A guard standing near the Alekseevs saw Sheppard and clumsily fired his weapon. The shot went wide, striking the wall; Sheppard’s aim was better, firing two quick shots at the soldier, which sent him tumbling to the floor, dead. The fat officer that Sheppard had seen earlier stood there staring wide eyed at him with a large gash on his head, blood spurting from it with each heartbeat. Sheppard aimed both pistols at him.
“Where are the women?” he demanded.
“They’re over there, on the floor,” said the wounded officer, pointing to an overturned couch.
“Nadya, Mrs. Alekseev, are you both all right?” called Sheppard as he moved forward, all the while keeping both his pistols trained on Radek.
“Yes … yes, we are. It is so good to hear your voice Captain Sheppard,” answered Mrs. Alekseev as she helped her granddaughter to her feet.
“Stay where you are ladies,” said Sheppard. He then addressed the Red officer. “You, what’s your name?”
“I am Captain Radek.”
Sheppard stopped by the Alekseevs. Looking down, he saw that they were shaken up but otherwise unhurt. He saw the dark shape of Grusian stretched out on the floor and then smiled to himself.
Good riddance.
He then looked over at Radek. “Order this train to stop and let us off, or I’ll kill you where you stand Captain.”
“Yes, I suspect that you would,” replied Radek, pressing a hand against his forehead in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood.
Another shell struck home somewhere forward on the train, causing it to rock back and forth. The lights flicked inside the room. Sheppard was only just able to maintain his balance.
“I meant what I said, Captain. Don’t make me kill you.”
“All right Mister Sheppard, you win. I don’t want to die over a couple of women.” Radek turned to pick up the wall telephone, when two shots in succession suddenly rang out.
Sheppard turned and saw Grusian standing there, smoke curling up from the barrel of his pistol. He had shot Radek twice in the back, fatally wounding the captain.
Cursing himself, Sheppard realised that he should have taken the time to see if Grusian was really dead. In the blink of an eye, both men turned their pistols on one another, both men staring down the barrel of their opponent’s weapon.
“So, Captain Sheppard, it seems you are far harder to kill than I had originally anticipated. Nevertheless, we seem to be in a bit of a stand-off, wouldn’t you agree?” said Grusian enjoying, the predicament he found himself in.
“Yes, comrade, I would have to agree with you,” Sheppard replied as he moved to his side and placed himself in front of the Alekseevs. “Move to the back of the carriage and stay there,” he told the women, without ever taking his eyes off Grusian.
“Well, Captain, it would appear that we are evenly matched with pistols, so why don’t we settle this like men?” Grusian suggested as he slowly lowered his pistol and then tossed it onto the floor.
“What makes you think that I won’t just kill you?” asked Sheppard, his pistol still aimed at his adversary.
“Because I am unarmed, and, as an officer and a gentleman, you would never kill an unarmed man. I say we finish this like men.”
Sheppard hesitated for a moment and then lowered his pistols, dropping them to the floor. They made a loud clattering as they struck the metal flooring. “So, what do you propose, Colonel?”
Grusian turned, walked over to the wall and then removed two cavalry sabers that had been hanging there as ornaments. He tossed one over to Sheppard and then slashed his through the air, trying to get a feel for the weight of the blade.
Sheppard caught the sabre and then took a step back to put some distance between himself and his opponent.
“To the death, Captain Sheppard,” Grusian announced dramatically, saluting Sheppard with his blade.
“To your death,” replied Sheppard.
With a loud guttural cry, Grusian charged Sheppard. The men smashed into one another in the center of the room. Grusian swung down hard, trying to dispatch Sheppard in one blow. His aim was off, and the blade fell wide of Sheppard’s head.
Stepping back slightly, Sheppard thrust his blade towards Grusian’s open flank, but he had also misjudged; his sword slid harmlessly along Grusian’s leather jacket. Realizing that he had overextended himself, Sheppard jumped back quickly, just as Grusian had recovered from his near miss and swung his sword around in a wide arc, trying to hit Sheppard in the stomach. Sheppard, his heart racing, felt the blade swing past his midsection, missing by mere millimeters.
