“No one’s found the bodies.” Dalek stood on his toes, trying to see over the wall. “I assume the tsar is dead, but maybe the children survived.”
“You just said they were murdered in a sloppy execution.”
Dalek shrugged. “That’s one version. Someone else swore they saw the Grand Duchess Anastasia at the train station a few days later.”
“Nadia has the same birthday as the Grand Duchess Tatiana. They fired one hundred and one shots from the cannon at the Peter and Paul Fortress in Saint Petersburg to announce news of a royal birth. Nadia was born between shots eighty and eighty-one.” Why had he just said that? He hadn’t spoken her name in days, even though it was hard to go more than a minute or two without thinking of her. He had better change the subject, and fast. “I hope your source is right, and at least some of the children escaped. I feel we’re to blame. By most accounts, the Bolsheviks panicked because our brother legionnaires were closing in.”
“I spoke to the men who fought under Voitsekhovsky. They didn’t know the tsar was in Yekaterinburg.”
“Well, the Bolsheviks thought the legion was part of a rescue mission.” Strange how Filip felt sympathy for Russian royalty but had wanted to end all privileges for their counterparts in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But the Bolsheviks were massacring former aristocrats, or
The rest of the Sixth Regiment pulled into Yekaterinburg station later that day. Filip and Dalek watched as they detrained and assembled in front of the depot.
“Where are the rest of them?” Dalek asked.
“Maybe there’s another train.” This couldn’t be the entire regiment. It should be twice this size.
Filip joined Anton and Petr. They exchanged greetings, then Filip asked, “Is another train coming?”
Anton shook his head. “This is all that’s left of us.”
Death had nibbled at their numbers over the summer. It had clawed at them during the winter. Filip should have been with them. These were his brothers, and many were his recruits. His work protecting the rails had been necessary, but guilt hung in the air.
“Where’s Emil?”
“Wounded.” Petr frowned. “We heard he made it to Vladivostok, minus half of his right leg. Larisa and Veronika saw him. They’re renting a room together. Small and crowded, but they’re used to that, I suppose.”
Filip nodded. Poor Emil. Did he think it was worth it, losing a limb in service of his country?
Filip should have been prepared for the next question when Anton asked, but it still struck him like an artillery salvo.
“How’s your wife?”
***
Filip’s old bunk was still available in the familiar, worn teplushka.
“About Mrs. Sedláková . . . or whatever name she’s using now . . . I’m sorry, Filip.” Anton shoved a bit of loose cotton more tightly into the crack it was supposed to fill.
Filip shook his head and inhaled deeply to make sure his voice was steady. “I was foolish to think anything lasting could come from a corporal marrying a baron’s daughter.”
“War made fools of a lot of us.” Anton sat on his bunk. “I believed the Entente for months. When they said the British were coming, then the Japanese, then the Americans, I believed it every time. And each time, it was a lie.”
“I’ve seen a few Americans,” Filip said. “Not soldiers. YMCA volunteers. They had chocolate and tinned fruit. But what we really needed were uniforms without holes and more rifles and men to shoot them.” The regiment wasn’t going naked, but their clothing looked more like rags than uniforms. Half the men had holes in the fabric meant to cover their shoulders, worn away by their rifles. Real socks were a thing of memory.
Dalek huffed. “And the British sent us a very nice naval gun. They just neglected to provide a single shell to shoot from it. And the French sent us a general but no troops.”
“Do you remember what you said when you came to Taganrog and told me I should fight for the Czechoslovak Legion?” Anton asked.
“A bit,” Filip said.
“You said we were going to earn a country of our own.” Anton tapped the wooden boards of his bed. “Last summer when we took over the railroad, I understood. We were making our way home. Or to France, and then home. I even understood what happened in the fall. We could help the Allies more here than we could in France. But what are we doing now? Why are we still fighting? The war ended in November. Why can’t we just go home now that we have a home? If we don’t hurry, all the jobs and all the land will be snatched up. We’ve risked so much for our country, but if we’re stuck in Siberia, we’ll miss out on all the opportunities.”