“What is going on, Sergeant?” asked a soldier cleaning his rifle in the corner.
“It seems the colonel wants me to teach this foreigner some manners and to see if he has anything he’d like to share with me,” said the sergeant as he stripped off his red leather jacket, revealing his muscle-bound chest.
Sheppard looked around and saw that the only way out was the way he had come in, and it was currently blocked by the massive bulk of the sergeant.
Slowly, the men in the carriage formed a human circle around Sheppard and the sergeant. “Askenov! Askenov!” they chanted as Sheppard and his adversary warily circled one another.
Suddenly, the sergeant lunged at Sheppard, aiming to wrap his arms around him and like an anaconda to squeeze the life out of him. He may have been hurt, but Sheppard was able to quickly sidestep his opponent and then land his clenched fists upon the man’s back, sending him staggering into several surprised soldiers. Seizing upon his momentary advantage, Sheppard moved quickly and brought his right leg up into the sergeant’s exposed back, causing him to tumble over onto the carriage’s cold metal floor. Stepping back, Sheppard looked towards the exit, but it was still blocked by far too many soldiers. This momentary lack of attention cost him, as the Red sergeant reached over and pulled Sheppard’s feet out from under him. With a loud grunt, Sheppard struck the floor. Stars filled his eyes. Shaking his head, Sheppard looked over and saw the hulking sergeant struggle to his feet. He stood there, towering above Sheppard, and with a wave of his hand, he offered him the chance to stand.
CHAPTER 22
A DESPERATE ENGAGEMENT
“Wait for it to turn. You need to hit its engine,” said Shipov, trying to encourage his composite gun crew standing around the 76mm cannon sandbagged onto the floor of the open carriage.
Campbell wasn’t sure any of this was going to work. Through hand signals, he had taught the men on the gun how to load and fire it, but aiming it was a completely different matter. He knew he would have to do that himself if they wanted to hit anything in the bitter storm.
“Sir, we can’t see a thing. It’s hard enough aiming with only the lightning to go by,” said Ivanov, who was helping Campbell man the gun.
Shipov knew his junior NCO was right. He needed to find a way to give his crew some kind of an advantage. He looked around and then hobbled over to a metal crate on the far side of the flat car. Opening it, to his surprise Shipov found a flare pistol and several cartridges inside. Shipov took the pistol out and loaded a cartridge into it, then hobbled back beside with the gun crew. The wind and freezing rain were beginning to numb them all. Hoping beyond hope, he raised his hand and fired the flare pistol. With a whoosh, the flare shot into the night sky. A few seconds later, the flare popped open and bathed the track in front of Shipov in an eerie green light. The Reds’ train was now less than a half-mile away and Shipov could see it veering to the left as it followed a long curve in the track.
Campbell watched the flare illuminate the armored train. Quickly adjusting the sights on the gun, Campbell stepped back and quickly dropped his hand.
Suddenly the night lit up on the open carriage as the 76mm cannon fired its projectile. With an explosive flash, the shell burst less than fifty yards to the left of the Reds’ train, sending a plume of dirt and rocks into the air.
“Sergeant, there’s another train behind us and he just fired on us,” an excited soldier yelled from the back of the troop carriage.
Sergeant Askenov stopped his pummeling of Sheppard for a moment and then looked towards the back of the train. “What do mean it’s firing on us?”
“It’s General Platov’s train. I’m certain of it,” said the young soldier.
Sheppard, gasping for air, saw his opening and shot his boot heel straight onto the inside of the big sergeant’s right knee.
The impact was telling. With a loud howl of pain, the sergeant instantly keeled over onto his side, holding his crippled knee in his hand.
Campbell carefully adjusted the gun sight and corrected for error. “I can’t see a thing, Colonel,” yelled out Campbell at Shipov.
“You soon will Harry,” replied Shipov as he reloaded the flare pistol and then once more aimed it high into the air.
