Look to the Wolves

by Look to the Wolves

  Scott was sitting, now, staring down at him. He nodded. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks. Same to you. Ready for start-up?’

  ‘Of course I’m bloody ready!’

  ‘Right—’

  ‘Wait. She may start just on a swing, but thanks to the time you’ve had me waiting she’s not exactly warm now, may need the full routine. So try it, but if she doesn’t fire the first time—’

  ‘All right.’

  He ducked round to the front, set his feet carefully as he’d been taught, put his hands on the prop and turned it until he felt the compression.

  ‘Contact!’

  ‘Contact…’

  He flung it round, the engine fired immediately and he stepped back, dodged aside as Scott opened his throttle and the machine lurched forward. Scott pulling his helmet on and then raising one gloved hand, thumb up, and the two girls waving frantically. Schelokov was beside him. The machine’s tail swung as Scott straightened for his takeoff parallel to the railway tracks. Throttle wide open, then, and a roar of power. Rolling forward slowly at first, but speed building fast. It didn’t look too bad from here, but recent experience told him what those girls would be feeling – like twin steam-hammers, more or less – until he’d got her really skimming.

  Tail up. And – lifting…

  He hoped to God the weather wouldn’t close in before Scott got them back. And that he’d make it before dark. The arrival at Kupyansk would be something worth witnessing. You could just see it. Kinkead and most of the other pilots – including Jim Davies – expecting one outsize RN lieutenant-commander and receiving instead two rather pretty girls.

  He’d been waving; he lowered his arm now and asked Schelokov, ‘Did you say something about going with me?’

  The Russian kept his slitted eyes on the departing ’plane. ‘You object?’

  ‘Not at all. I’d be very glad to have your company. But – why, just because your family knew hers?’

  ‘Put it this way.’ They were both still watching the bomber as, steadily gaining height, it banked round through north towards the east. Schelokov said, ‘You are concerned for them – or anyway for her – and you must know damn well that getting up there won’t be any joyride. And you’re an Englishman.’

  ‘My father was a Scot, and my mother was Russian.’

  ‘Delighted to hear it. But effectively, you’re British. That uniform you’re wearing… Incidentally you’d better get rid of it. There’s a ragbag of clothing here. Men come in dressed in rags or soaked in blood, they have to be kitted out.’

  ‘All right. You were saying?’

  ‘You’re an outsider – truly, if you’ll forgive my saying so – and ready to involve yourself. But I’m Russian, you might say fractionally responsible for the mess we have here. And there is the – parental connection, from way back, one does feel – some slight obligation… A small factor, but it’s there. My people are dead, incidentally.’

  ‘Hers too.’

  ‘Murdered?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know any details, she only mentioned once—’

  ‘The details tend to be abhorrent. Better not know… But on a more positive aspect – well, these letuchka nurses and doctors have been risking their lives for ours, after all.’

  ‘Yes… D’you think these will get through all right?’

  ‘With luck. Please God. In present circumstances, nobody’s safety can be guaranteed, Commander. They’re much better placed than the people we’re going up to find, that’s all.’

  ‘Travel in the dark, will they?’

  ‘Yes. We should do the same, I suggest.’

  The ’plane had gone out of sight. Bob agreed, ‘Whatever you say. If I’m to have the benefit of your advice and military experience, I’d be a fool not to accept it.’ They’d started back towards the tents. ‘Have you been with this letuchka out of the same kind of concern you now feel for the others?’

  ‘Well, when they were at Valki I brought a party of our wounded to them. This was in my sergeant’s role. As it happens, I’d been slightly hurt myself. This…’ He put a hand up, opened the collar of his greatcoat. There was a gouge in the flesh, scar-tissue still raw-looking, along the side of his jaw, under that ear and creasing through the grey hair on his neck. He folded the collar back, covering it. ‘One bullet in this shoulder too. It was a machine-gun that did it. I wasn’t using the arm on this side much, but this up here was the awkward one, I couldn’t speak well.’ Touching the swell of his jaw… ‘Anyway, I had a platoon of fifteen men, all walking-wounded, with stretchers and a cart we’d commandeered, and we brought these much worse cases to them. We should then have returned – after getting ourselves more or less patched up – to what at that time was still referred to as the front, but—’

  ‘Just a minute – while I think of it – why did you bring them to this letuchka when the other – number four – would’ve been closer? Or wasn’t it?’

