A few legionnaires patrolled the garrison near Piryatin, but nearly everyone else had gone inside, away from the chill, leaving the central parade ground empty. Filip Sedlák and the potential recruit he spoke with turned up the collars of their greatcoats against the biting wind.
Filip recognized hope in the brightness of Emil Horák’s eyes and worry in the tension of his mouth. Filip had felt that same mix of emotions before, on the day his father had been released from prison and Filip hadn’t been sure if having a father again would be a blessing or a challenge. But Filip’s emotions weren’t mixed when it came to the Czechoslovak Legion. Their brotherhood and their aim to win a country of their own—that was unequivocally the most important goal any of them could ever work toward.
Emil, however, wasn’t yet convinced. “It’s just that I joined an army once—not by choice. It was miserable. The trenches were wet and cold, the food was awful . . . when we had it. And to top it all off, people kept shooting at me. I’m not sure I want to volunteer for a different army.”
Filip had spent months recruiting for the legion among the Czechs and Slovaks being held in Russian camps as war prisoners, so he’d heard all Emil’s excuses, and he knew exactly how to make the scrawny soldier see the light. “The legion is different. We won’t be fighting for an empire we hate. We’ll be fighting for ourselves.”
“But we don’t have a country.”
“Not yet. But we do have an army, and that’s a start. Things are changing. The Austro-Hungarian Empire is falling apart. If we seize this chance now, we’ll have a say at the negotiation table. A chance to break away from the empire and have an independent country.”
Emil glanced back toward the train station as if weighing the danger of joining the legion against the danger of wandering the Ukraine alone now that he was free of his POW camp. “Nobody cares about the Czechs or the Slovaks. They won’t remember little people like us, will they?”
“Our actions will show so much valor, so much daring, that it will be impossible for them to forget us.”
Emil nodded thoughtfully.
“How old are you, Emil?” He looked about seventeen. Filip had probably looked that young when he’d left his grandfather’s workshop to dutifully serve the three-year term of conscription required of all Austro-Hungarian subjects, but by the time the war had started almost four years ago, Filip had been twenty-two.
“Nineteen.”
That was young but not too young. “You’re sick of Austrian rule, aren’t you, Emil?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to join an army allied with their enemies. Desertion’s a capital offense. So is treason.”
Desertion was such an ugly word. Technically, it was a crime Filip was guilty of, but he found no shame in refusing to fight for an oppressive empire and instead fighting with his Slavic brothers. “Only if they catch us. And only if we lose the war.”
Emil still hesitated.
“Imagine victory. Picture going home to a land where no one looks down on you just because you’re Czech. Think about liberty, about finally having a voice.”
The lines of Emil’s mouth relaxed, almost into a smile.
“You’d return home a war hero.”
That changed Emil’s expression into an unambiguous grin, though he hid it quickly. He nodded. Filip took that as agreement. He held out his hand, and Emil shook it.
“Welcome to the legion, brother. I’ll show you the barracks.”
Hope still lit Emil’s eyes as he studied the encampment. Zemlanky-style barracks surrounded the parade ground, built mostly underground with only their thatched roofs visible.
“They don’t look like much,” Filip said, “but they keep in the warmth. And we won’t be here much longer.”
“When do I get a rifle?” Emil asked.
“We’re a bit short on weapons at the moment. But the French will supply us once we get to France.”
“Why would the French give us weapons?”
“The French will supply anyone who’s willing to fight the Germans.” And the Czechs and Slovaks were eager to battle Germans because defeating the German and Austro-Hungarian Empires was the only way they’d get a country of their own. Filip led Emil down the stairs into the cold, dimly lit barrack.
Emil studied the wooden bunks and rough tables. “How will we get to France? The Central Powers are in the way, and I don’t imagine they’ll give us safe passage through the front lines so we can fight them from the west instead of from the east.”
“That’s yet to be determined.” The latest plans involved traveling by rail to Arkhangelsk or Vladivostok, then traveling by ship. It was a roundabout way to get to France—some routes had them circumnavigating most of the globe—but as long as they got there, as long as they saw the end of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the beginning of an independent Czechoslovakia, Filip was willing to travel as many miles as needed.
Filip introduced Emil to the rest of his squad. He excused himself when a sober-looking Dalek Pokorný ran down the steps and motioned Filip over.
“What is it?”
“The Ukrainians have just declared themselves an independent country.”
“Good for them. I hope we’ll soon join them in having a country of our own.” Ukrainian independence didn’t seem troubling, so Filip waited for a longer explanation.
“They’re negotiating with the Germans.”