The flare soared into the night, opening up directly above the Red train, making it an easy target for the gun crew to see. Ivanov pulled the gun’s lanyard. With a loud explosion, the gun fired. Campbell covered his ears to block out the noise. Momentarily blinded by the muzzle flash, Campbell looked towards the Red train through the rain, praying under his breath for a direct hit on its engine.
Sheppard was about to take advantage of the confusion amongst the soldiers caused by the firing, when he thought he heard the sound of an artillery shell coming straight towards them. He had less than a second to react. Rolling on the floor, Sheppard pulled the wounded sergeant towards him. Instantly, the room was filled with a blinding bright light followed immediately by a thunderous explosion that rocked the carriage and sucked the air out of the room. The car seemed to move up and down and then side to side as the 76mm shell tore into the back of the troop carriage, violently exploding.
Sheppard felt the heat from the flash, before the force of the explosion hurled him and the sergeant across the room, hitting the far wall, knocking the air from his lungs. His chest hurt like someone was poking him with red-hot coals, but thankfully, that seemed to be it for injuries.
“God damn it all to hell,” screamed an unimpressed Campbell. Stepping around the side of the gun, Campbell pushed the closest man out of the way, opened up the breach, and started to turn the hand crank controlling the gun’s elevation until he could see the other train through the cannon’s open breach.
“Load,” yelled Campbell. The men on the gun may not have understood him, but they knew what he wanted. Seconds later, the gun was loaded and ready to fire.
“Another flare, Colonel,” bellowed Campbell.
With a grin, Shipov raised the flare pistol and fired.
Sheppard pushed with all of his strength, rolling the smoking carcass of the dead sergeant off him. A large shard of twisted metal had lodged itself into the man’s back, killing him instantly. Sheppard stood and looked around. The roof of the carriage had been ripped off as if it were the lid of a can of sardines. The blowing wind and rain whipped into the open wound, making Sheppard shiver from the cold. He heard moaning from the more seriously wounded men and saw the grotesque remains of soldiers splattered all over the train car. Several men were missing limbs. Sheppard found himself actually feeling sorry for them. It wasn’t always a soldier’s fault that he was sometimes in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Getting to his feet, Sheppard quickly searched the dead bodies and found what he was looking for—a couple of Mauser K-96 pistols. Checking that they were fully loaded, he jammed them in his belt and headed for the exit, hoping it was still working.
The train rocked from side to side.
Grusian grabbed a table to steady himself. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded of no one in particular.
The Alekseevs sat on the couch holding on to one another, looking around the room, trying in vain to see who was firing on them.
“Sir! Sir! The last troop carriage, it’s gone,” said a frightened soldier from the back of the carriage.
“What do you mean, gone?” demanded Radek as he strode to the back of the car.
“Sir, it’s gone, it’s been blown to pieces,” replied the shaken soldier, pointing out into the storm towards the wrecked car.
Looking out the window in the back door, Radek could barely make out the remains of the still smoldering troop car. Running past Grusian, Radek picked up a wall-mounted telephone, turned the hand crank, and then waited for a reply.
“Yes, sir,” said a voice over the line.
“What the hell can you see from gun turret number one?” Radek yelled into the phone.
“Sir, I believe it’s General Platov’s train, and it’s firi
ng on us,” answered the man in the turret.
Radek clenched his fist around the receiver. “I don’t care if it’s Comrade Stalin himself in that train, open fire on it before we all get killed.”
“Yes sir. Right away, sir,” said the voice on the line.
“What is it? Captain, I demand to know what’s going on,” said Grusian.
Radek looked over at the Alekseevs and then over at Grusian. “My dear, Comrade Colonel, it would appear that you have something that someone else wants back—badly.”
