A Czech sergeant divided the men and sent groups to cover various points of the building. When the legion was in position, the sergeant yanked open the door. The bulk of the force fanned out behind him, Filip included, and sixty sharp, freshly commandeered bayonets shone in the light that flooded from the building.
“We’re here for our brothers.” The sergeant kept his rifle pointed at the ceiling, but with a motion of his hand, the rest of the men aimed at the handful of guards who’d come to investigate.
One of the red guards ran into an office. No one shot him. The wires had been cut, so he couldn’t call for help.
Legionnaires rushed into the building and infiltrated its rooms and corridors.
“Where are the prisoners?” the sergeant asked one of the guards as Filip and another Czech searched the man for weapons. They confiscated his revolver.
A knob in the man’s throat quivered as he looked at the force arrayed against him. “I’ll show you.”
Filip kept his eyes moving as they followed, wary of traps. The guard would be foolish to try anything other than complete cooperation, but he might not realize his building was surrounded and his communications were cut off.
When they reached their destination, the prisoners were locked in a cell, all crowded together. Filip would have expected the red guards to at least separate the officers, but perhaps the insult had been intentional. Voitsekhovsky was Russian, but he hadn’t joined the Bolsheviks. That made him an enemy.
Dalek stood and walked to the bars. He gripped them with both hands. “You’re late, Filip.”
Filip chuckled as Dalek’s face broke into a grin. The sergeant unlocked the cell and released the captured Czechs.
As dawn broke, another group of legionnaires joined them. With them was Soviet Commissar Sadlucky. His frown and pose showed displeasure and distaste, and he glared at Voitsekhovsky before reluctantly agreeing to negotiate with him. “This represents an attack against the Bolshevik government, and I will use all available means to ensure your punishment.”
“We have no hostility for the Bolsheviks.” Voitsekhovsky spoke with calmness. “The legion just wants to embark for France—with
The men spoke back and forth, sometimes arguing, sometimes seeming to come to an agreement of sorts. Finally, Sadlucky relented. “If all your men leave for the train depot and stay out of Chelyabinsk proper, I think we can put this whole business behind us.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Czechoslovak Congress proceeded with their sessions, but tension with the local Soviet simmered during the week that followed the deadly confrontation between members of the legion and Hungarian war prisoners. Filip sat near the back of the train station waiting room, where the meetings were held. He wasn’t quite at ease, because the Bolsheviks were near, but nor was he unduly alarmed, because there had been no more outbreaks of violence since the rescue. Kral sat in front of the room with the other voting delegates. Dalek hadn’t arrived. Either he was still in the telegraph office, or he’d gotten distracted by his violin.
The chairman of the Russian branch of the Czecho-Slovak National Council, František Richter, addressed delegates and the audience. He wasn’t as bold as Filip would have liked. The Chelyabinsk incident had made it crystal clear that the Bolsheviks couldn’t be trusted.
The incident had also shown that the legion was perfectly capable of taking care of itself. If they had to fight their way to Vladivostok, so be it. It would take a force stronger than anything the Bolsheviks could currently come up with to stop them.
Dalek rushed into the room and let the door slam shut behind him. He marched directly to Chairman Richter, whispered something, and handed him a piece of paper. Then Dalek joined Filip in the back. Half the delegates followed him with their eyes.
“What’s that all about?” Filip asked.
“Comrade Trotsky forgot something very important.”
“What?”
“Whoever controls the railroad also controls the telegraph lines.” A mischievous grin spread across Dalek’s face. “We just intercepted his orders to all local Soviets from Moscow to Vladivostok.”
Richter finished reading the paper Dalek had handed him and cleared his throat. “The legion has intercepted a telegram from Comrade Trotsky, Soviet People’s Commissar for Army and Navy Affairs. In it, he orders local Soviets to forcibly remove us from our trains and disarm us completely. Then we’re to be compelled into the Red Army or labor battalions. My brothers, this changes things.”
Silent shock filled the room. Disarmament. Separation. Conscription or slavery.
The quiet didn’t last. Soon, murmurs grew and spread.
“Without arms, we’ll be at the mercy of every bandit in Siberia!” someone called out.
The man in front of them got to his feet. “I won’t go to one of their camps! They’ll work us to death.”
“We should fight our way through!” another man said.
Filip nodded his agreement as the debate continued, boisterous and emotional.