Turning his blade in his hand, Sheppard’s sword struck Grusian’s. The swords made a loud clang as they hit one another. Sheppard quickly pulled his sword back and then lunged for his opponent’s open stomach.
Grusian saw it coming, gritted his teeth, and then in one swift movement he parried away Sheppard’s slash.
It was quickly becoming obvious to Sheppard that both men were evenly matched in their skill with a blade. Sheppard stepped back, brought his sabre around, and tried hitting Grusian’s sword arm.
Seeing an opening, Grusian leapt towards Sheppard. Both men grabbed each other’s sword arm. Pulling one another, they staggered around the room, desperately trying to break the other’s hold.
They were running out of ammunition.
Campbell nodded as Ivanov loaded their last round into the breach of the gun. Shipov limped to the gun and patted the steaming barrel for luck. With a loud bang and a flash of flame, the cannon shot its shell towards its prey.
Campbell watched for the strike of the round. It was still off slightly, hitting the ground just beside the front car of the Red’s train. Campbell swore and kicked the gun…there was nothing else they could do now.
Then at the front of the Red train, ever so slowly, the lead car containing extra supplies slid off its tracks. A slow-motion cascade effect followed, as one by one the lead three cars slid off the track, smashing and tumbling into one another, loudly disintegrating on impact.
A loud cheer rose from all the men on the lead flat car. Harry Campbell, elated, tossed his cap into the air and then suddenly found himself embraced by Colonel Shipov.
Sheppard and Grusian, struggling back and forth across the room, didn’t even hear the fatal explosion that had crippled the Red train. When without warning, they both felt the carriage wobble and then cant off to the left as the train started to slide off its tracks.
Sheppard instantly let go of Grusian and reached out for support; finding none, he felt himself tumbling end over end across the room.
A moment later, the lights went out.
The two Alekseev women screamed in fear just as the carriage flipped over on its side, noisily spilling people and furniture all over the place. The sound was deafening as the car slid along the ground, coming to a sudden halt when it crashed into the overturned troop carriage in front of them, splitting the carriage in two.
An awful silence soon descended on the destroyed carriage.
Sheppard felt around in the dark and realised that he was now lying on what once had been a wall of the carriage. He struggled to dig himself out from under a leather couch.
“Nadya, Mrs. Alekseev, are you hurt? Speak to me, please, wherever you are,” called Sheppard as he tossed the couch aside and stood.
There was no reply.
Sheppard’s mind filled with dread and fear. He struggled to gain his footing in the clutter that had once been a luxurious carriage.
“Ladies, please speak to me,” Sheppard called out once more.
Suddenly, Sheppard saw a figure leap up from behind some flipped over office furniture.
With a demonic gleam in his eyes, Grusian swung his sabre down towards Sheppard’s head.
Having lost his sword when the train flipped over, Sheppard jumped back, lost his footing, and fell backwards over the leather couch.
Grusian leaped over the couch and swung his sword down, barely missing Sheppard’s head, the blade
of his sabre easily cutting into the leather couch
Thrusting his right leg up quickly, Sheppard shot his heel into Grusian’s groin. He heard his adversary moan in pain and then collapse onto the floor, somewhere in the dark. Sheppard reached around in the dark trying to find something he could use to finish off his opponent.
Without warning, the train shifted slightly, once more spilling Sheppard and several pieces of furniture against the wall. Light from the burning wreckage outside the train dimly lit the inside of the smashed carriage through a large gash in the side of the car.
The sound of a woman’s scream filled the cabin.
“Nadya, Mrs. Alekseev, where are you?” called out Sheppard.
“I’m here, Christopher. Grandmamma is stuck under something and I think she’s hurt,” said a terrified Nadya, from somewhere inside the darkened carriage.
“Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you,” said Sheppard, as he climbed over the wrecked contents of the room.
He moved in the direction of Nadya’s voice. Moments later, Sheppard found her crying, sitting beside her grandmother, cradling her head in her arms.
“She’s hurt Christopher. I think it’s bad. I’m so scared for her,” sobbed Nadya.