Sheppard moved to the front of the carriage and to his disgust found that the door was completely blocked by twisted pieces of fallen debris. Looking up, he thought about climbing out through the hole in the roof, but it was nothing but a jagged jumble of razor-sharp metal. Heading to the back of the carriage, Sheppard found he had to watch his footing as the metal floor was slick with blood. Opening the back door, Sheppard stepped outside, instantly feeling the strong blowing wind and rain. The cold quickly penetrated his sweating body, making him shiver. Looking along the side of the long carriage, he saw a narrow ledge running the length of the car. Realizing that this is where they must have added armor to protect the crew, Sheppard knew what he had to do, no matter how suicidal it may have appeared. Carefully he reached out, placed his hands on the slender ledge, and then stepped out. The wind instantly buffeted his body back. Gritting his teeth, Sheppard jammed his feet onto a narrow bracket and then started to edge ever so slowly along the outside of the carriage.
“There Colonel, do you see that? It’s got to be Captain Sheppard,” Campbell yelled excitedly, pointing towards the demolished car on the other train.
Shipov limped over and peered into the night, but saw nothing.
“Colonel, fire one more of your flares. I’m certain that I saw Mister Sheppard hanging onto the side of that bloody train.”
“All right Harry, hold on,” said Shipov, as he loaded his second to last cartridge into the flare gun, aimed it above the train, and then pulled the trigger.
The armoured carriage’s metal was cold and slick to the touch. Sheppard pulled himself along, hugging the side of the car as close as he could, trying to reduce the force of the wind pushing against him. To Sheppard it seemed as if the wind itself was trying to pull him off the side of the carriage. Slowly edging along, he suddenly saw the world around him light up in a bright green light as a flare burst right above his head, showing the way ahead. He slightly turned his head and saw a train closing in from behind. He instantly knew that Campbell and Shipov had to be onboard. Smiling to himself, he dug deep inside for added strength and continued to carefully make his way along the outside of the car.
“Look, there, on the train,” yelled Campbell. “There, on the side of the carriage. I told you, it has to be Mister Sheppard.”
“I’ll be damned. You’re right. What on earth is he doing?” asked Shipov.
“Looks like he’s trying to make it to the next car,” said Campbell.
Shipov wiped the moisture from his binoculars and then looked ahead of Sheppard. He could see another carriage and then a weapons car. Suddenly, he saw a turret swing towards them. A second later, it fired.
The shell struck the ground just to the right of their train.
Shipov called over, “Harry, target that bloody cannon and destroy it before he finds our range.”
The cold was numbing his fingers and dulling his senses. Sheppard reached over, took hold of a new handgrip, and then slowly pulled himself along. The rain had made everything very slippery and Sheppard found himself struggling to maintain his grip as he bit by bit, moved along the side of the destroyed car. Suddenly, his right foot slipped. Sheppard’s heart jumped into his throat as he scrambled desperately to hold onto the side of the moving train. For a moment, he thought he would fall, but holding on for dear life, he was able to pull with himself up by his fingertips. His heart raced as he looked down and saw the ground rushing past him. Moving his right foot against the slick wall of the carriage, Sheppard searched for something, anything to place his foot on for support. The rain was coming down harder, making it difficult for him to see anything. Finally, he found a narrow ledge and placed his foot on it. Taking a deep breath, and with all his strength he pulled himself along until he finally reached the end of the carriage. Pulling himself around the side of the slick carriage, Sheppard was relieved that he was no longer being pummeled by the howling wind and rain. His feet touched the metal walkway between the two carriages. Letting go of his tenuous grip on the side railing, Sheppard let out a deep sigh of relief as he crouched down and looked up at the closed door of Radek’s personal carriage.
Wiping the moisture from his face, Sheppard drew both pistols from his belt and then moved slowly towards the door. Steeling himself, he swiftly stood facing the door with both arms fully extended. The surprised soldier looking out the window never had the opportunity to react before Sheppard fired both pistols through the glass window, killing him.
The last flare arced up into the air; both Shipov and Campbell anxiously looked through the rain trying to see if they could see Sheppard anymore.
“I don’t see him, do you?” asked Shipov.
“No, I don’t,” replied Campbell, hoping that Sheppard somehow had made it to the other end of the carriage.
The Red train’s turret mounted gun fired again, and this time the artillery projectile hit home. The 76mm cannon on the last flat car was hit. In an instant, men and equipment were blown apart and sent flying off the carriage, leaving only a smoking hole where some of Shipov’s men had been seconds before.
