Filip had deserted once before. But leaving the Austro-Hungarian Army had been justified; he’d been following his conscience. Leaving the legion would be different, a betrayal. The rational part of his mind told him that staying with the regiment was his wisest choice. Nadia, at least, would know where to find him. Still, moving to the east, no matter how slowly, cut at his heart. What if he was leaving Nadia farther and farther behind?
“Have the men load up,” Kral said. “We’re leaving.”
“Already?” They’d only arrived a few hours ago. Their trains hadn’t moved so quickly in months.
“Yes. We’ve been assigned two engines, so we can escort Admiral Kolchak to Irkutsk.”
“You can’t be serious.” Dalek had told Filip all about the telegram and the conspiracy between Kolchak and Semenov.
Kral frowned. “I wish I were joking. But I’m not.”
“Kolchak hates us. Why would he want us to escort him to Irkutsk?”
“Because the Red Army is on his heels, and he has enemies everywhere. He needs protection, and we’re the best fighting force in Siberia. And there’s more. We’re also escorting the imperial treasury.”
“The gold?”
“Eight boxcars with 650 million rubles in gold bullion.”
Filip glanced around. No one else had heard. “That will make us a target. And why should Kolchak get the gold? It belongs to the Russian people.”
“So you think we should leave it for the Bolsheviks?”
“No. But I don’t like the idea of risking our lives so Kolchak can escape with the wealth of the Romanovs. He’s a crook.”
“That may be true, but we have our orders.”
Filip shook his head, not in disagreement, just in frustration.
“Cheer up. Maybe she’s in Irkutsk waiting for you.”
Hope surged through Filip’s chest. “Do you think so?”
Kral sighed. “I have no idea where your wife is. But she’s not here, so you may as well press on.”
Filip nodded and went to spread the word. They were moving east with one of the most hated men in Siberia on their train, and with enough gold to attract every bandit, mercenary, and outlaw within five hundred miles.
And without the woman that more than anything he longed to find.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Nadia, Tanya, Sokolov, and Fedorov had stumbled onto the portion of the White Army that General Kappel commanded. When Omsk fell, most of their equipment had been captured by the enemy, so they weren’t well supplied. Nor were they fighting the Bolsheviks.
They were retreating.
At least there was safety in numbers. Kappel’s group didn’t have a hospital train or even a tent, but there was no lack of wounded and ill patients, so Nadia’s services as a nurse were welcomed. In exchange, she ate. Not enough to gain back what weight she’d lost but more than she’d had as a prisoner.
The men she tended tugged at her compassion. The women and children often brought her to tears. The soldiers were retreating with their families, and the young suffered disproportionately. So far, she’d had no contact with the legion. The Czechs and Slovaks stayed a few stations to the east of Kappel and his men. The Red Army stayed to the west, nipping at their heels.
She replaced a bandage on an older man’s bullet-pierced bicep, then cut off the black ends of a young man’s frostbitten toes and wrapped the foot in relatively clean rags. She wasn’t really qualified to remove gangrenous bits of fingers and toes, but someone had to do it.
“Nadia?”
She turned. The sun was down, and the voice had come from a man standing in the shadows. He stepped closer, and light from a nearby fire revealed olive skin and black hair. It couldn’t be . . . The face was too thin, even if the coloring was right. But that voice . . .
She straightened and stared. The endless cold and miserable rations were making her hallucinate. Nikolai was dead. And yet, those eyes were familiar, and the grin that broke across the man’s face was one she’d seen a million times before. “Nikolai?”
“It’s really you, then.” Her brother closed the distance and wrapped her in an embrace. “The years have changed you.”
“And you’ve come back from the dead. Oleg said your company was slaughtered and you disappeared . . . three years ago. He told us you died.” Her tears had smeared the ink of Oleg’s letter.
“No. Wounded. And taken prisoner.”
“Why didn’t you write to us?” Her chest felt tight. They’d mourned for him, but Nikolai was alive!
“I did write, a dozen times. But I was sick, so it wasn’t right away. And then some Welch pilot escaped, and the German commandant punished the whole camp by revoking our mail privileges. Then the first revolution happened. And the second. I came back when the war ended, but I couldn’t find anyone. Not in Petrograd, not at Lavanda Selo. I’ve been praying for some clue about where you all went. How are Mama and Papa?”
Joy at her brother’s resurrection had made her forget everything else for just a moment. But memory of all her griefs came back again, heavier now because she knew Nikolai’s warm smile would soon disappear.