David Oldman - Dusk at Dawn

‘No chance of relief, I suppose?’ Valentine asked gloomily.

‘None. They had their chance when Kappel came up from Simbirsk to take Sviyázhsk. It was the Lettish Rifles that stopped him.’

He looked pointedly at Valentine. It had been the Lettish Rifles Reilly had tried to subvert in Moscow, after they had supposedly become disaffected following the arrest of the SR leaders. Vacietis, the Volga front commander, had warned Trotsky to withdraw them from the Kazan front and had been arrested for his pains. Trotsky had begun decimating his own men until the Lettish Rifles had stiffened enough to turn Kappel back from Sviyázhsk.

‘Now we’re outnumbered at least four to one,’ Paul went on. ‘The whole front has collapsed. Without more men and equipment the Komuch army hasn’t got a hope.’

‘And the Legion?’ Valentine asked.

‘Čeček’s already been cut off from the units on the railway east of Kazan. His only hope is to reach Samara.’

‘Then we need to go with him.’

‘I’ve already arranged it,’ Paul said. ‘We’re to be at the barges in the morning.’

Sofya smiled at him and reached a hand across the table.

Valentine raised an eyebrow. ‘Well done, old man.’

‘But we’ll have to be ready early,’ Paul said.

There had been no danger of oversleeping. The bombardment began again before dawn. Paul hadn’t slept much anyway. Since discovering that Mikhail had recently been in the city, Sofya’s spirits had risen and they had talked until midnight, sitting on a battered sofa and sharing what was left of Paul’s cigarettes.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ he said as she reached for the one he had just lit and placed it between her lips.

‘It was very fashionable with society ladies,’ she said drawing in the smoke, then coughing. She looked critically at the cheap Russian brand. ‘But not things like this! We used to smoke good Russian cigarettes, or even English. You could buy many English goods before the war.’

‘I can’t imagine they encouraged it at the Smolny Convent,’ Paul said.

She inhaled tentatively again. ‘No, but all the girls used to do it. It was thought sophisticated.’

‘In the trenches,’ he said, ‘it was thought indispensable. The men’s one luxury. If you don’t count hot meals.’

‘Was it terrible, Pasha?’

‘Sometimes I think it was preferable to this. At least there one knew who the enemy was.’

‘Not Valentine anymore,’ she said, giving him a mischievous look.

‘No, he’s changed his tune. Now we’re clear of the Bolsheviks.’

Only he wasn’t clear of the Bolsheviks. What he was, he found a few hours later, was still on the sofa, stretched out and alone. He had fallen asleep. Sofya had gone to bed. He sat bolt upright, wide awake as the artillery bombardment began again.

It was still dark and an explosion in a nearby street was followed by a crash in the room next door. Valentine emerged half-dressed and nursing his shin.

‘They’re getting closer.’

‘We need to get going,’ Paul said.

He woke Sofya. They carried their few belongings in bags and bundles out into the greying dawn light. People were running aimlessly through the rubble trying to escape the shells. The trams that had run across the floodplain to the steamer pier had long since ceased. There were no droshkys to be had and the only way to reach the river was on foot. Others were already ahead of them, hurrying across the meadows towards the Volga. On the far bank to the west, the flash of artillery pieces revealed the Red Army’s positions on Uslan Hill. The river was still in darkness but small twinkling lights, rising and falling with the current, betrayed the presence of Raskolinokov’s flotilla. Nearing the bank the ground underfoot became boggy. A crush of people had converged on the remaining barges, shouting and struggling towards the bank. Valentine, ahead of Paul and Sofya, reached into his waistband and withdrew Oblenskaya’s pistol.

A detachment of Legion soldiers with rifles and fixed bayonets held the crowd at bay, guarding the gangways onto the barges. The crowd milled in front of them, suitcases and bundles parrying the bayonets. Paul, in his Czech uniform with Sofya and Valentine in his wake, pushed to the front waving their authorisation papers above his head.

‘From Colonel Čeček,’ he bawled at the soldier at the foot of the gangway. ‘We have passes.’

A officer behind the man reached past and took Paul’s authorisation. He read it and nodded.

‘Three,’ he said and the soldiers moved aside to let them up the gangway.

The barge was crowded with legionnaires. Some stood on the deck where they could, others lined the gunnels with their rifles pointing across the river. Edging between those on the deck, Paul gave the bundle he had been carrying to Sofya.

‘You’d better find some cover. As soon as it’s fully light they’ll shell the boats.’ He held his hand out to Valentine.

Valentine frowned. ‘What’s this?’

‘I’m staying,’ Paul said.

‘Pasha!’ Sofya cried.

‘What? Don’t be stupid, old man. The city’s about to fall. You know what’ll happen if they catch you.’

‘I was sent to join the Legion,’ Paul said. ‘There are still units in the city. How can I leave them now?’

‘But they’ll be getting out, too!’ Valentine protested. ‘Besides, they’re stretched from here to Siberia. You can join some other unit, can’t you?’

‘That’s not quite the point, is it.’ Paul said.

‘The point ? What is the point?’

Another party boarded the barge and they had to shuffle along the deck to make room.

‘Good God, man,’ Valentine said. ‘C didn’t send you here to die like a rat in a trap.’ He turned to Sofya. ‘Tell him, Sofya, make him see sense.’

Sofya dropped her bag and bundle. She grabbed his arms.

‘Valentine’s right, Pasha.’ She stared into his face, her own aghast. ‘There’s nothing you can do here! You can’t help anyone by dying. Come with us, please . We’ll find Mikhail. Isn’t that what you were supposed to do?’

What he was supposed to do hadn’t had much bearing on what he had been doing for some time. It seemed to Paul that all he had done so far was to run away. Here he had an opportunity to stop running, to turn and fight back. The ‘why’ no longer seemed important.

‘Make sure she finds Mikhail,’ he said to Valentine.

Sofya clung to him. ‘No, Pasha. Come with us, please. For me. I want you to come with me.’

Paul eased her back. ‘I’ll find you again, Sofya. I promise.’ He kissed her, pushed her gently towards Valentine and turned away.

From the bank he saw them looking at him, Valentine’s hands on Sofya’s shoulders. Her hands were clasped in front of her breasts as if in prayer. A shell whined overhead and a hundred yards along the bank an explosion threw up a mass of mud and grass. The crowd screamed and scattered. The gangway was hauled onto the deck and the barge’s engines coughed into life. The boat drifted away from the bank and turned with the current.

Paul watched it for a moment longer as the shelling crept closer. Then he turned towards the floodplain and Kazan again.

Snow lay deep underfoot. Ice had formed thick against the riverbank and crept over the stream with an opaque frosting that concealed the torpid flow beneath. Along the bank, trees canted under the weight of snow like rows of stooped old men, dropping their load now and then with an accompanying whoosh that sounded like gasps of relief. Then stillness returned, ghostly white, a silence broken only by the crunch of snow under the men’s boots and the rasp of their frozen breath.