If they ran, they’d have to leave the wounded. In the stretch of track between Omsk and Novonikolayevsk, the Bolsheviks had captured a legion officer. After the Reds had been driven away, the peasants had shown the legion the shallow grave. The man’s body had been brutally tortured. Filip didn’t want any of his men to fall into Bolshevik hands. Leaving them meant abandoning them to a savage fate.
Their situation was desperate. Stay and die. Or flee and die.
Filip was about to send Dalek off with the healthy men while Filip stayed with the wounded when an enormous boom shook the earth. An instant later, a wall in the building behind the Bolsheviks shattered and fell.
It took a few heartbeats for Filip to get over his surprise and start shooting at the Bolsheviks, who were now panicked enough to show themselves.
“Bless that armored train.” Dalek joined Filip in picking off retreating Bolsheviks as another shell burst, this one even closer to the trench line. “And bless that Slovak messenger who told them exactly where to aim.”
***
They took Slyudyanka just before nightfall. They slept a few hours, then had patrol duty the next morning. Filip and the others spread out on either side of the track as much as the terrain would allow between the cliff and lake, looking for trouble in the form of Bolshevik soldiers. The armored train followed, but it stayed far enough back to avoid an ambush.
“I think I want to be stationed on the armored train.” Dalek stifled a yawn.
Filip looked back, but the train wasn’t in sight. “Everyone targets the train.”
Dalek shrugged. “Maybe. But nothing gets through four inches of steel.”
“Another armored train could. Or a battleship.”
Dalek glanced at Lake Baikal. “The Bolsheviks have a few ships, but nothing with that kind of firepower.”
“Isn’t the communications car safe enough for you?”
Dalek pursed his lips. “Only when I’m smart enough to stay at my desk. But now that I’m here, I wouldn’t mind manning one of those guns.”
“The machine guns or the field guns?”
“Either, but I got a taste for Maxims outside Baikal Station.” Dalek pointed at the water. “Do you suppose we can bathe after we take this last tunnel?”
“I hope so. If Nadia saw me like this, she’d probably run.”
Dalek laughed.
Then the earth shook.
The rumble was similar to what Filip had felt when the boxcar of explosives had destroyed Baikal Station. He’d been close to fifty miles away when that had blown. This felt just as strong, but it was louder. Much louder. Closer.
No one voiced their fear, but they rushed forward, first at a jog, then at a run. A column of dust and smoke crawled into the air, then spread out, blocking the formerly cheery sun. They ran around a bend and halted.
The tunnel was gone.
In its place was a pile of rocks.
Filip stared for a long time, hoping against hope that when the dust settled, it wouldn’t be real. But the longer he stared, the more he felt the bitter truth. They were trapped.
He slung his rifle across his back and started climbing. Anton joined him, and the two trudged up the mountain, through the dense trees and across the steep slopes, reaching the summit over the tunnel as the afternoon sun beat down from its zenith.
Anton wiped the perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief. “I don’t see them. Do you?”
Filip shook his head. The Bolsheviks had blown up the tunnel, and then they’d left. But he doubted they’d gone far. They would wait and attack again, and they’d have plenty of time to prepare their next ambush.
The dust and the heat made Filip’s throat ache. Beyond that, disappointment gnawed at him. They could hike across the mountains, but the trains couldn’t advance, and by the time enough men made it over, the Bolsheviks would have the type of defenses that would cost the legion dearly.
Two thousand miles to Vladivostok. Could they walk that far with their equipment? With their wounded? With their families? All while under Bolshevik attack?
***
“The tunnel isn’t gone.” Kral’s face was sober, as was everyone’s since the explosion.
Filip gestured to the pile of rocks that still hid the tunnel. “I can’t see it.”
“Rockslides filled it in on both sides, and there’s some damage, but the ceiling seems to be intact. We’ll haul the rocks out and move on from there.”
A flicker of hope rose, then died. The rocks were massive. They didn’t have the specialized equipment they would need to move them efficiently. And the tunnel was three hundred twenty meters long. “How?”
“One rock at a time, Sedlák. One rock at a time.”
And that was what they did. Filip and the other legionnaires worked in shifts around the clock to remove the rubble. When they weren’t moving rocks, they formed patrols to protect the rest of the line, stretching back to Irkutsk. The Bolsheviks still controlled the lake with a fleet of ships, boats, and barges. The legion watched them carefully, but the Reds seemed content to wait.