Dan Smith - Red Winter

‘It’s not far,’ I told Kashtan once we were ready. ‘Just away from the house, that’s all.’

Kashtan nuzzled at me and complied, as if telling me it was only this once, then Anna and I walked either side of her as we led her into the field. As soon as the cart was a safe distance from the house, I unfastened the harness and we led her back to the outbuilding, where we resaddled her and prepared her for the journey ahead.

I took from Tanya and Lyudmila’s supplies whatever I thought we would need and put Lyudmila’s rifle across my back.

‘We’ll leave the rest for Oksana and the others,’ I told Anna. ‘They’ll need it now.’ Without their son’s protection, they were as susceptible as anyone else to the terrors of the war.

‘What about the other horses?’ she asked.

‘Can you ride well?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then choose one and we’ll leave the other. It’ll only slow us down if we have to lead it.’ I had a fleeting memory of leaving my brother’s horse behind, but brushed it away and took out my tobacco pouch to roll a thin cigarette from the remnants I had found in Tanya and Lyudmila’s belongings. I put it between my swollen lips and mounted up, feeling good to be on Kashtan’s back. It meant we were, at least, moving again, leaving this place behind.

Anna inspected the other two animals, going to each one and rubbing its nose, looking over the tack before she decided which she was going to take.

‘Are you sure you can manage that horse?’ I asked, as she pulled herself into Tanya’s saddle.

She shifted, turned the animal towards the door and looked at me.

‘Of course you can,’ I said.

‘Do you know what its name is?’ she asked.

I shook my head. ‘We’ll have to think of one.’

Anna and I crossed the yard, Tuzik trotting behind, and passed through into the field without looking back at the izba . We stopped when we reached the cart and I leaned down to dust away the frost in a small place at the back of it – just enough for me to strike a match against the coarse wood. As I blew the first lungful of smoke into the early morning air, I touched the tiny flame to the straw that covered the men and waited for it to take hold. The fire needed no encouragement to devour the dry strands, and once the flame had grown, it spread and spread, catching on the men’s clothes, dancing over their bodies. Black smoke, with sparks glowing and spitting in its heart, was snagged by the breeze and whipped low to the ground, thinning, moving over the field like a grey snake. Beyond it, over the distant farm, the low winter sun poured light through cloud and smoke and fire, reddening and casting a crimson glow across the yard and the field beyond, where the frost glistened red as if each crystal had been formed with the blood of men.

And in that unearthly hue, a shape began to form.

‘There’s something there,’ Anna said.

‘I see it.’

It was difficult to make it out. Maybe five hundred metres away, it blended well against the dark tangle of hedgerow behind it, and the sun was in my eyes, the colour dazzling. The smoke, too, was drifting about us now; the breeze was breaking it up as it came through the trees, catching the dark clouds in places, scattering the snake in swirls and twists.

Four hundred metres.

I put a hand to my brow and squinted to see the shape move, split, become more than one.

‘Riders,’ I said.

They had been moving in a column but had now separated, moving out in a line across the field.

Kashtan shifted, moving sideways.

‘I know,’ I whispered, and patted her neck.

‘Should we run?’ Anna asked.

‘There’s nowhere for us to go. We can’t outrun them. We can’t go back to the izba . We’ll have to meet them; see what they want.’

‘Are they the ones who were following us?’

The smoke thinned, the grey and black mass weakening. I didn’t dare take my eyes off the shapes as they moved towards us across the field.

Three hundred metres.

‘I think they might be. How many do you count, Anna?’

‘Seven.’ She controlled her horse well, keeping beside me.

Two hundred metres.

‘It’s all right, Anna. We’re going to be fine.’ I pulled the revolver from my pocket and held it resting along my right thigh.

One hundred metres.

The pounding of hooves on hard ground joined the cracking and popping of burning wood behind us.

‘Stay calm,’ I told Kashtan, and I forced my fear deep, pushing it away for all of us. If I was confident, Kashtan and Anna would be too.

The riders were easier to make out now. The smoke still drifted, the sparks still danced, but now the men were men rather than just shapes in the distance.

The rider in the centre raised a hand and the line of riders came to a halt just twenty metres from our position. Each of them was holding a rifle pointed forward, and as soon as they were still, they released the reins of their mounts and steadied their weapons with both hands.

The air was quiet but for the crackle of the fire and the breathing of the horses. They had ridden hard across the field and their hot breath came heavy, drifting from flaring nostrils like the smoke that swirled about them.

The rider who had raised his hand nudged his horse forward. He was a lean man, tall enough to look strange in the saddle, as if his horse were too small. He was gaunt, with yellowish waxy skin over drawn features, and his eyes stared in a permanent bulge from their sockets. He wore a thick, dark winter coat over his Chekist uniform, and on his head was a fox-fur hat. The breeze rippled in the soft fur, blowing through the dark hairs to the white below. His rifle remained on his back, but in his hand he held a pistol. At his waist, he wore a sword. If ever a man had been born into the image of Koschei the Deathless, it was this one.

Krukov.

He brought his horse forward so its nose was alongside Kashtan’s, and when he stopped, he spoke to me without expression. ‘Commander Levitsky. You’re a hard man to follow.’

‘I tried.’

‘What happened to your face?’

‘It’s a long story.’

He looked me up and down. ‘For some of the men, it was easier to believe you were dead. They didn’t want to believe you were a deserter, but I never doubted that you were still alive.’

‘How did you know?’

‘You forget I’ve known you a long time. It was me who cut the bullet from your wound.’ He touched a finger to the soft part of his stomach, just below his ribs. ‘The bodies we found might have had your papers and uniforms, but they didn’t fool me for a second.’

‘And you’ve been following me all this time?’

Krukov looked at Anna for the first time. He showed no emotion, but studied her as if she were a curiosity. He nodded. ‘All this time.’

Anna stared at him, showing no hint of backing down. When faced with the kind of hardship she had endured, there comes a point for every person at which they must make a choice: to give up or to dig in. Anna had chosen to dig in.

‘To what end?’ I asked. ‘What happens now?’

He stroked his beard with a gloved hand but said nothing as he watched her.

‘Koschei is dead,’ I told him.

He was not surprised. ‘On the fire?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the others?’ He turned back to me, his expression still devoid of emotion. Krukov was a proud and principled man, and I had seldom seen him let down his guard. He never gave anything away that he didn’t want to. ‘Dead too?’

‘Yes.’

‘They were not good men.’

‘You’re in charge of this unit now, Commander Krukov. That’s how it should be.’

‘No. It should be you.’ He fixed his eyes on mine.