  A sideways glance: ‘D’you have a map in your head?’

  ‘Not at all. But I can envisage that part.’

  ‘D’you have a map at all?’

  ‘Unfortunately not.’

  ‘Nor have I… Anyway – the answer to that question is we’re talking about a different section of the front. We’d come from midway between Kharkov and Poltava, and this was the nearest, at Valki. There wasn’t any real front by then, in that area. We were still holding the bastards but the situation was what they call “fluid” – holding our ground in spots but not in others, you might say. The hope was to hold them up long enough for a major regrouping to take place behind us. Anyway – my platoon with their minor injuries refused to come back to the fighting. Having got so far, they preferred to keep going.’ He shrugged. ‘We’re used to that sort of thing by now, of course. Or should be. Personally I’m not, never will be. I was at the Nicholas Cavalry School at St Petersburg, for some years of my youth – if you’ve heard of it—’

  ‘Of course. I spent my own childhood in St Petersburg.’

  ‘So. To cavalrymen it’s known – was – as “the Glorious School”… And from it I went to – well, to a particularly famous cavalry regiment. I’m not prepared to mention its name – ever. It simply – disintegrated, after the Revolution in ’17. Men whom one had trusted with one’s life just – rode away. The work of trained agitators, of course, preying on simple minds. Perhaps we hadn’t realized quite how simple. Or we realized but gave insufficient thought to it.’ He shook his head. ‘Now, I believe more clearly than ever that there are circumstances in which a man can no longer justify the preservation of his life, even when it’s in his power – and on the face of it legitimate – to do so. It doesn’t have to be an emotional thing. Simply a matter of balancing values against each other. You could take this as a little more of my explanation to you, I suppose. Anyway – what I was telling you—’

  ‘Your men deserted.’

  ‘Yes. And I stayed with the letuchka at first because I did need treatment for these scratches and then because it was in a very dangerous situation, and both Dr Markov and Liza Pavlovna – well, in particular, those two young girls appeared so – so extremely vulnerable. You’ll understand, if you know our Bolshevik friends and their little ways. I stayed, anyway.’ He stopped, short of the tents. Annushka was at the bigger of the carts, loading bedding into it, but the others weren’t in sight. ‘I hope I’ve now accounted for myself well enough, Commander. Would you in turn care to explain your – well, your solicitude for Nadia Solovyeva?’

  He thought about it for a moment. Then nodded. ‘Well, Boris Vasil’ich – last year I was with our Royal Naval flotilla on the Caspian, and I became involved with Count Solovyev in a mission to get Nadia Egorova as she was then and Solovyev’s sister Irina away from a place called Enotayevsk, where they’d been in hiding. We did manage to get them out, and in the course of it I came to know them quite well. Then later I heard from Nadia that she’d married Nick Solovyev.’

  ‘Was that a su
rprise to you?’

  That hard stare again. Bob told him, ‘Not entirely. There’d been talk of an engagement, although when I was with them I think she hadn’t made her mind up.’

  ‘Then she – what, wrote to inform you—’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I believe I understand.’

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘Oh.’ A shrug. ‘Don’t be offended. But as you implied yourself, it’s as well to comprehend each other’s motives. And your reaction when they told you – as if you’d swallowed a cat…’

  *

  ‘Solicitude’ was some word for it, he thought. Nothing like any word he’d have chosen himself, to describe what he’d felt for her since about the day after he first set eyes on her.

  Although one did of course feel solicitous for her, in this context. Knowing how hard she’d take it. Having committed herself, made the decision and married Nick Solovyev, committal would have been total, grief now as shattering as if she’d been genuinely in love with him.

  He didn’t believe she could have been. For various reasons, but one memory that had stuck and tended to come to mind whenever he’d pondered this question was of a whispered conversation across a kitchen table in Enotayevsk: Nadia talking about Nikolai and Irina Solovyev, telling him, ‘They’re a little crazy, you know. I’d never realized before.’ He’d then asked her, ‘But you’re going to marry him?’, and she’d shrugged, murmured, ‘He believes so. All I’ve ever promised is I won’t marry anyone else until these horrors are over.’