Sheppard looked down and saw that Mrs. Alekseev was pinned beneath a heavy oak table. It had hit her square in the chest, pinning her against the wall. He tried shifting the table but it was far too heavy, easily weighing a couple of hundred pounds.
“Please do something, Christopher,” Nadya pleaded. “She’s not moving, and she’s so cold.”
Sheppard knelt down and placed his hand on Mrs. Alekseev’s neck. There was no pulse. She was dead. He felt a knot form in his throat as he reached over for Nadya.
“I’m sorry, Nadya, she’s gone.”
“No!” Nadya wailed as she pulled on the lifeless arms of her grandmother.
Sheppard saw a shape rise at the other end of the cabin and start to crawl over the furniture towards them. Sheppard couldn’t believe the abuse that Grusian could take and keep fighting. It didn’t seem natural.
He turned to the girl. “Nadya, we have to leave.”
“No … no … I can’t leave her all alone in here.”
Sheppard knew he didn’t have time to reason with Nadya. Grabbing the grief-stricken girl by her arms, he forced her towards the door at the back of the overturned carriage. Sheppard slid down the wall towards the door and turned the knob. It opened slightly, and then with a push from his shoulder, it swung open. He pulled Nadya along with him. They both stepped off the side of the carriage and out onto soaking wet ground. It had stopped raining, but was still overcast, cool, and dark outside.
Sheppard could see the rest of the train lying in a smashed-up heap in front of him on fire. Looking back, he observed that the remainder of their train had somehow miraculously remained on the tracks. Further back still, Sheppard could make out the silhouette of another train. He soon heard voices approaching.
Nadya collapsed on her knees in the soaking wet grass, sobbing and calling out for her grandmother.
Sheppard knelt down beside her and pulled her close to him. “Don’t cry, Nadya. Your grandmother wouldn’t want you to cry,” he soft softly, trying to console her, running his hands through her knotted hair.
A noise came from the train. Sheppard looked up and to his disgust saw that Grusian was climbing out of large gouge in the side of the carriage. With a loud splash, Grusian landed in a puddle beside the train. He stood there, breathing heavily, weaving back and forth on unsteady feet.
“Captain Sheppard, are you there?” called out a voice from behind him.
“Yes, down here. Keep coming,” replied Sheppard, without taking his eyes of Grusian.
Soon Ivanov, Elena and several of Shipov’s men arrived beside Sheppard. One of the soldiers raised his rifle to finish off Grusian.
“No!” yelled Sheppard. Slowly standing up, he pointed at Grusian. “No one, and I mean no one, is to shoot that Red bastard.”
“Mister Sheppard, you’re hurt,” said a female voice next to him.
Turning, Sheppard was happy to see that Elena had made it. “Elena, take Nadya to Colonel Shipov,” said Sheppard, stepping away from Nadya Alekseev.
“Yes, sir,” replied Elena as she bent over and helped the despondent young woman to her feet.
“Now you murdering bastard, it’s time to finish this business, once and for all,” announced Sheppard.
Grusian smiled. His mouth was full of blood. He spat onto the ground. Slowly reaching behind his back, he pulled out his meat cleaver. Swinging it about in the air for a moment, with a loud scream, he charged towards Sheppard.
Easily sidestepping his shaky opponent, Sheppard watched as Grusian stumbled past him, slipping on the muddy ground, nearly falling down.
Regaining his balance, Grusian turned and launched himself once more towards Sheppard.
Turning in place, Sheppard saw that Grusian wasn’t going to quit until one of them was dead. His adversary quickly closed the distance between them. With lightning speed, Grusian brought his cleaver down towards Sheppard, who tried jumping back at the last possible second.
Pain instantly shot through Sheppard’s left arm as the meat cleaver nicked his shoulder. The blade had not penetrated deeply, but the pain was excruciating.
Sheppard stepped in towards his opponent, grabbed Grusian’s outstretched hand and then with his blood boiling in anger, he shot his fist hard into Grusian’s side. With a loud grunt, Grusian flinched in pain as he took a sharp blow to his kidneys.
Sheppard heard a man chamber a round. “Ivanov, if any man shoots, I want you to kill him,” Sheppard yelled as he fought to catch his breath.
