Richter, still at the stand, held up his hands in a call for order. Gradually, the noise died down, but there was still a palpable charge in the air. “Brothers, we can have only one response to this demand.” He raised the telegram as if his words could somehow be transmitted back to the man who had sent it. “We will not turn over our weapons! If you want them, come and get them!”
The room broke into cheers.
“It’s about time.” Filip turned to Dalek, a sudden worry in his chest. “That telegram is real, isn’t it?”
Dalek smirked, changing the shape of his mustache. “Of course it’s real. I only counterfeit telegrams to rid us of Soviet Commissars.”
“This will rid us of all Soviet Commissars.”
“Only if we win.”
“We will, Dalek. I can feel it.”
Everyone in the room seemed to feel the same thing. From his seat near the front, Karel Kral stood and sang the words of a familiar folk song.
Filip joined in, as did most of the hall.
Filip had left his homeland close to four years ago. He’d seen more of the world than he’d ever expected, but nothing compared with his own land—the flowing and rippling waters, the trees in the wind, the burst of color every spring. When he closed his eyes, he could see it again, could almost smell and hear it.
His homeland would always be beautiful to him, and now it felt as if all their hopes were within reach. Not just a compromise giving them more autonomy within an empire but instead a settlement that would give them a new, independent country. Freedom would make the beauty more meaningful, carrying his people forward to a new era, where the light of liberty scattered the shadows of oppression.
Tears streamed down Filip’s face, but he wasn’t embarrassed. Everyone else was crying too. This could change everything—for him, for his family, for his people. No more would they be forced to give loyalty to an emperor who cared nothing for them. No longer would they form his cannon fodder when he went to war. No more would they have to hang his portrait in every schoolhouse and every business. They would be no longer subjects but citizens. No longer oppressed Slavs but free men. They would have their own country, and the next step in winning it would come here, in Siberia.
Chapter Fifteen
Endless grass of green and gold blurred past the window of the slowing train. “I wonder why we’re stopping,” Nadia said. It had been a strange day. Normally, the Bolsheviks kept them spread out, but they’d converged with another legion train at Isikul. A second train offered double the weapons and double the manpower. And unfortunately, double the requirements at the service stations. So their train had gone ahead while the other waited at Marianovka.
Veronika joined her at the sawn-out window. “We’re not approaching a station?”
“Just a bridge.” And another train, with the prominent red flag of the Bolsheviks.
Veronika leaned out the window for a better view. “Sometimes I have trouble keeping track of where we are.”
“We’re east of the Urals but west of Lake Baikal. That puts us in Central Siberia.”
“Yes, but you always seem to know the spot on the map as well as the station’s and town’s history.”
Was that a compliment? Veronika was kind like that. Nadia looked around, but even Larisa wasn’t displaying the contempt and distain she normally showed whenever Nadia spoke. Nor were the other women.
“Marianovka is where we left the other train,” Nadia said. “Omsk is ahead, not far. It’s one of the larger cities in Siberia, founded about two hundred years ago as a fort.” They were getting farther and farther from Filip, and something about that made her nervous. But he would catch up. He might not come for her, but his men were here, and Filip genuinely cared about them—whether it was mentoring young, courageous Emil or drawing quiet, competent Anton out of his shell.
Anton jogged to their boxcar before they came to a complete stop.
“Why are we stopping?” Veronika asked him.
“The engine is low on water. The engineer’s afraid he’ll blow the boiler if he keeps going. So we’re going to have to push the train back to the last water tower we passed.”
“Push it?” Veronika’s eyes widened. “How?”
“Once we get it started backward, it should be easy enough to keep it moving. But when they tell everyone to help push, they don’t mean the women.” Anton lowered his voice but not so much that Nadia couldn’t hear. “Especially not you, love.” He ran off, probably to help get the train moving in the opposite direction.