“No.” But she and her parents had almost fled there. If they’d only left before the Cheka had found them . . . Now her family was dead, and she was married to a stranger. “Veronika, how well do you know Filip Sedlák?”
“He is my husband’s friend.”
“Is he a good sort of man?”
Veronika didn’t answer right away. She finished her hair, and as she turned to Nadia, she nibbled on her lip again. “Why would you marry someone if you didn’t already know the answer to that question?”
***
The blast of a German grenade nearly knocked Filip from his feet. It made his ears ring and rocked the barricade of torn-up rail lines, tree trunks, and furniture that he and his squad were manning from a shallow trench.
At least it gave him an excuse to feel off balance.
Marriage. Surely he could have found a less complicated way of extending charity.
But he’d sensed Nadia’s helplessness, and Filip knew all about helplessness. He’d felt it when his father had alternated between depression and drunkenness, felt it when his sister’s marriage had turned oppressive and unhappy, felt it when he had been called to fight for an emperor he loathed. His time on the battlefield had taken his helplessness to a new extreme. He hadn’t wanted to leave Nadia to that, not when it was within his power to provide a way out.
The Sixth Regiment, Kral’s group among them, had captured and held the station at Bakhmach. They’d even worked out an agreement with the Bolsheviks to cooperate against the German onslaught. Now they were on the outskirts of Doch, keeping a much larger German force away from the evacuations at Bakhmach.
“Can we pull back yet?” Dalek peered over a log and fired at a German soldier who had crept far from safety to hurl his grenade.
“Not till Kral says.” Filip found a target, lined up his sights, and shot. He ejected the casing and found another enemy to aim at as the cool breeze softened the acrid scent of gunpowder.
Anton scurried over to them and grabbed a handful of clips. “I think they’re serious this time.”
A barrage of bullets thumped into the barricade in front of them. The men ducked farther into the trench, huddling next to the damp earthen walls.
Dalek grunted. “I don’t think we can stop them.”
“We don’t have to stop them.” Filip shot at the lead man in a group of five trying to sneak past a warehouse. He fell, and the rest of the soldiers scattered. “We just need to slow them.”
“We’ve already delayed them for two days. Isn’t that enough?”
Filip didn’t mind Dalek’s complaints as long as he kept hitting his targets. “We’re supposed to coordinate with the Bolsheviks when we pull back.” The retreat would come soon, Filip could feel it. The enemy’s current efforts to breach the legion’s lines were more threatening than any of the previous ones.
“You trust the Reds?” Dalek looked away from the advancing German soldiers for an instant and met Filip’s eyes.
“No.” Filip was grateful for their assistance—the legion needed all the help it could get—but that didn’t mean he trusted them, so he’d sent Petr to monitor their every move.
“And you, Anton, do you trust them?” Dalek asked.
Anton glanced toward the Bolshevik positions. “I don’t agree with their politics or with what they’re doing to the Russian church. And yesterday, they ran. So, no, I don’t trust them. But Jakub Zeman is eating up every word they say. Some of the others too.”
“Jakub Zeman, letting the Reds recruit from his squad. Imagine that.” Dalek grunted and aimed his rifle again.
“Didn’t the Bolsheviks make peace with the Germans?” Anton asked. “Why are they helping us?”
“Maybe they don’t want to lose the Ukraine.” Dalek scowled. “Besides, we were allies as recently as last month.”
Another German soldier appeared. This time, Emil opened up on him with the Maxim model 1910 they’d captured in Bakhmach. He’d been a machine gunner in the Austro-Hungarian Army before he’d been captured by the Russians, but he was under strict orders to conserve ammunition.
Petr barreled toward the barricade not long after. Was that why Emil had fired? To give Petr cover?
Petr gasped for breath. “The Bolsheviks are pulling back. Kral said we’re to pull back too.”
Filip nodded. He’d gotten little sleep since Bakhmach. He was unlikely to get any more if they withdrew, but at least he’d get a break from the German bullets screeching over his head. “Right. Help Emil get the Maxim. We’ll want it the next time we need to stall them.”
“We’re not going back to Bakhmach?” A frown pulled at Dalek’s lips.
Bakhmach meant evacuation to Russia and a temporary end to fighting an enemy that dramatically outnumbered them. “Not until the rest of the legion makes it through the train depot.”
Petr went to help Emil with the machine gun, but a burst of enemy fire ripped into the mud mere inches from his boots. Petr dove behind the Maxim’s sandbag barrier. If anyone on the gun crew tried to move beyond their shelters, the enemy gun would cut them to pieces.