Dan Smith - Red Winter

The brown coat was much warmer than the one I had taken from the peasant, but it felt wrong to be wearing the insignia of the Red Army, which was sewn on the arms and lapels. It reminded me of the raw and festering star Ryzhkov had branded into his victims. And the bright red button loops and lapel-tips seemed to draw attention to themselves, like blood in the snow.

Beneath the coat, I wore the uniform and long, black boots I had thought never to see again, and over it, I wore a Mauser pistol, which denoted my position, holstered in its wooden case and clipped to the leather strap that crossed my chest. Rather than a red-starred budenovka , I wore a black leather cap with a short peak, which dipped to a spot just above my eyes. The leather was old and faded, and the star adorning it had lost its lustre.

‘We weren’t expecting anyone today,’ the guard said, putting a hand to his brow to keep the snow from his eyes. ‘Shit. What happened to you?’

‘Do you always know when someone is coming?’ I replied, looking down at him. I was a Chekist commander now, not a nervous husband or a worried father.

He hesitated. ‘No, comrade.’

‘Then stop talking and let me in. Or do you want to join the prisoners inside?’ I stared down at him, and Krukov did the same. I could only imagine how we must have looked to the young man. Battle-hardened Cheka soldiers, weary from a long ride, expressions that allowed no dissent.

Even so, it would only take one wrong move, one word out of place to raise suspicion. And we were surrounded by soldiers who would kill us with almost no hesitation.

The guard nodded, then remembered himself. ‘Y-your,’ he stuttered, ‘your papers, please, comrade.’

I paused, staring hard at the young man for a moment as if to ask him how he had dared to request such a thing, then I looked at Krukov and sighed so the guard could see my contempt. ‘Why do they post boys in positions of responsibility?’ I said.

When I turned back to the guard, I unfastened one of the buttons on my coat and pulled my papers from the inside pocket. I held them out without leaning down, forcing him to come closer.

He hardly dared to look me in the eye as he reached up to take them.

‘Well, hurry up,’ I said.

His hands were shaking when he unfolded the documents. He scanned them, glanced up at me, then looked back at the papers again. ‘I-I’m sorry, comrade. Just one moment.’

And with that, he disappeared back into the guardhouse.

I turned to look at Krukov, who shrugged, just a slight movement of his shoulders, and then a different guard emerged from the hut. This man was older, sterner, but he still had trouble looking me in the eye.

‘Grigori Ryzhkov,’ he said.

‘ Commander Ryzhkov,’ I said, before I turned to Krukov with a subtle warning glance. ‘Where do they find these people? They wouldn’t last more than a day out there.’

Krukov could hardly hide his confusion, wondering why I had shown Ryzhkov’s papers and not my own. I was a decorated soldier – Nikolai Levitsky should command more respect than Grigori Ryzhkov, but I had my reasons for the deception.

‘My apologies, Comrade Commander,’ the man said, before looking over the papers he held in his thick hands. He pursed his lips, his moustache rising so the bristles touched his nostrils. ‘I have to ask… what is your business here?’ He looked back at the soldiers behind me.

‘We’re taking some prisoners away,’ I said.

The guard took off his hat and scratched his balding head as he went back to staring at my papers. ‘I—’

‘Just open the gates.’

He nodded at me and shifted his attention to Krukov. ‘Papers?’

Krukov passed his documents to the guard.

‘I know you have a job to do, comrade,’ I said, ‘but you do you know who I am?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I suggest you give me access to your prisoners right away, or when I speak to your commander, I will ask him to give you to me for punishment. Comrade Krukov here is particularly good at flaying a man’s hands while he’s still alive. He can peel away the skin like a glove.’

Beside me, Krukov remained expressionless.

‘All right.’ He swallowed hard and handed back the papers, waving us forward. ‘Let them in.’

The younger man ran to the first gate and opened it, signalling to the towers to let us through.

I looked down at the guard for a long moment, then nudged Kashtan forward into the corral between the two gates. ‘You think we’re safe?’ I spoke under my breath.

‘I can’t be sure,’ Krukov said. ‘Why did you use Ryzhkov’s papers?’

I ignored his question and rode on as the first gate closed behind us, the barbed wire rattling as it banged shut. The older guard followed us into the corral.

We were trapped now, hemmed in between the two gates, with towers ahead of us. If they’d wanted to kill us, now would be the best time. The four of us wouldn’t last more than a few seconds.

As we reached the main gate, though, it drew back in front of us, rolling away to one side, and I felt my heart beating hard as we crossed the groove it had left in the dirt.

I had a better view of the prisoners in the inner compound now. There were more than two hundred of them at first sight, milling about in front of the huts, but there may have been more, obscured by the buildings. Mostly they were women and children, some of them hardly more than babies, but there were some men too. Boys, really. Boys destined to be soldiers.

Please be here. Please be here.

Most of them watched us enter the camp. Undernourished, tired and afraid, they could only wonder what we might have in store for them. They would be accustomed to soldiers arriving and taking people away to labour camps or Red Army units, and already groups were forming, families closing together, hoping they would not be separated from their loved ones. I watched those groups, looking for any sign of Marianna and the boys, but saw nothing.

As soon as we were all in, the soldiers drew the gate closed behind us, and the guard jogged past, heading for the building closest to the entrance. He didn’t need to knock on the door, because as he reached the building, the door opened and the prison commander stepped out. The two men spoke, and then the guard returned to the gate, calling for the men to let him back out to his post.

The commander of the camp smoothed his uniform tunic and came towards us, his gleaming black boots stark against the thin layer of snow.

I remained in the saddle, giving myself a position of superiority, making the man look up at me when he spoke.

‘Comrade Ryzhkov,’ he said with an officious smile. ‘I am Commander Donskoy. I didn’t know you were coming.’ He couldn’t help looking at my bruises, staring at my swollen lips.

‘Why would you have known I was coming?’

The smile fell from his face. ‘Your men are still here. Shall I call for them?’

‘My men?’ I couldn’t help but glance at Krukov, whose face remained blank. I searched his eyes for any clue that he knew about this and it crossed my mind that he had planned it. He had brought me to a place from which there would be no escape.

‘Commander?’

I looked down at Donskoy and tried to give nothing away in my expression. I was thinking quickly, trying to see a way through this. If Krukov was betraying me, I had no chance, but if not, I had to stop those men from seeing me. As soon as they saw me, they would give up my real identity. I had men at my back, men who I hoped were loyal. They were experienced and quick, but we would be outnumbered if we had to fight. Too many possibilities were presenting themselves to me.

I had to just fix on one.