  But she had married him. And having taken the decision, she’d have put all that ambivalence out of her mind and probably out of memory too. Especially as his widow, when he’d died fighting for everything that he and she believed in. The fact she’d ever hedged her bet would have no more relevance than some long-forgotten dream might have. And you’d have to adopt that view of things yourself. Give her the protection and whatever else she’d need, let the rest take its course.

  Get there, first. Just get to her.

  10

  ‘I hope you’re not as despondent as you look, Commander.’

  Markov was holding a match to the wick of an oil-lamp, and the glow of soft, sputtering light was illuminating Bob’s face as well as gleaming yellowish on the tent’s macintosh side. Daylight had been fading during the past half-hour, while they’d been eating stew out of tin plates with wooden spoons – except for the Tartar, who’d used the blunt, broken-nailed fingers of one hand, guzzling at it like an animal. Markov added, addressing the matron who was sitting bolt upright beside him on one of the canvas-covered, straw-filled pallets, ‘Ought to have some vodka to cheer him up. Cheer us all up, eh?’

  Bob told him, ‘Believe it or not, I was counting my blessings. Thinking how lucky I am to have Boris Vasil’ich with me.’

  ‘Lucky for you, certainly.’ He had the lamp going now. ‘Less so for us. Much less so… But great heavens, if that’s how you look when you’re feeling lucky…’

  What he’d actually been thinking at that moment had been that without Schelokov he might well have been biting off more than he could chew. The route, for a start – with no knowledge of the country and no map. And basic military skills – evading cavalry patrols, for instance…

  They were going to travel by night and lie-up by day. Travelling in a dvukolki since there was one to spare; Markov’s reduced team couldn’t have handled a second one as well as the larger fourgon. The dvukolki’s canvas hood had a red cross on it and nothing anyone could think of would remove that, in the time they had now; there was some discussion as to the dangers and illegality of travelling under false colours. Bob had proposed, ‘Why shouldn’t I tell the truth? I’ve come looking for some British girls, came to you – not here, I can be vague about the geography – and you lent me the cart.’

  ‘Good.’ Schelokov had nodded. ‘Good. British and non-belligerent. Errand of mercy. They’ll still shoot you in the back of the head and bury you in the forest, but—’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Ukrainian – deserted from Petlyura’s rabble. Since then I’ve been working as a driver – came with the cart, so to speak.’

  The doctor had nodded. ‘Not bad.’

  Bob said, ‘So I won’t need the Russian Army gear you were offering me, after all – since I’m going to be myself. The only thing I would like is to swap my cap for a warm hat.’

  Much better…

  They’d loaded the dvukolki with an assortment of gear selected by Schelokov. Bob thinking wrily while he was helping with it that if he’d been doing this on his own he’d have been setting off with virtually nothing but a pistol and ammunition in one pocket and a pipe and tobacco in the other. Now they had transport and a tent, tinned food, cooking equipment and other items including two Lee-Enfield rifles which had been left behind by Schelokov’s own men when they’d deserted. Taking up more space than anything else was fodder for the horse – a shaggy little mare by name of Mishka.

  Bob had asked him – supper had been in preparation, they’d been loading the bales of fodder – supposedly hay, but more like straw – ‘Do we need rifles?’

  A shrug… ‘Be surprised if we didn’t. Other factors apart, that’s wolf country – potentially.’

  ‘Ah – well.’ He’d nodded. ‘I see… But in general terms, Boris Vasil’ich, I’d like to have this clear – I want your company, and I value your help enormously. But I’m not setting out to fight Bolsheviks. As far as I’m concerned the object of the expedition is to find that letuchka and get them away – please God without shooting anyone – or being shot at.’

  ‘The latter—’ Schelokov agreed – ‘I’m in favour of.’

  ‘Apart from anything else, you see, as a foreigner I’ve no damn business—’

  ‘Half-Russian foreigner?’

