She seemed flustered for a moment. “I just wish I had something other than memories left of my family. You said you weren’t sentimental about the pocket watch, but it must have meant something to you, or you wouldn’t have kept it so long. I don’t want you to have to give up anything else for me.”
He hadn’t wanted to part with the pocket watch, but his grandfather would have approved. Nadia was worth it. “If you could have any object to remind you of your family, what would it be?”
She was reticent for a few more questions, but before long, she was telling him about the pearls her mother had worn the first time her parents had taken her to the opera, her father’s collection of books, her brother Alexander’s Kodak Brownie camera, and her brother Nikolai’s penknife. Their time together became more pleasant and less awkward, but it also seemed to speed up until far too quickly it was time for him to escort her back to the women’s coach and report for his shift of guard duty.
“Good night, Nadia.”
She smiled her goodbye, and he no longer felt quite so inadequate. Most of his words had come out wrong that night, but in the end, he’d made her smile.
***
Anton pulled Veronika closer as they neared the crowd. The alternating cheers and boos drowned out the words of the man speaking to the throng from atop an overturned crate, but the audience was captivated. The vitality and wildness of the crowd formed a stark contrast to the reverent atmosphere of the church they’d just left.
Only as they stepped past the edge of the group did Anton recognize the language as German rather than Russian. He stopped to listen. It took only seconds to pinpoint the man as a Bolshevik agitator. Who was he appealing to in German?
The crowd wore mismatched hats, and some had blankets pulled around them for warmth. But underneath, they wore faded, threadbare uniforms of pike gray, the same color Anton had once worn. They had to be war prisoners. The sunken cheekbones and old uniforms made that clear. Since Russia was now at peace with their governments, they would have been released, but that didn’t explain why they were listening so raptly to a Bolshevik orator.
The man continued. “Join us! Join us in creating a new world where everyone is equal! Where factory owners no longer destroy the health of their workers and keep the profits for themselves, where peasants eat the food they grow instead of starving while their landlords feast. It is time for us to take what is rightfully ours! Today, we remake Russia. Tomorrow, the world!”
The crowd burst into shouts of approval. Veronika gripped Anton’s hand. “What’s happening?” She spoke Czech and Russian but not German.
“He’s recruiting war prisoners for the Red Army.”
A few nearby men studied Anton with narrowed eyes. To them, he was a traitor.
“Come on.” He pulled Veronika along until they were clear of the crowd. “I don’t think we’re going to be shipped to Vladivostok anytime soon.”
“Why not?”
“The same reason those men aren’t going to make it home anytime soon either. The longer the Bolsheviks hold us here, the more recruits they’ll gain.”
“They look hungry.”
Anton nodded. “And the Red Army is offering them a full belly, plus two hundred rubles a month.”
“Weapons too. Look, Anton.” Veronika pointed. Along the front of a brick building, a line of former prisoners had formed. In a nearby courtyard, a Red Army officer drilled men still in the threadbare uniforms of the Hapsburg monarchy. Their rifles were mismatched, as if they’d been scrounged. Was the Red Army taking weapons from the legion and giving them to its enemies?
“The Central Powers want their men back so they can throw them on the Western Front,” Anton said. All the warring nations were desperate for trained men.
Veronika nibbled on her lip. “Then maybe it’s good they’re joining the Red Army. They’ll stay in Russia, and we’ll go to France.”
Anton nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. Having the legion and their former comrades in close proximity was tense enough. The Red Army would only complicate things. Add in a spark, and flames would erupt. He hurried his wife along. He didn’t want her anywhere near the crowds if that spark came in Penza.
The next day, Anton’s group moved east. But when they arrived in Samara, the local Soviet stopped them and demanded more weapons.
Anton stood near Kral, who glowered at the local official. “We made an agreement with the Soviet in Penza. The Soviet in Moscow confirmed it.”
The plump Russian widened his stance. “This is Samara. We don’t care what agreement you made in Penza, and Moscow’s authority doesn’t extend this far. If you want an engine, we’ll need thirty rifles as payment.”
Kral, Filip, and Anton stepped away from the officials to discuss their options. Storm clouds threatened rain, and Anton hunched his shoulders to protect his neck from a chill wind. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“We could shoot our way through,” Filip said.