his hands on his hips. To Sheppard, he appeared precisely what he was—a brutal and efficient instrument of state power. Sheppard felt the ropes being cut from behind him, and suddenly two pairs of hands roughly grabbed him by his sore and aching arms and then hauled him up on his feet.
“Come with me, spy,” Grusian ordered.
Sheppard felt his arms being twisted in their sockets as his two handlers forcibly moved him along. He was swung around and then paraded inside the command post. Inside, Sheppard saw about a dozen staff officers and their orderlies diligently puttering away on paperwork. As one, they halted their work upon and turned to stare at Sheppard’s filthy and disheveled appearance.
“This way,” said Grusian to his men, as they manhandled Sheppard through the spacious tent.
Coming out into a private portion of the command post, Sheppard came face-to-face with a Red General.
“See, Comrade General, this is why I needed your generous support. I had to catch this foreign interventionist bastard,” said a pleased Grusian to Platov.
“Seems like an awful lot of effort for just one man,” replied Platov drolly, clearly unimpressed with Grusian’s catch.
“Comrade, this man is not some waylaid White soldier, he is not even Russian. He’s a foreign spy.”
Platov stopped what he was doing, put down his map, and then walked over to Sheppard. “Do you understand Russian?”
“Sir, I wouldn’t be much use if I didn’t,” Sheppard retorted.
Platov raised his left eyebrow in surprise. “Well, for a spy, you’re pretty cocky.”
“I seem to have found recently, that it’s in my nature,” said Sheppard.
Grusian said, “See…see what I mean, Comrade General. He’s an enemy of the people and the revolution, and I intend to see him hung for his many crimes against the people.”
Platov was growing tired of Grusian and his never-ending rhetoric. He couldn’t wait for him to be gone. “Are there many more of you out there?” Platov calmly asked Sheppard.
“No, I’m the only one. Mum stopped after me,” Sheppard replied nonchalantly.
For his bravado, he got a swift and painful punch in the stomach from Grusian. Sheppard’s feet buckled beneath him. He would have collapsed on the ground if it weren’t for the two soldiers holding him up by his arms.
“Be more respectful, spy,” yelled Grusian. “I wouldn’t want to have to shoot you before we get a chance to parade you around Moscow in a cage.”
“I don’t know who you are or where you are from, but I suggest you answer my question. How many more of you are there out there?” asked Platov.
Sheppard fought to catch his breath. Struggling up onto his feet, he stared the Red General in the eye. “Sir, you and your whole bloody revolution can go straight to hell.”
Grusian brought his hand down hard across Sheppard’s face, and with a loud slap, his head flew sideways. “I’ll take great pleasure in watching your death, Captain,” he said. “Comrade General, I don’t think this one will sing. I am done here. I am going to load him onto my train and then leave as soon as I can.”
Platov could have jumped for joy. “Yes…yes of course, Comrade Colonel, he’s all yours. I doubt that there are many of them out there, and if they are as bad as he is, then we have little to worry about.” He stuck out his hand for Grusian to shake. “Enjoy your ride home to Moscow, and may your travels be worry-free.”
Shaking his superior’s hand, Grusian was pleased at the prospect of getting away from this Mongolian cesspool and the incompetent fools from the Red Army. “Thank you for your generous support, Comrade General. I will be most kind to you and your command in my report to Moscow,” said Grusian, lying through his teeth.
With that, Grusian saluted Platov and then ordered his men to drag Sheppard out of the room and towards his waiting train.
CHAPTER 21
A TRAIN TO CATCH
Sheppard brok
e out in a sweat. Pain raked his body. He thought the two security goons would rip his arms out of his sockets if they weren’t more careful. Laughing aloud, the soldiers smashed Sheppard into everything they could as they dragged him along. If he tripped, or lost his balance, they simply hoisted him up agonizingly by his arms and then continued dragging him along until they arrived at their train.
Once there, Grusian ordered that Sheppard be taken to the last armoured crew car and then thrown inside. The soldiers enthusiastically hauled Sheppard off the ground and then hurled him inside the steel-encased carriage.