“Ah.” Filip folded his arms across his chest. That complicated things. The Ukrainians were pleasant enough hosts while the legion assembled and organized new recruits for their journey to France. Most legionnaires were former war prisoners captured by the Russians, but the group included Czech émigrés and outright defectors as well. If the Ukrainians came to some sort of agreement with the Germans, their host’s new allies could cause problems . . . “What type of negotiations?”
“Help against the Bolsheviks.”
The zemlanky’s temperature seemed to drop several degrees. “They’ll ask the Germans in?”
“That’s the rumor.”
Emil’s fears, and those of every other legionnaire, would be significantly more potent if the Germans entered the Ukraine. In German eyes, the legionnaires were traitors. Filip ran a finger under his collar. “Do they hang traitors or shoot them?”
“Both.” Dalek’s voice sounded far too lighthearted, given the subject. “But they might reserve a little extra brutality for men who defected and joined the Družina as early as you did.”
Filip glanced at the men but kept his voice down. “I think it’s about time we left the Ukraine.”
“Yes, we’ll withdraw soon.” Lieutenant Kral had slipped down the stairs. He’d been born in Russia to Czech émigrés, but if he was captured, Filip doubted that fact would secure Kral any mercy.
“Do you have orders, Brother Lieutenant?” Filip was still getting used to the new way of addressing officers. He liked Brother far better than Excellency, but old habits took time to fade.
Kral spread a map across a nearby table, and Filip and several others crowded around for a better view. “Some of the regiments are heading east for Penza. But the First Division is still on the front, fighting the Austrians. The Russian forces on either side of them are now at peace with the enemy, but the legion is not, so they have to withdraw. We’re to keep the rail line open for them. I expect the Germans will try to cut them off.” Kral tapped a small town where several red lines converged. “The tracks running east join at Bakhmach. German forces are coming from the west and the northwest, so we’ll have to split our forces and hold them back until all our men make it through the depot.”
“I imagine the Germans will be well-motivated to stop us.” Filip studied the map. Bakhmach, Ukraine to Penza, Russia. Over six hundred miles.
“Our stated goal is to fight them in France, so I expect they’ll try to destroy us.” Kral’s words held not a hint of fear, but Filip wasn’t surprised. He’d known Kral since 1915. The man didn’t know how to be frightened. “We’ll need to evacuate every last legionnaire from the Ukraine.”
“Is the First Division on its way?” Filip was all in favor of fighting the Germans, but he preferred to do it in France, as planned. The legion was only two divisions strong. They were vastly outnumbered here. Better to fight from the west, surrounded by allies.
“Yes. And so are the Germans. Word is they’re trying to encircle us. At first light, we’ll start gathering boxcars for the evacuation.” Kral rolled up his map and left.
“He seems rather calm about the fact that a German army is trying to encircle and annihilate us.” Dalek sat on the table and swung one booted foot. “If I get killed by the Germans, I’m not sure I can forgive you for dragging me into this.”
“Blame His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty Franz Joseph I. He’s the one who forced you away from Prague and into a war.”
“Yes, but he’s dead, and I don’t plan on wading through fire and brimstone to give him a piece of my mind.” Dalek wagged a finger at Filip. “You, on the other hand, convinced me to leave a perfectly acceptable camp for war prisoners, and now I’m about to get shot at again.”
“Perfectly acceptable?” Filip huffed. He’d visited Dalek’s camp last fall as part of his recruiting drive. Filip had been convalescing from a shrapnel wound received during the Battle of Zborov, and he’d been shocked to find his best friend in a camp surrounded by a twelve-foot-high barbed-wire fence and crowded with unwashed, lice-infested prisoners. “You were starving.”
“Not quite.”
“Close enough. And had you stayed, it would have gotten worse. The Russians can’t even feed their own soldiers. How long do you think they’ll keep feeding their prisoners?”
Dalek grunted, his standard way of avoiding arguments since the two of them had been children practicing gymnastics in one of Prague’s Sokol clubs. “Very well, off we go to see the world, if we can fight our way out of the Ukraine.”
Jakub Zeman sat on one of the creaky chairs. “I wish we were staying longer. That woman we saw today—I wouldn’t mind seeing her again.”
Dalek chuckled. “The grand duchess who rode across the proving grounds? You might see her, but I doubt a peacock like that would deign to converse with someone like you unless she were desperate and injured again.”
Zeman frowned. “She seemed to have a few words for Sedlák.”
Filip shook his head. If he closed his eyes, he could still picture the exquisite woman’s smooth black hair, clear gray eyes, and warm amber skin. “I was acting the part of groom. Trust me, she didn’t like me, but good breeding kept her polite.”
“Good breeding?” Zeman snorted. “The Bolsheviks are right. The aristocracy should be eliminated. The people who till the land should own it, and the people who work in the factories should get the profits.”