“Damn!” said Campbell, shaking his head. “We’ve got to silence that gun.” With that, he swung open the breach and looked down the barrel, trying to line it up with the deadly Red turret.
Father Grigory joined Shipov on the flat car. “Colonel, I think we need to slow down or we are going to smash into the rear of that train in a couple of minutes,” Grigory said, pointing to the rear of the other train.
Shipov had been too engrossed to notice, but Grigory was right. If they didn’t slow down soon, they would smash right into the rear of the other train. “Father, please tell the engineer to slow down—only slightly, though—and then please head back to the last car. We’ve been hit. I think we have need of your services.”
Grigory patted Shipov on the back and then disappeared from sight on his way to pass on Shipov’s order, then to deal with the dead and dying.
Sheppard pulled open the door and then darted inside the carriage. Soaking wet, he dropped to one knee, pointing his pistols down the narrow corridor. He had expected more guards, but thankfully, so far he was alone. Reaching down, he pulled two stick grenades from the dead man’s belt and then thrust them into his own. He could hear the two trains, like a pair of dueling battleships, exchanging gunfire. Silently, he prayed that his friends were all right.
Standing up, Sheppard cautiously began to move down the hall towards the main room, where he had last seen the Alekseevs. Suddenly, a door flew open and a surprised soldier stepped into the hallway, barely a yard away from Sheppard. Without hesitating, Sheppard fired a shot into the man’s head. Blood and brains splattered against the wall behind him. Sheppard waited a second to see if there were any more soldiers coming out before continuing down the narrow hall.
Arriving at the door separating him from the women, he turned the knob and was not surprised to find it locked.
Nothing was going to stop Sheppard now.
Removing both grenades from his belt, Sheppard unscrewed the fuses and then moved back from the door. Stepping over the body of the dead soldier, he walked to the end of the carriage, turned, and kissed both grenades for luck and then pulled their fuses, igniting them both. In one smooth motion, Sheppard tossed the grenades against the locked door.
“What the hell is happening out there?” demanded Grusian. “Someone is out there. I can hear gunfire from inside this carriage.”
“I don’t know what
the hell you are going on about. Just leave me alone, I’m trying to fight a battle,” replied Radek.
“You there,” said Grusian to a security soldier who had been guarding the Alekseevs, “Move over to that door.”
The soldier nodded, picked up his rifle, and then headed over to join another soldier already standing by the locked door.
Grusian drew his pistol, chambered a round, and then walked over to the women huddled together on the couch. He could feel his control of events slipping through his fingers.
“If I can’t have you, then no one will,” said Grusian, raising his pistol to take aim at Nadya Alekseev.
“No! Please don’t kill my granddaughter. If you must kill someone, kill me,” pleaded Mrs. Alekseev, holding a terrified Nadya tight in her arms.
“Too late for that we’re all going to die,” said Grusian, realizing that Nadya had told him the truth; he was going to die tonight.
Nadya pushed her grandmother away and looked up at Grusian. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Comrade Colonel, but you’re too late. He’s already here.”
Grusian stared at the young Alekseev in disbelief, and then took the safety off his pistol.
A loud explosion suddenly ripped through the room. Both soldiers guarding the entrance to the room were torn apart as the reinforced door shattered sending deadly fragments of wood and steel flying into the room. Grusian felt himself flying backwards. With a loud thump, he hit the far wall, away from the Alekseevs.
Sheppard heard and felt the twin explosions. Without hesitating, he darted through the smoking hole that had once been a solid metal door. Leaping over the remains of the two guards, Sheppard landed on his feet, his arms outstretched, ready for anything. The room was a mess. Furniture had been overturned and papers littered the floor from the blast. A soldier, his ears still ringing from the blast, noticed Sheppard from the other side of the room and clumsily tried raising his rifle to take a shot at him. Sheppard reacted before the soldier, firing both pistols, before switching aim at a new threat.
The Last Eagle (A Christopher Sheppard Adventure Book 1) Page 26