Landing heavily on his injured right side, pain shot through Sheppard’s body, he cursed every obscenity he knew through his clenched teeth. Struggling to catch his breath, Sheppard looked around the car. He could see that there were at least ten other security soldiers inside. They all seemed to be quite surprised to see Sheppard lying there in a heap on the cold metal floor. Without warning, a hand reached down, grabbed him by his shirt collar while another man tied his hands. Once done they dragged him along the floor. A few seconds later, Sheppard found himself thrown into a small room at the far end of the car.
With a loud bang, the door was slammed shut behind him. Sheppard found himself lying on the floor in a darkened room with pain throbbing throughout his body. He didn’t have to be told that Grusian had probably broken a couple of his ribs. Sheppard rolled over and crawled on his knees until he felt a wall. Sitting with his back against the wall for support, Sheppard tried, in vain, to wriggle his hands free. It was no good; they were tied too tight.
Letting out a deep sigh, Sheppard realized that he was tired, hungry, and hurting all over. He couldn’t recall a worse day in his life. Shaking off such hopeless thoughts, Sheppard knew he had to get free. He wouldn’t last long against Grusian’s thugs with his hands tied behind his back if they suddenly decided to use him as a punching bag. Gritting his teeth, he started to rub his wrists back and forth. No matter how much it hurt, he had to try and loosen the knots holding him prisoner.
The countryside grew more and more familiar.
“Sir! Sir!” called out Ivanov, waving his hands above his head trying to get Colonel Shipov's attention.
“Yes, Corporal Ivanov, what is it?” answered Shipov as he moved forward to see what Ivanov was yelling about.
“We need to stop soon. There, just over there,” said Ivanov, pointing to a hill less than a couple of hundred yards away.
Shipov looked to where Ivanov was pointing. It didn’t seem that important. “Why is that, Corporal?”
“I remember that hill. We stayed hidden behind its crest for more than a day until Captain Sheppard ordered me to go and find you. If we go any further forward we’ll bump into the Reds, that’s if they’re still there, sir,” explained Ivanov.
Shipov rubbed his stubbly chin while he stared at the hill. “Prudent move. Good thinking, Ivanov.”
Moving forward to the engine, Shipov ordered the train to stop a hundred yards from the base of the hill. With a rush of steam, the train slowly came to a halt. Several soldiers were quickly spread out around the battered train as early warning should anyone decide to come snooping around.
Struggling off the train engine’s side railing, Shipov grabbed a long stick that he had taken to using as a cane to support his weight, and then moved to the front of the train. His injured leg bothered him greatly, but Shipov tried to put on a brave face and pretend that it wasn’t as bad as it looked. He wanted to do something…but what?
Harry Campbell was already there, waiting for him, his Avtomat rifle held firmly in his hands.
“What are you thinking, Harry?” asked Shipov.
“Sir, as the good Duke of Wellington used to say, we need to see what’s on the other side of that hill,” said Campbell with a smile.
“I couldn’t agree more. So what’s keeping us?”
“With our matching legs, it’ll take us a good half-hour to get from here to the top of that hill, sir.”
“Then why are we still standing here? Let’s get a move on, Harry, it’ll be dark soon,” said Shipov with a grin.
Grusian paced back and forth, growing more and more restless by the minute. He couldn’t understand what was keeping them from leaving. Radek had tried to explain that an unscheduled ammunition train had needlessly arrived a few hours earlier and was now blocking the route north. Seeing the anger growing in Grusian’s eyes, Captain Radek left posthaste to see what he could do about getting the other train to move back and out of their way, but that would take time. Grusian’s secret communiqué with Moscow announcing his capture of the girl and her grandmother had caused a flurry of telegraph messages from OGPU headquarters. They ordered him to proceed home immediately and to stop for nothing and no one. Grusian felt that if he didn’t do something soon he would explode.
Jumping down from his carriage, Grusian walked over to a small tent beside the train, currently guarded by four well-armed security soldiers. Stepping inside the dimly lit tent, Grusian saw that the Alekseevs were still sitting quietly at a small wooden table, exactly where he had left them several hours ago.
“Ladies, I hope you are enjoying your last few minutes of freedom. We will be leaving here in a matter of an hour or two at the most,” said Grusian, gloating over the women.
