When Filip had found Sokolov that morning, he’d needed convincing that the northern rails should be destroyed. The Bolsheviks couldn’t escape on the southern line—groups of legionnaires blocked them to the west and to the east. As long as the Bolsheviks were gone, Filip didn’t care if they escaped west along the northern line, but there were other legionnaires in that direction. As Sokolov pointed out, if the Bolsheviks weren’t destroyed, they would regroup and attack elsewhere. Weakening the Omsk Bolsheviks was good for the legion. And if it happened to be good for the White Russians too, then that was something Filip could be happy about, regardless of their constant orders to stay out of internal Russian affairs. Neutrality might make sense in Prague or Paris, but in the middle of Siberia, it quickly became impossible.
“That’s enough. It will take more time to repair than they’ll have.” The verdict came from one of the other rail workers, someone who knew what he spoke of.
Sokolov motioned to Filip. “Come, Czech. We’ve a bridge to see to.”
***
Anton dropped to the ground as rifle shots tore into the grass in front of him. After they’d set up their barricade and broken the track, Kral had sent a runner back to Marianovka Station, and the legion there had pushed hard. The counterattack had driven the Bolsheviks back, so the Reds now attacked east instead of west. Right into Anton’s group.
A shell shrieked from the armored train and plowed into the ground a few meters to the left, exploding in a shower of mud, grass, and shrapnel. Their trench was only a few feet deep, and Anton did his best to use every bit of cover by pressing his body hard into the dirt.
Emil cried out, and Anton rushed over to him. “Are you hit?”
Emil nodded and reached for his back. Anton found the problem—a piece of shrapnel piercing his uniform just below his belt. He pulled away the layers of clothing, and the shrapnel pulled away with it.
“Is it bad? I’m not going to die, am I?”
The cut was scarcely wider than Anton’s thumbnail. It bled but not much. “You’ll be fine.”
Dalek glanced at the wound. “I’ve seen more blood from a squashed mosquito.”
Emil’s face colored. “Well, the mosquitos out here are enormous.”
“It’s always a surprise to get hit, especially the first time.” Kral nodded toward the shell hole. “That looks deeper than this trench. Come on.”
The group scrambled into the shell hole.
“We hold here until they give up.” Kral aimed his rifle. “These bullets won’t go through the armor on that train, but the moment any of them show their faces . . .”
The Bolshevik train backed up once it reached the barrier. Then it crept forward again as if whoever was in charge had decided to barrel through. The huffs of the engine and the clack of wheel on track increased, then slowed.
Dalek chuckled. “I think they just realized they don’t have a track.”
The Bolsheviks continued to fight, even without a way forward. A few fired rifles, but whenever they did, Anton and the others replied in kind, so most of the Reds kept their heads down and let the armored train do all the work. Artillery hit on either side of Anton, making the ground shake and his ears ring. A few rounds hit legionnaires, and Anton crawled around to help with bandages.
The time between shells lengthened, and the Bolsheviks seemed to lose heart. Whether they wanted to go east or west, the line was blocked. They were trapped. Eventually, they pulled out of range, and the red guardsmen melted into the taiga, heading north or south, leaving their armored train behind.
Kral ordered a group of men to replace the rails, then led the rest to the train they all hoped was deserted.
Kral turned to Anton. “Tothova, you worked in a munitions factory?”
“Yes, Brother Lieutenant.”
“So you know something about demolitions?”
Making artillery shells wasn’t the same as firing them, and it was a far cry from using explosives to destroy things, but Anton had paid attention in training and at the factory. “A little.”
“If you were trying to sabotage a train, where would you put the explosives?”
“In the engine.”
“Right. See if you can find anything.”
“I’ll go with you.” Emil was probably trying to make up for his earlier fear. Regardless, Anton was glad for the help.
“How’s your back?” Anton asked as they approached the engine. Other legionnaires spread out to look at the carriages.
Emil shook his head. “It’s nothing. I was foolish to say anything. I just . . . I just wasn’t sure how deep it was, and it hurt.”
“There’s no shame in being nervous about a wound.”
Emil nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
The rat-tat-tat of a machine gun hammered along the line. Anton pulled Emil to the ground. “Can you see what’s going on?”
Dalek dropped to the ground beside them. “They knew we’d come for the train, so they left someone behind to get as many of us as they could.”