They went into battle the next day. “We’ve been ordered to flank the enemy and take Shamary Station and a bridge on the River Sylva.” Kral stood before them. He’d received a promotion and was now a captain, a rank more in line with the responsibilities he’d shouldered all summer and into the autumn. “Take care. The Red Army here is more organized than the rabble we dealt with in the east. They’ll fight like a professional unit, not like a mob of zealots. They forced the legion in this sector back a few days ago—the first retreat for our brothers here. The Red Army is in high spirits. Our job is to humble them, show them that the Czechoslovak Legion is still strong.”
Anton and the others marched all morning through the thick Ural forest. The weather was growing cooler, and a thick tangle of branches blocked out the sunlight. He hoped Veronika and Marek were somewhere safe and warm by now. The legion had a mail service, but the troop trains had been sent west so quickly it was unlikely he’d have a letter anytime soon. He could only pray for his family’s safety, pray for a reunion sometime in the future.
“Tothova?” Kral called that afternoon.
“Yes, Brother Captain?”
Kral pointed through the thinning trees. “I want you to head straight for that bridge. We want it captured intact. They don’t expect us, so I doubt it’s wired for demolition, but it’s best to take proper precautions.”
“Yes, Brother.”
Kral gathered up a dozen legionnaires. “Go with Tothova to the bridge.”
“What are we doing with the bridge? Other than capturing it?” Emil whispered.
“Making sure it doesn’t explode.”
“I thought your talent was blowing things up. Now he wants you to do the opposite?” Emil shook his head. “I guess we’re soldiers of many talents. Not long ago, we were fighting for survival. Now I hear that we’re just pawns for imperialists and capitalists.”
“That sounds like Marxist propaganda.”
Emil shrugged. “Maybe. But that doesn’t make it feel any less true.”
Anton didn’t like the situation either, but letting their enemies define their plight would only make it worse. “The Czechs and the Slovaks are a small people. We need powerful friends.”
Emil grunted. “So if those powerful friends want us to fight the Russians, that’s what we do, and then we hope they give us a country?”
“Something like that.” Anton wasn’t good at boosting morale. That was Filip’s role. And while Anton didn’t begrudge Filip his lighter duty, he’d have liked something similar, especially if it had kept him closer to Veronika and Marek.
Anton checked his equipment and studied the bridge that was his next target. When Kral gave the order, the group rushed from the forest. Rifle fire filled the chill, humid air. Anton ran, Emil beside him, hoping speed would keep them safe. They reached the bridge with burning lungs and leaden legs. The handful of Red Army men stationed there dropped their rifles and raised their hands. Petr stepped toward them as guard while Anton checked the bridge supports. It wasn’t wired for demolition.
Surprise had kept the enemy off guard and given the legion another victory. When the day was done, they had captured the depot, the bridge, and three hundred prisoners.
***
The next morning brought a new target with another long march through thick, untamed forest. The undergrowth was so dense that they had to travel single file. An occasional bird called in alarm, but the march itself remained mostly quiet, with just the sounds of men breathing heavily at the strain and of twigs, leaves, and bushes crunching and swooshing as the men went past. The pace they kept would have been brisk on level ground, but the added obstacles of fallen branches and uneven ground cover turned it from brisk to grueling.
A break for lunch did little to revive them. Emil drifted off to sleep and began snoring, but Anton couldn’t do the same. Battle made him nervous. It was hard to sleep when death hung so near the horizon, where at any moment it might slip down and harvest a handful of legionnaires. Maybe more than a handful.
Blisters burned Anton’s feet as the afternoon went on. In the midst of their march, a whispered order came down the line calling for absolute silence. Anton crept closer to the road. Six wagons lumbered past with four Red Army cavalrymen acting as escort.
One of the mounted men pointed into the forest and shouted. He’d seen someone, and both sides reacted quickly. Legionnaires shot, and the cavalrymen bolted. Three fell, but one galloped away.
“So much for surprise.” Petr aimed at one of the fleeing wagon drivers, then let the man go. He was just a frightened peasant, no danger to the legion.
Kral and another officer went forward to examine the abandoned wagons. “Tothova!”
“Yes, Brother Captain?” Anton emerged from the woods.
“Shells. We can’t move them, so destroy them. Then join the rest of us. We’re attacking at once.”