Maybe he was being too hard on them. They were trying to keep the peace while waging a devastating war. Enemies were everywhere, and despite promises of foreign help, little made it beyond Lake Baikal.
Filip turned the prisoner over to another legionnaire and reported to Kral.
“So, this bomb. It would have killed people, not just destroyed the tracks?” Kral asked when Filip finished.
“Probably.”
Kral nodded. He was a major now. In the past months, the hair of his temples had become sprinkled with gray, and his face had more of a leanness to it. “I suppose that makes his fate fairly straightforward. You’ll come with me?”
Filip didn’t want to join Kral for a chat with the White Russian authorities on whether the saboteur should be shot or merely imprisoned, but if Kral asked, he would go. Kral was worn out, stretched thin, burdened by a war that wouldn’t end. Filip knew exactly how he felt, because he felt the same thing, with the extra burden of a broken heart. Soon, maybe, they’d leave Russia for good. If only he could
“Gajda’s visiting.”
Kral’s remark took Filip by surprise. Admiral Kolchak, the Supreme Ruler of Siberia, had given General Gajda command of a White Russian army. Filip had long admired Gajda—without him, it was unlikely the legion would have survived the summer of 1918. But by joining the White cause, he’d left the legion, throwing in his lot with a dictator. The legion had always wanted democracy for Siberia, so Gajda’s decision had felt a bit like a betrayal. Still, the man could fight. And Filip didn’t want the Bolsheviks to win. He could cheer Gajda on as long as the rest of the legion wasn’t required to join him in risking their blood for Russia.
“The visit. Is it going well?” Per Kolchak’s orders, Gajda had marched toward Moscow. He hadn’t made it. None of the White Armies had reached their objectives that spring. Most had suffered horrendous casualties. Gajda’s men had fared a bit better, but only because he’d disobeyed orders and pulled them back before they’d been overwhelmed by the ever-growing Red Army.
Kral pursed his lips. “Gajda’s troops evacuated refugees with them. Perhaps the right thing to do but not the most expedient. I don’t think Kolchak was impressed.” Military expediency was everything during a civil war. But if they forgot mercy, what did that make them?
Kral explained the purpose of their visit to the guards outside Kolchak’s office. Then they waited. Filip stretched his shoulder, testing it. He still felt his wound on cold nights and during sudden movements, but the injury didn’t hamper him anymore. He was even getting better at putting Nadia from his mind. He, like most of the legion, was ready to go home. Go home and try to forget everything about his time in Russia, including his wife. If she was still his wife. She might have obtained an annulment by now and simply not informed him.
Nadia. Did she have any idea how much he’d loved her? And how much it still hurt that she’d abandoned him? He hadn’t prayed since that day he’d returned to their empty boxcar to find her and the annulment paper gone. His faith was tied too closely to his marriage, and with her gone, he’d fallen out of all the habits they’d built together.
Gajda’s voice sounded from the other side of the wall. The conversation between him and Kolchak carried clearly into the hallway because both shouted. Something hit the wall with a thunk and shattered.
“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected much. You’ve never even attended military high school,” Kolchak’s voice said.
“And you?” Gajda yelled back. “You’ve commanded a few ships. Does that qualify you to govern an empire?”
“You withdrew without permission.”
“I saved those men’s lives!”
“And now the Red Army is taking all that territory!”
“If I hadn’t been forced to beg you for supplies, maybe we could have held it. But your staff was growing rich on the black market, and my men were freezing to death!”
The guards shooed them farther along the corridor.
Filip glanced at Kral. “Why are we still here? Everybody hates us now. The Americans won’t come west of Lake Baikal, the Japanese are mistreating the peasants, and Kolchak is making alliances with warlords who pillage and murder at will. You know what a peasant said to me the other day? He said the Bolsheviks were bad, because they stole everything. But that the White Army is worse, because they steal
Kral glanced at the door. The arguing continued, though the words were no longer distinguishable. “Do you think we’re on the wrong side now?”