“I know, but I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to when it came down to it.”
Filip didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t trap her in a marriage she hadn’t chosen. He’d made a promise, and he intended to keep it. If he’d gone and fallen in love with her, then it was just too bad for him. “It’s her decision.”
“Will she want an annulment?”
“She did in Bakhmach.”
Anton huffed. “That was a long time ago. I saw the way the two of you danced.”
“It takes more than one clumsy waltz to make a marriage.” Filip crunched through some dry brush.
“So you’ll just let her go?”
“I promised I would.” The conversation was not going the way Filip wanted it to.
“But you didn’t promise not to try swaying her. Veronika thinks she’s fond of you.”
“She does?” Filip tried to cover his eagerness by looking into the forest, but there wasn’t much to see other than trees.
Anton’s voice held mirth now. “And based on how quickly you asked that, I would say you’re fond of her. You’re already married. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a way to keep her.”
Something rumbled in the distance. Thunder, not artillery. They’d have a wet march through the mountains. Then there was the matter of surviving the coming battle for the tunnels. But if he did see Nadia again . . . he knew what he wanted to do, knew what he wanted to say. If he told her he loved her, would he win her heart or scare her away?
***
When Dalek’s shift ended, he left the car with the tapping telegraphs to enjoy fresh air and relative silence. The track ahead was being repaired, slowly. They had better get it fixed soon, or any reinforcements sent to Filip and Anton would be minus an armored train.
A group of men struggled to wheel a heavy machine gun along the track. “Where are you taking that?” he asked.
A man with a boyish face and a chipped front tooth grinned at him. “Baikal Station. Or close to it.”
Dalek did a quick count. “Just the six of you? There’ll be more than six of them.”
“We’re counting on it, Brother. The more we can draw away, the better.”
“You seem unnaturally cheerful for a mission of such danger.”
The man’s eyes drifted to the boxcar. “If you’re a clerk, then I’ll wager you haven’t seen much battle. Trust me, Brother, a machine like this, properly emplaced, can stop a few hundred men.” He nudged one of the wheels of the Kolesnikov mount with his boot.
Did they think him less of a soldier because he operated the telegraph more often than he operated a rifle? “When you were still schoolboys, I was campaigning in Galicia. I know exactly what a Maxim machine gun can do.” He also knew what the Bolsheviks could do, but if the six of them were going to ignore little details like that, there was no reason for him to spoil their happy delusion.
One of the men grunted and shifted a wooden box of ammunition. “Vojta, let’s go. This is heavy.”
The group moved off, toward Baikal Station, toward the Bolsheviks who might tear them to pieces and then do the same to Filip and Anton. Dalek glanced at the train where he worked. There were other telegraphists and not much news. Even when news came, they couldn’t act on it, not with the track torn up in front of them.
Dalek went to tell Kral his plan, then he jogged up to the man struggling with the ammunition and took the other end of the box. “Brother, I think your group would benefit from the addition of one.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Filip rubbed his neck in the early-morning light. They’d marched two days through dense mountain forest. The thick trees had made each step an effort but had also kept them hidden from enemy eyes. They still hadn’t reached Kultuk or the shores of Lake Baikal, but they were making progress.
“You’re the sapper aren’t you?”
Filip glanced at the warrant officer and pointed to Anton. “He is.”
“Right. Time to move out.”
Filip gathered his equipment too.
“We’re only taking fifty,” the warrant officer said. “The rest of the group is continuing to Kultuk.”
“But I’m with him.” Filip wasn’t about to let Anton march off without him.
Anton put a hand on his shoulder. “I think you’re more useful with the main group.”
“The only reason I came was to look after you.”
“I’m not a child needing someone to tend me.”
Of course Anton wasn’t needy. He was a good soldier. But he had a brand-new infant who needed his father to return to him. “I promised Veronika.”
“Filip, we’re walking into the mouth of a bear. The best thing you can do is hold the jaw open long enough for me to dislodge a few teeth.”
“But . . .” Filip shut his mouth. Continuing would make him sound petulant, and Anton was right. Success was the best form of protection. Filip would be more useful storming the Bolshevik barracks in Kultuk. “Nazdar, Anton.”
Anton nodded and followed the officer.
Filip squared his shoulders and studied his remaining comrades. Some of them he knew but not well. He would have felt more at home with the Sixth Regiment, but he had his duty, and he had his orders.
The officer now in charge walked over to him. “Sedlák, you were part of the Družina, weren’t you?”