Madame Alekseev looked up into Grusian’s cold, hate-filled eyes, said nothing, and then turned away.
This infuriated Grusian beyond measure. He was used to dealing with men, and most of them broke in fear and wet themselves when he interrogated them. These two women seemed to be made of sterner stuff, and as much as he wanted to, Grusian didn’t have the time to try and break them.
“Enough of these games,” mumbled Grusian under his breath. Turning, he called for the corporal of the guard.
A soldier entered the tent. “Yes, Comrade Colonel.”
“Load these two whores onto the train. Put them in Captain Radek’s car. You and your men are to remain with them at all times,” ordered Grusian.
“Yes, sir,” said the corporal, who quickly ran outside and ordered his men to escort the women onto the train immediately.
“Comrade Colonel?” said Nadya as she walked passed Grusian.
“Yes, what is it?” said Grusian brusquely. “Do you finally wish to confess your counter-revolutionary crimes?”
“No, Colonel, nothing of the sort. I am innocent. My grandmamma and I have committed no crimes, unlike yourself. No, I was just wondering what it feels like to watch the sun set for the last time in one’s life,” replied Nadya, with a thin smile on her porcelain white face.
Grusian had heard enough insolence from her. He drew his hand back, and before anyone could react, he slapped Nadya hard across the face, drawing blood. “Well then, if I am going to die, so will you. I intend to make your last few hours on earth a living hell, you little Czarist whore,” Grusian roared.
“There, over there…look at that,” said Campbell, as he peered through his binoculars at a distant train. “Do you see those women being forcibly loaded onto that train?”
“Yes, I do,” said Shipov excitedly. “Damn, that big bastard with them looks like trouble. Wait a minute, that train is State Security, not Red Army,” pointed out Shipov.
“I didn’t see Captain Sheppard with either of those women did you?” said Major Baranov lying beside Shipov.
“No, neither did I, but I think we may have just found what we came for,” answered Shipov confidently. “Those women have to be General Alekseev’s wife and granddaughter. I just know it.”
Campbell lowered his binoculars and looked over at Shipov. “Sir, it looks like they’re getting ready to leave. There’s no way in hell that our train could ever hope to catch them. It’s a rust bucket barely held together by poorly slapped together pieces of iron, it’s a bloody miracle that we even made it this far. “I also doubt very much that we could sneak it past all those Red soldiers down there.”
“I know, I know; but we need to do something,�
�� Shipov said.
Campbell was at a loss. Raising his binoculars, he took another long look around. Focusing his binoculars on an object at the very far end of the wrecked town, a grin crept across his face. “Sir, we might not be able to catch them with our train, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t with that one,” said Campbell as he pointed towards General Platov's stationary train.
Shipov saw what Campbell was looking at and nodded his head. “Well done, Harry, I think you have it. Now let’s get going before we lose that damned train.”
The second they arrived back at their train, Shipov quickly called for his command group to assemble where he was. Major Baranov, Father Grigory, Corporal Ivanov and two other junior NCOs soon reported in. Shipov, his voice full of determination to get the mission accomplished, spoke. “Gents, we have found what we came for. The problem is that the Alekseevs are now in the possession of our most hated enemy, the State Security Service,” Shipov announced, looking each man in the eye.
Grigory crossed himself and Ivanov spat on the ground at the very mention of the name OGPU.
“They have loaded the Alekseevs onto a train, which will no doubt depart shortly. Our train, however, is finished and if that wasn’t enough, there are several thousand Red traitors between our objective and ourselves.”
“Any sign of Captain Sheppard?” asked Ivanov, feeling awful for having followed his orders.
“None. Either he is already on the train as a prisoner of the Reds or he is dead,” bluntly said Shipov. “Either way, we must push on and do what we came to do. We must rescue the Alekseevs. So many of our friends and countrymen have died getting us to this point, we must not let their sacrifices be in vain.”
A moment of silence fell over the group. Men removed their caps and crossed themselves as they said a prayer for the dead.
The Last Eagle (A Christopher Sheppard Adventure Book 1) Page 24