Watching Filip leave was almost painful. She wasn’t an expert on war, just a woman who had listened to her father and talked with wards full of wounded officers. No expert, but wise enough to know that scouting work was dangerous, especially in Omsk. The Bolsheviks there had attacked without warning. And now Filip was going into that?
Omsk. She’d never been so far east before. She knew nothing that could help the legion get past it. But nearly one hundred wounded men who had attacked from Omsk lay in a nearby warehouse. Perhaps the right questions from a friendly nurse could encourage them to share their knowledge.
***
“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Dalek asked as he and Filip walked to Kral’s boxcar.
Filip hadn’t wanted to bring up the subject of annulment. “I didn’t have a chance.”
“Did she seem pleased to see you, despite how scruffy you look?”
“How should I know?” Filip ran a hand over his face. Maybe he should have shaved. But if he’d taken the time to freshen up, he wouldn’t have gotten to see her at all. “Do you know what Kral wants?”
“Reliable information about what the Bolsheviks are doing in Omsk. I gather a few men have gone out, but they either haven’t returned or haven’t returned with the right information.” Dalek grinned. “That’s what you get for being the best scout in the echelon.”
Filip and Dalek had been insulting each other since boyhood, so the compliment felt strange. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t kill for each other, maybe even die for each other, but that level of comradery was best hidden under a hail of abuse.
Kral stood before a map when Filip and Dalek stepped into his boxcar. “Omsk is the largest concentration of Bolshevik power in Siberia. And it’s in our way, so we’ve no choice but to take it. You know what I need?”
Filip nodded. “Where they’re concentrated, how many men, how much firepower. Any weaknesses we can exploit. Disposition of the local population. Anything else?”
“Yes. I don’t expect they would treat legion spies with much mercy, so don’t get caught. I’d like you to come back. You heard about the attack while the band played?”
Filip nodded. He’d heard snippets on his way to the hospital train, plus Nadia’s version. He studied the map of Omsk and the surrounding areas. It showed the river, a few streets, and the rail lines, but not much else. “You don’t have a better map, do you?”
Kral shook his head. “Yet another reason we need good reconnaissance. Find out what you can and be back in two days’ time. There’s a horse waiting for you a few cars back.”
Filip took a last look at the map, committing what he could to memory.
Dalek joined him as he went for the horse. “I’ve heard rumors of how the Bolsheviks torture people. Would you like to hear them?”
“No. But I suppose you’ll tell me anyway.”
Dalek shrugged. “If you don’t want to hear, then there’s no reason for me to tell.”
Would knowing about torture make it any easier to survive? Dalek had gone and stirred up his curiosity. But Filip wasn’t going to get captured. He’d scouted out enemy positions countless times before. The red guardsmen at Omsk couldn’t be any more dangerous than the Austro-Hungarian Army in Galicia.
He fingered his face. Not enough of a beard to pass as a peasant. Omsk had factories, so he would pretend to be a worker. “I can’t go in my uniform.”
“No.”
“I don’t have any civilian clothes. Not in Russia, anyhow.” Maybe not anywhere. Almost four years had passed since he’d folded his clothes and put them away in a trunk, then stored it in his grandmother’s attic so it wouldn’t be in the way. The whole lot of it was probably nothing more than moth-eaten scraps by now.
“I’ll find you some.”
“Thanks. And, Dalek?”
Dalek paused.
“If I don’t make it back, look out for Nadia for me, will you?”
“I’ll see she makes it to Vladivostok. But you really ought to come back and look out for her yourself. Perhaps the next time you return, she’ll accept a kiss as greeting.” Dalek’s eyebrows did a suggestive tango.
Kiss Nadia? He’d imagined it, but that daydream would never be anything more than fantasy.
Dalek returned with appropriate clothes as Filip finished preparing the horse and his gear. He wouldn’t take a rifle—that would be too conspicuous. Just food, a small pistol, sharp eyes, and a keen ear that understood most Russian, even if it didn’t always pronounce it correctly.
“Nazdar, Filip.”
“Nazdar, Dalek.”
Chapter Seventeen
Filip nodded as the peasant spoke on and on. “They requisitioned all our spare grain. If they do that again after harvest, we’ll have to choose between starving or eating our seed crop. We were all in favor of revolution but not this communism.”
“What of the White Army?”
The peasant shook his head. “We haven’t seen much of them.”
“And the Czechoslovak Legion?”
“I have no problems with them.”
Good. The local population was unlikely to turn on them. Sometimes small favors like a willingness to sell hidden grain or feigned ignorance when the other side was collecting intelligence was just as useful as armed men.