Svoboda dismounted and went to another horse, one with a body thrown over it. “We were ambushed. Just a handful of men, and they scattered after getting a few shots off. They hit Sedlák.”
“Is he . . . ?” Dalek couldn’t finish his thought. His friend couldn’t be dead. It was unthinkable.
Svoboda put his hand on Filip’s neck. “Still alive.”
“And the other five?” Were they all dead in the snow somewhere?
“We split up.”
Dalek nodded. “Help me get him into the office.” The cold was helpful for slowing blood flow, but it could kill a man, especially when injured. Filip didn’t respond when they lifted him off the horse and carried him into the telegraph office. They laid him on the floor, and Dalek pried back a few layers to reveal a mass of blood on Filip’s shoulder. A serious wound but survivable if they acted quickly.
Dalek grabbed some rags and tied up the wound. “Get the engine ready. We’ll send him to hospital in Yekaterinburg.” They were lucky to have an engine today. That wasn’t always the case.
The other half of the patrol returned as Dalek left the office. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. They’d all made it back. If they could just keep Filip alive . . .
Dalek slid through the icy streets to Filip’s boxcar.
“Mrs. Sedláková!” He burst inside. “Nadia?” She was gone. What she was doing out in weather like this was beyond him, but he’d never pretended to understand women. The fire was mere embers, and the smoky boxcar was only slightly warmer than the outside temperature.
Dalek swore under his breath and ran through the village as best he could in the snow. Where was that woman? The train couldn’t wait for her. Filip’s bleeding was under control, but delay would be a mistake. Dalek would find her later because if he spent much longer searching for her now, she wouldn’t have a husband anymore.
Chapter Thirty
Filip forced his eyes open. He tested his shoulder with a slight shrug and instantly regretted it when the pain flared. He glanced around the ward. No visitors for him, again, but maybe that would change. It was still early.
He’d been in the hospital for five days. He kept thinking Nadia would come, but maybe there was a hold up with the trains. The saboteurs might have returned to destroy part of the tracks. Or maybe she didn’t know where she’d stay if she came. Things weren’t so bad in their little village, but elsewhere in Siberia, refugees choked the cities. People were lucky to get a few feet of floor space. It wasn’t a long journey, but it’s wasn’t a particularly safe one either. It might be better for her to remain where she was, in a familiar place surrounded by friends. But the selfish part of him wanted to see her.
He tried to read a newspaper. The print was Russian, and though Nadia had taught him how to sound out the Cyrillic letters, it was slow going. Eventually, the train whistle he’d been listening for blew. He checked his watch. If Nadia was on the train, she might make it to the hospital in as little as twenty minutes, but it would probably take longer.
Thirty minutes passed, and someone came, but it wasn’t Nadia.
“Dalek! They let you out of the telegraph office?” Dalek wasn’t Filip’s first choice for a visitor, but he was easily his second.
Dalek stood at the foot of the bed as Filip scooted into a sitting position. Dalek removed his gray fur hat with the legion colors and brushed his blond hair from his eyes. “I wanted to come sooner. You’re looking much better than you were when I stuck you on the train.” He glanced around the hospital. “The Americans might be awful when it comes to reinforcing the Ural Front, but they run decent hospitals. Least it looks like it. Are they treating you well?”
“No complaints.” Other than the lack of visitors, but he didn’t say that out loud. “If you got me here, then I owe you my thanks.”
Dalek sat on the end of the bed. “The men who dragged you back did more. They stopped the bleeding.”
“And the partisans?”
“Disappeared again. Left their dead behind. Three of them. Bolsheviks. Not in uniform, but they had red handkerchiefs around their arms.”
“And my patrol?”
“Everyone made it back.”
Now that he had an update on the military side of things, he asked the more important question. “How’s Nadia? I keep hoping she’ll visit. Maybe it’s not safe, but I’ve been waiting for a letter at least.”
Dalek stared at the floor.
“Dalek?” The silence that followed made Filip’s stomach hurt with a pain that rivaled what he felt in his shoulder. “Dalek, what’s going on? Is she all right?”
He didn’t answer, not until Filip nudged him with his toe. “I ran to your boxcar the day you were shot. They had to get the fire started and the boiler hot, so I thought she could go with you. But she wasn’t there.”
“I think she was going to do laundry. Must have been getting firewood or something.”
Dalek grunted his reply.
“Have you looked in on her for me? She’s still . . .” How did Filip put it without it sounding like an insult? “She’s still learning. Things were different for her for most of her life.”