“Marxism?” Dalek’s lips pulled into a humorless line, almost hidden by his mustache. “A republic. That’s what we need. No monarchy. And certainly no Marxism.”
Zeman scowled. “A republic? We need a country first.”
Filip stepped in before the conversation became heated. “Yes, we still need a country. But we have an army. And to ensure that the Germans don’t decimate our little army without a country, we need coaches, teplushkas, wagons, and boxcars.”
Zeman looked around the barracks. “Where’s Tothova?”
Dalek raised an eyebrow. “He’s no doubt exactly where I’d be if my wife were here instead of nine hundred miles away.”
“Zeman, it’s probably best if you wait till morning to find him.” The Germans were coming, but they could afford to let Anton enjoy his night. In the meantime, Filip wanted to make sure young Emil was settled.
***
Anton wrapped an arm around his wife as she snuggled next to him on their straw mattress.
“It’s so cold,” Veronika whispered.
They’d both become proficient at speaking softly, because only a curtain separated them from the next couple squeezed into the recessed barracks. When they’d first arrived, everything had been covered in fleas. It was cleaner now but not much warmer. It certainly wasn’t the home he wanted for his bride. But someday the war would end, and they’d find a place of their own in Slovakia.
He moved Veronika’s hair and kissed the back of her neck. “You’re always cold.”
“Not always. Summers in Taganrog were lovely. Hot even, in the factory.”
“Do you regret it? Leaving the factory and coming with me?”
She turned to face him and ran gentle fingers through his hair, both assuring and relaxing him. “Regret marrying the brilliant man who will take me to France and win a Czechoslovakia? Of course not. Now that your hair and skin are back to their normal color, I think you’re the handsomest, smartest man in the whole legion.”
Work in the munitions factory had left their skin and hair yellow. Anton traced Veronika’s eyebrows. They were her most striking feature: thick, with a perfect shape, and dark again now, after leaving Taganrog. “I still can’t believe you said yes.”
She kissed him. “I would have said yes a year ago, you silly, wonderful man. It took you forever to ask me.”
Anton might never have asked her to marry him if Filip Sedlák hadn’t come along and talked him into joining the legion. Now he was a soldier again, able to support a wife. Before, he’d been only a prisoner. After his capture by the Russians in 1915, he’d spent a year in a prison camp before being offered the chance to work at a factory. The work had been long, and as a Slovak prisoner, he hadn’t been paid as much as the Russians. Still, he’d had enough food to eat, a place to sleep, a church to pray in. And there had been that pretty girl with the delicate nose and full eyebrows who he had seen from time to time. “I couldn’t offer you anything when I was a prisoner.”
“You could have offered me yourself. That’s what I wanted.” Veronika leaned her forehead against his chest. “Do you think the baby will be yellow? It happened sometimes, with the other factory workers, but they worked until their babies came.”
“Did they stay yellow?”
“I don’t think so, not forever.”
“Then I’m sure ours won’t stay yellow either.”
“Do you want a boy or a girl?”
Whenever he imagined their baby, it was a boy, but saying so might set himself up for disappointment. And he didn’t want to hurt Veronika’s feelings. “If it’s a daughter, then we’ll have a son the next time. And if it’s a son, we’ll have a daughter the next time.”
Her laugh was more movement than sound, all warm breath and fluttering hair on his bare chest. “How many children are we to have?”
“I’m not sure.” He kissed her ear. “If we succeed in getting a new country, we’ll need to populate it with a great many Czecho-Slovak children. And since I’m planning to be desperately in love with you forever . . .”
A gust of cold wind ruffled the curtain separating them from Petr and Larisa. Someone must have opened the barracks door.
“Tothova!”
Anton groaned, just loud enough that Veronika could hear. “Coming.” That was a little louder. What was so important that it couldn’t wait until morning? He wasn’t supposed to have guard duty until the following night. He pulled his trousers on, then stepped to the other side of the curtain.
Jakub Zeman waited at the door. At least he hadn’t barged into their section of the barracks.
“Yes, Brother Corporal?”
“We’re to scrounge as many train cars as we can tomorrow morning. Starting at seven. We’ll offer to buy, but if people won’t sell, we’ll take them at gunpoint.”
“Do you need anything tonight?”
“No. But I didn’t want to have to find you in the morning.” Zeman turned and left, letting in another gust of cold winter air that left goose bumps on Anton’s exposed skin.
“What is it?” Veronika asked as he crawled back into bed.
“An assignment for tomorrow. I don’t know why it couldn’t have waited until morning.”
“Because he’s jealous. You’re happy, and he likes to interrupt that as often as he can.”
Anton kept his laughter soft. Veronika had Jakub Zeman figured out completely. “I am happy. And cold.” He wrapped Veronika in his arms and pulled her closer.