Grusian tried pulling his hand free, but Sheppard stood there holding him in a vicelike grip. Grusian couldn’t believe it. He was tiring, for the first time in his life, he feared that he might be staring death in the face. With his free hand, he struck Sheppard hard across his face, broke his hold, and then turned to run towards the wrecked train, seeking to get away.
Sheppard staggered back from the blow. Looking over, he was surprised to see Grusian make a run for it. He had expected the man to fight to the death. Now he was fleeing like a coward.
“Give me a knife,” Sheppard called over to Ivanov, who drew his long rifle bayonet and then tossed it over to Sheppard.
Without saying a word, Sheppard took off after his opponent.
Grusian quickly clamoured up on top of the overturned carriage. Turning about, he stood there twirling his butcher knife in his hand, waiting for Sheppard.
Climbing up the side of the car, Sheppard fought to find his balance on the slick, uneven surface and then with grim determination, he started to move towards his waiting quarry.
“So, spy, is this how you want to die?” Grusian taunted as he twisted his blade around in his hand.
“No more talking. I owe you something,” said Sheppard, thrusting his bayonet towards Grusian’s stomach.
With a flick of his wrist, Grusian blocked the move and then swiftly swung his blade at Sheppard’s face, causing him to pull his head back.
Sheppard struggled to maintain his balance. Jumping back several paces, Sheppard waited for Grusian’s next attack. He didn’t have to wait long.
With a yell, Grusian raised his blade above his head and launched himself towards Sheppard, hoping to kill him.
Sheppard took a deep breath. Waiting until Grusian was within an arm’s length, he dove forward, coming up on one knee beside Grusian’s open side. With all his strength, Sheppard thrust his bayonet into his opponent’s unguarded flank.
A hiss escaped from Grusian’s gritted teeth.
Leaning into it, Sheppard pushed harder, forcing the blade deeper into the gushing wound. Sheppard twisted the bayonet from side to side and then in one fluid motion pulled it out of the gaping wound. He could feel his foe’s warm, sticky blood seeping all over his hand.
Grusian’s face went blank,
his jaw dropped slack, he staggered and then let go of his cleaver. It fell onto the armored plating and then slid off the side of the carriage, landing somewhere below them. His breathing became shallow. Grusian looked into Sheppard’s eyes; he knew he was going to die.
“That one was for Orlov,” said Sheppard as he plunged the blade back into Grusian’s side. “And that one’s for Mrs. Alekseev,” he added, pulling up on the bayonet.
Grusian dropped to his knees.
Sheppard was nearing exhaustion. Letting go of the knife, Sheppard looked down at Grusian; his eyes looked back disbelieving that he had been beaten.
“Say hello to the devil for me,” said Sheppard as he watched Grusian’s eyes roll up into his head and then fall face first onto the steel plating. Sheppard felt nothing as Grusian’s body slowly slid down the side of the carriage, leaving a blood-red trail behind him as he dropped with a loud splash onto the muddy ground below.
Sheppard fell back onto the cold wet steel of the carriage and fought to catch his breath. He knew he had been lucky. It could easily have been him lying dead in the mud. Rolling over, he painfully stood and then ever so slowly climbed down off the train and walked over to Shipov’s waiting men.
“Ivanov, please take two men and retrieve Mrs. Alekseev’s body from that car,” said Sheppard, pointing towards the overturned carriage.
“Yes sir,” replied Ivanov, who grabbed the nearest couple of soldiers and left to find Mrs. Alekseev.
A strange gurgling sound in the dark sent a shiver up Sheppard’s spine. Looking around, he couldn’t believe his eyes: Grusian wasn’t dead yet.
Although mortally wounded, Grusian was still trying to reach for his meat cleaver, lying in the muck beside the train. Sheppard shook his head. Even after all that, the damned bastard refused to die. Approaching the dying man, Sheppard shook his head, reached over, grabbed a nearby soldier’s Avtomat rifle, and then fired three rounds into Grusian’s head, blowing out the back of his skull, finally killing his adversary.
The Last Eagle (A Christopher Sheppard Adventure Book 1) Page 27