Dan Smith - Red Winter

‘He didn’t say that Koschei is Nikolai Levitsky,’ I pressed him. ‘Tell me he didn’t say that.’

‘He didn’t say that.’

‘Then what did he say?’

‘He said that someone called Levitsky let it happen.’

‘What?’ His accusation was somehow even worse: that I could have somehow unchained this monster.

‘Levitsky made Koschei. He let him loose, is what he said. It didn’t make any sense, but he kept saying it, over and over, and that he was sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘How should I know? I hardly knew him. He just needed someone to die on.’

A comrade to share his last minutes. None of us wants to die alone. I could understand that, but not the meaning of his final words. How could I have been responsible for Koschei? How could I have had anything to do with his actions?

I grabbed the soldier’s lapels with both hands and shook him, pulling him so close that our noses touched.

‘What’s his name?’ I asked. ‘Who is Koschei?’

‘I don’t know.’ The soldier displayed no fear. No emotion. No resistance. His expression remained blank, as if I were shaking a doll. ‘I don’t know.’

I released him, pushing him away so that he fell back and Stanislav slipped from his lap. I looked down at the dead soldier and felt the sting of shame and anger that now followed me wherever I went, always festering just beneath the surface. I stood and backed off, suddenly wanting to be away from here, back out on the steppe, just as I had done when I found the place of bones close to Belev. I took a deep breath and controlled myself, made myself remain calm. I didn’t want to attract attention. I wanted to slip back among the trees and go to Kashtan, find comfort in her companionship. I wanted to see Anna’s small, pale face and know there was something better in this world. I wanted to press on in search of my beautiful Marianna and my growing boys.

As I turned to pick my way back through the mass of the dead and the dying, though, I found my way obstructed by the commander who had noticed me earlier.

He looked me up and down as if to highlight my lack of uniform. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m a doctor,’ I said.

‘There are no doctors on this train.’

‘And yet here I am.’

‘So where are your… your things? Your bag. Your medicines.’

‘Stolen,’ I said, looking back in pretence. ‘I put them down and now they’re gone.’

‘Do you want me to find them? We can turn these men inside out and—’

‘No.’ I put out my hands. ‘Please. That’s not necessary. Don’t you think these men have suffered enough, Comrade Commander?’

‘Most definitely. Thank you.’ The soldier cast his eyes over the sea of men and sighed. ‘The division commander is wounded,’ he said. ‘If you’re a doctor, you can fix him.’

‘I have no—’

‘We have supplies in the division commander’s cabin.’

I had to think quickly. I had to get away.

‘What about these other men?’ I turned and swept my arm about me, taking the chance to peer into the forest and make sure Lev and Anna were well hidden. ‘They need a doctor too.’

‘More than the division commander does?’ His voice darkened and he stepped closer to me. ‘Do I need to remind you that—’

‘No,’ I said, turning back to him. ‘Of course not, Comrade Commander.’

He stiffened his back and pushed out his chest as he stared at me. ‘Then come with me,’ he said. ‘Now.’

I didn’t have time for this; there were men pursuing me, and ahead, time might be running out for my family if they were still alive. I was trapped here in the middle, but I had no choice other than to follow him. Although I was armed, my revolver heavy in my pocket, he was surrounded by men who would do his bidding without a second thought. Questioning orders in this people’s army could result in the most severe of penalties.

I risked another glance back at the forest to reassure myself that Lev and Anna were still hidden by the mist and the trees; then I did as I had been ordered.

The commander led me to the blind carriage directly behind the engine and we stepped through the steam that billowed from the undercarriage. He moved to one side, instructing me to climb aboard, so I pulled myself onto the steps and waited for him to follow and open the door into the car.

The interior was basic. Slatted plank walls, some of them reinforced with more wood nailed into place at random. The outer sides of the carriage were clad with welded metal plates, but the designer had clearly not anticipated attack from below because the floor had been left as it was. Some light crept through the firing slits cut into the walls, and yet more found its way through the cracks in the floorboards. Looking down, I could see the track below us. Benches lined the walls, and there were still one or two soldiers occupying places on them, but there was, by no means, a full complement of men aboard.

The men looked up at us as we came in, but paid us no more attention than that, going back to rolling cigarettes and drinking tea from metal cups.

In the centre of the carriage, an iron stove burned, warming the air to an almost bearable temperature, but the chimney, which fed through the roof, was cracked in places, and grey smoke swirled in the draught that cut in through the firing slits. The scent of burning wood and coal and decay was thick and sweet, almost covering the unwashed smell of the countless soldiers who had sat in here.

The inside of the carriage was stunted, though, smaller than it had looked from the outside, and I realised right away that it had been separated into two compartments.

‘There,’ the commander said, pushing past and marching to the door at the far end of the car, his boots clicking on the wooden floor.

I hesitated, glancing at the men seated on the benches, then followed, making my way past the stove and the pile of loose coal on the floor. The commander knocked on the door as I reached him and pushed it open without waiting for an answer.

‘Doctor for you, Division Commander Orlov,’ he said, ushering me in. Then he backed out and closed the door behind me.

There was the same odour of smoke and decay in here, but the room was more comfortable than the one I had just walked through. The bench at the side of this compartment was cushioned and upholstered with red fabric. There were no windows or firing slits here. Instead the walls were adorned with colourful maps of the Tambov area, nailed to the woodwork. Fingers of natural light filtered up through the cracks in the floorboards, smoke and dust swirling and eddying like magic in its glow.

In the far corner a small stove, this one in full working order, and beside it a stool with a colourful samovar balanced on it. In the centre of the compartment there was a table laid with maps and papers, a collection of used glasses, a lamp, a bottle of vodka and a pistol.

The large man who sat behind the table was Division Commander Orlov, whom I knew by reputation and had met once, a long time ago. I hoped he would not recognise me and was glad for the hat and scarf to cover my face.

Everything about him seemed square, from his shoulders to his chest and his short legs, and he would have been powerful in his youth, sturdy and well built, but he had aged a lot since I had last seen him. There was a beaten look about him now; a strained weariness reflected from him, filling the room. His hair was cropped close to his head, but there was little growth there anyway, and his cheeks were shaved clean. He still had the thick moustache I remembered, dropping at the corners of his mouth and pointing to the edge of his square jaw, except now the whiskers had turned from black to grey.