The orderly nodded his approval. “There are more, if you can assist with them as well.”
Anton looked around. Eight wounded. Six dead. He glanced at Nadia, who nodded her willingness to help.
Chapter Sixteen
The hospital train had been relatively calm since they’d left the Ukraine, but that wasn’t the case anymore. Nadia spent the afternoon of the attack caring for the wounded. Most of the next day too. The injured red guardsmen had been carried to a nearby warehouse, and she had spent time there as well. They’d attacked the legion, so they were the enemy, but they were also men who needed help.
Few acted like committed Bolsheviks. Since the fall of the tsar, Russia had been buried in waves of chaos and violence. If people didn’t join a side, they were susceptible, made a victim by all sides. In some ways, they weren’t so different from Nadia. She’d joined the legion for protection. She approved of their cause, but even if she hadn’t, she doubted ideology would have stopped her. Her choice had been to join the legion or die at the hands of the Cheka. How many men had joined the red guard to escape starvation or to keep from being alone when the next round of violence broke out?
Nadia changed bandages on a man who’d been shot in the stomach. He moaned. She hadn’t tended many stomach wounds before. Most men injured in the gut didn’t survive long enough for transfer to a Petrograd hospital like the one where she’d volunteered. It was overwhelming to think of how many men she’d seen and how it was only a tiny portion of the war’s wounded.
When Nadia finished in the warehouse, she returned to the boxcar for Czechoslovak wounded. Larisa sat with Petr, both on the floor because the hospital car didn’t have beds. Larisa smiled up at her as she approached. She had never smiled at Nadia before.
“How is he?” Nadia had tended Petr that morning, and he’d been well then.
“Stronger than yesterday, I think. Thank you. He says you’re a good nurse.”
Surprise left Nadia momentarily mute. Had Larisa really given her a compliment instead of a snicker because she didn’t know how to braid her own hair or wash her own clothes? She swallowed, then managed a soft, “You’re welcome.”
She checked the other men in the boxcar, all stable, most improving, then stood to stretch after changing the bandages on someone’s legs. She nearly bumped into her husband.
“Filip, you’re back!”
Stubble covered his cheeks, and his hair curled with whimsy. She felt warm inside, seeing him there safe and whole. And . . . had he come to see her? She wanted to throw her arms around him. She’d been worried about him, and rumors of some sort of incident at Chelyabinsk had made the worry worse. But he might not welcome an embrace. Perhaps he’d come to the hospital car for treatment.
“Are you well?” she asked.
He nodded, and a soft smile creased his lips. “We pulled in a few minutes ago, and I wanted to check on you. No sign of Orlov or Zeman since we left?”
“None.”
“Good.” He glanced around at the casualties. “I see you’re busy. I don’t want to interrupt your work.” He stepped toward the exit.
Was he leaving already? “I haven’t had a break all day. No one will mind if I step out for a few minutes.” She was being too bold, but the orderly would stay with the wounded, and she hadn’t seen Filip in weeks.
To her relief, he seemed pleased. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
She watched him hop down, and then she quickly refilled a few canteens.
Filip smiled when she joined him, and that warm feeling inside returned. She could do far worse than Filip when it came to husbands. But that was a silly thought. Their marriage was just a ruse.
Ruse or not, she took his arm when he offered it, and they strolled along the train depot. It wasn’t the most scenic of excursions, but the company was pleasant. She told him about the attack, and he answered all her questions about Chelyabinsk, ending with a summary.. “Trotsky ordered any armed Czechs shot on the spot and everyone else forced into the Red Army or one of the work battalions. So I guess we’re at war with the Bolsheviks now.”
“I’ve been at war with them since they shot my parents, maybe before. So I suppose that puts us firmly in an alliance against a common enemy.” The Bolsheviks worried her. Papa had never thought they’d last this long. Were they simply enduring longer than expected, or were they in Russia to stay?
A figure came toward them. Dalek.
He nodded to her, then turned to Filip. “Kral sent me to find you.”
“Already? I left him less than an hour ago.”
“Talks with the Omsk Soviet broke down. They aren’t going to let us through, so he needs scouts. And he trusts you more than he trusts anyone else.”
Filip glanced at Nadia. He seemed apologetic, almost reluctant to say goodbye. “Can you see yourself back to the hospital car?”
She nodded.