Relief at seeing Anton eased the weight of worry he’d been carrying. “I was distracting the Bolshevik garrison from Baikal Station. Now I’m looking for you and Filip.”
Another man slapped Dalek on the back. “You were with that machine-gun crew?”
“I was.”
“Well done. Hardly a Red in sight, so we practically walked into Baikal Station. And then flattened it.” He broke off in a chuckle.
“Were there any casualties?”
Anton shook his head. “Not on our side.”
Dalek looked at the group they’d come across. “Where’s Filip?”
“I haven’t seen him for a few days. Our group split up. Filip went to Kultuk.”
“Have you had any word?”
“No.” The smile disappeared from Anton’s face. “Just that they’ve had a rough go of it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Bolsheviks in Kultuk held out for five days. Filip was in the thick of it, retreating one morning, advancing the next afternoon. His group took hit after hit, but Bolshevik losses were even worse.
Reinforcements came, following the path Filip had taken over the mountains. On the fifth day, Gajda’s group joined them, advancing along the rail from Irkutsk. With their help, the Bolsheviks finally scattered, fleeing Kultuk for the next stronghold.
Filip sat with Novak in the dirt, their backs against a tree. “We should probably pursue them.” He didn’t lift a finger to follow his own advice.
“Before they get to Slyudyanka Station.” Novak sounded just as exhausted as Filip felt. “Don’t want them to take that last tunnel. It’s over three hundred meters long.”
Filip glanced at his boots. A hole graced the left one above his big toe. A tear decorated the right knee of his trousers. And grime covered every inch of his uniform. Novak looked much the same, with the addition of blood across his tunic—he’d killed a man with a bayonet. Would the advancing group even recognize the two of them as legionnaires? Or would they be mistaken for Bolshevik prisoners? Being mistaken for a prisoner might not be too awful. They could sort it out after they caught up on sleep.
“Come on, men, we’ve got to push forward and attack before they organize.”
Filip held back a groan. He knew that voice. Gajda. And knowing Gajda, he’d been fighting for almost as long as Filip had, so exhaustion would be no excuse. Filip wasn’t injured. His head wound from Omsk didn’t even bother him anymore. Or maybe it did, but the rest of his head hurt so much from the constant noise and the lack of sleep that it all felt the same.
Filip stumbled to his feet and helped Novak up. “Brother Colonel, we’re low on ammunition. Where can we get more?”
Gajda looked at the two of them. “You came over the mountains?”
Filip nodded.
“With the original group?”
“Yes.” Novak’s voice was scratchy.
Gajda turned to point along the rail, the direction of Irkutsk. “Back there. Get some rations too. You can rest a bit, but be ready to move tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Brother Colonel.”
Gajda nodded curtly. “I push my men, but I try not to push them beyond the breaking point.”
When he trudged back with Novak, the thunk of metal echoed as a group of legionnaires worked to repair the rail line. Men shouted from time to time—orders, greetings. But for the moment, Filip didn’t hear any rifle fire. It had been almost nonstop for days, and its absence was strange in a wonderful sort of way.
“Filip!”
Filip snapped his head around, seeking the source of the familiar shout. “Dalek?” He didn’t look quite as rundown as Filip, but he was headed in that direction. “I thought you were a telegraph clerk now, not an infantryman.”
Dalek frowned, but there was mirth in the gesture. “I saw some green soldiers planning to shift the battle with only six men and a machine gun, so I decided to join them. I’m still waiting for my boxcar with its telegraphs to catch up.”
“Are they sending the trains up?” Filip looked along the track. Maybe Nadia was coming.
“They’ll send up the armored train as soon as the track is fixed. The rest will have to wait until we secure the lake.”
Of course. As long as the Bolsheviks held the lake, the track wasn’t safe for civilians. “What exactly were you doing with that machine gun?”
Dalek’s mustache twitched. “Keeping the Bolsheviks from moving that train of explosives, then drawing off all the Bolsheviks from Baikal Station so Anton and his group could sneak in and destroy it.”
“Anton . . . have you seen him?” Filip hadn’t forgotten the reason he’d ended up in Kultuk, but with everything else going on, he’d tried to stop fretting over it.
“He’s fine. For now.” Dalek slapped Filip on the arm and laughed at the dirt that came off. “Almost as filthy as you.”
Filip went back to the Sixth Regiment after that, with Anton, Emil, Dalek, and the others. The next morning, they were tasked with capturing Slyudyanka Station. By then, the rail lines were repaired, so an armored train went with them.