Veronika looked after him, one hand on her abdomen, increasing Nadia’s suspicion.
“Veronika . . .” Her friend met her gaze. Nadia probably shouldn’t ask, but the curiosity was unrelenting. “Are you going to be a mother?”
Veronika glanced around to see if the others were listening, but they were watching the men detrain. “Yes, probably at the end of July.”
“So soon? Why haven’t you told anyone?” Nadia hadn’t heard a peep of gossip about it, and she understood more Czech every day.
Veronika chewed on her lip for a moment. “Some of the women have been married longer than I have. And they want babies very badly.”
“You don’t think they’d be happy for you?”
“Happy for me, yes, but also sad for themselves. I just thought it would be easier not to say anything, and maybe we’d get to Vladivostok before it was time.”
“My mother used to say that the world is flooded with hardship and sorrow. We’ll only get our fill of joy if we experience it with others when they’re blessed. What we have alone won’t be enough.”
Veronika smiled. “Your mother was wise.”
Nadia felt longing, then sadness as the last image of her mother passed through her mind. “Yes.”
Veronika put her hand over Nadia’s. “Her wisdom can live on in you.”
It was a beautiful thought, one that brought comfort while she was missing her parents and, she supposed, missing her husband.
***
When they pulled into Marianovka Station again, music from the other train’s regimental band filled the air. Anton went to find Veronika. The last thousand miles had taught him that delays usually dragged into boredom, so they ought to enjoy the concert while it lasted. Her clothing hung differently now, with the baby’s growth, but she was still camouflaging her condition, for the most part. And she was still just as beautiful, especially as she smiled at the music.
Something about that Bolshevik train worried him. And why had the engineer refused to go forward? They’d been far closer to the Kulomzino Station than they’d been to the water tower.
The band played one song and started another. Then Anton noticed a train from the east—the train they’d seen at the bridge. There were a number of nonthreatening reasons the train could be following them. It might simply be heading west. But cooperation with the Bolsheviks had been growing more and more difficult.
“Veronika, I think you should go back to the car.”
“Why?” She nibbled at her lip. Did she realize she did that whenever she was worried?
“Because I don’t trust that train.”
The train came closer, slowing. Before it came to a full stop, soldiers rushed from the cars. They wore lengths of red fabric around their arms, and they held rifles in their hands.
“Now!” Anton physically spun her toward the boxcar, and together they ran. As rifles cracked on the other side of the station, he boosted her into the carriage. “Lay on the ground, and stay away from the doors and windows. All of you!” he said to the other women inside.
He wanted to stay and protect his wife, but he wasn’t armed. It was time to break out the rifles they’d been hiding since Penza.
Machine guns burst into action. Between the two legion trains, there would be several—or did he hear Bolshevik weapons? He arrived at his carriage as Emil jumped down, shoving bullets from a stripper clip into a Mosin-Nagant rifle.
Anton scrambled up as Emil ran off.
Petr tossed him a rifle. “Don’t know that we’ll be able to put this false wall back up.”
“After this, we won’t need it.” The Bolsheviks had just declared war on them, and an open war would end all smuggling. If they won, they’d keep their weapons handy. If they lost, they wouldn’t have any weapons left to hide. He prayed they wouldn’t lose.
Once he had a rifle in his hands, his first impulse was to run back to the women’s carriage. But he couldn’t do that. He had to work with the other legionnaires to defend the entire train, not just one boxcar, no matter how precious its cargo. Dust tickled his throat as he and Petr ran toward the fighting and followed orders to spread out. They found a defensible position to the side of the station, in a ditch that offered a good view of the Bolshevik train. The legion’s train curved with the track, so the women’s boxcar was out of sight, away from immediate danger.
Red guardsmen continued to leap from their cars and shoot. Anton and Petr shot back.
“Stupid Bolsheviks,” Petr mumbled. “Good for us though.”
“What?”
“If they attacked as a group, they’d be stronger.” Petr worked the bolt on his rifle to prepare the next shot. “Instead, they’re letting us pick them off a few at a time.”
The red guardsmen never had a chance to form a line. They were instead mowed down in the Czechoslovak crossfire. Some made it back to their train, more fled into the woods, and a significant number fell to the ground, wounded and dying.
“That will teach them to steal our weapons.” Petr grinned as he shot again.