  ‘An officer of the Royal Navy – servant of the British Crown—’

  ‘Of course. Of course.’ Schelokov’s hand gripped his shoulder. ‘I was teasing you. Don’t worry, Robert Aleksandr’ich…’

  Now, in the tent, he was reassuring Dr Markov – the doctor having expressed regret that he was going with Bob instead of staying with the letuchka – ‘You’ll be all right, Aleksei Mikhail’ich. Truly. You don’t need me, from here on.’

  ‘What about bandits?’

  ‘Well.’ He shrugged. ‘Get them anywhere. Deserters foraging, is all most of them are. As you know, of course… But we haven’t been bothered by them here, have we? I rather doubt they’d interfere with a letuchka anywhere.’

  ‘Surely that would depend how hungry…’

  Bob asked Schelokov, when he could get a word in, what the likely shape of things would be in the Valki area, and Markov chipped in, ‘A great deal more dangerous than here. Why he’s so set on going. Letuchka chetiri’s in a far worse situation than we are, so being the fire-eater he is—’

  ‘Much the same as here.’ Schelokov told him, frowning, ‘And “fire-eater” be damned…’ Turning to Bob: ‘Valki’s only about thirty miles away, you know. All right, thirty miles is thirty miles, but—’

  ‘The Reds won’t be there in force yet, anyway.’

  ‘In force – no… As far as we know, they’re still fighting in the Kharkov area – and around Poltava, supposedly. Those are the crucial centres, and for the time being this area’s – well, back of the moon, you might say. Except for – infiltration, and as we were saying earlier there’s bound to be an encircling movement by cavalry squadrons – which we haven’t seen yet, so it’ll be a wide encirclement. Closing the ring, then mopping up inside it while they regroup for the next push. Well, they might even drive straight on down the line to Rostov now. Depends on how much blood our lads have drawn. It hasn’t been all one-sided, you know.’

  Markov looked troubled. ‘If they go straight for Rostov – well, good God, what chance have we of—’

  ‘I only said they might. It’s most unlikely. If I had to bet on it, I’d say you’ll have left Rostov
behind you a month before they’ll have a hope of—’

  ‘Please God. Because otherwise—’

  ‘Forget it. Please. I spoke without thinking. Put it out of your mind, Aleksei Mikhail’ich…’ He turned back to Bob. ‘The infiltration process – advance units occupying the villages, setting up Red Guard regimes, and so on – one of their priorities will be to round up recruits. Boys, and men who’ve deserted from one side or the other – mainly from ours, in the present state of affairs.’

  ‘No questions asked?’

  ‘Not many – if they volunteer. Meaning if they come quietly. Oh, some’ll be for the chop – senior NCOs, for instance. And any officers or former officers – that goes without saying. But the rest – cannon-fodder is all they want. And they’re strong on the indoctrination business, of course. It’s also a fact that success such as they’re having at the moment is a great persuader. Nine out of ten’ll swear blind they’ve been bright red right from the start, once they’re convinced they’re going to win. Anyway – getting back to the point – they’ll have taken over the villages, there’ll be shootings and hangings, torturings and so forth. Red Guards are authorized to kill or torture as they consider appropriate, you know. They’ve even got a word for it now – Samosud. Meaning every man his own executioner. Oh, and the scouting troops will be out in the country looking for stocks of food or fodder – and transport – horses… And hunting down fugitives like this fellow we have here.’

  ‘What about the railway towns?’

  ‘In this area that means Karlovka and Konstantinograd. I suppose when they’ve secured Poltava – which for all we know they may have done already –’

  ‘They’ll come down the railway.’

  A nod. ‘When they’re ready.’

  ‘The railways are vital.’ Markov was adjusting the lamp’s wick. ‘Literally. When you look at a map, they’re like the arteries in a body.’

  ‘Not a bad analogy. Over these plains they’re the only way you can move an army fast – and supply it, reinforce it and so forth. Also they carry the telegraph lines – when infiltrators or saboteurs haven’t cut them. They have been, of course, keep doing it, that’s why nobody ever knows what’s going on… But believe me, Aleksei Mikhail’ich, you’ll be well away before their armoured trains come blasting down this line.’