from a few bruises he seemed to be intact. He reached for the Walther under his armpit and looked around him as a blast of machine-gun fire from some way off reassured him that Slivka was still alive and kicking. Good for her. The chamber was much bigger than the one he’d just been blown out of and three crumpled bodies, one of which had been flung backwards over an open wooden chest, were testament to Mishka’s and Slivka’s shooting abilities.
He surveyed the situation. He was battered and bruised, and had suffered a scratch or two along the way, but he was alive for the moment. His firepower was reduced, but at least the Walther was reliable, unlike the jammed coffee-grinder, and he still had that Nagant as backup. He could hold the doorway here so long as they didn’t throw any more of their damned grenades at him. After all, the others should be back soon, or so he hoped.
Wherever Kolya and Slivka were, the bandits were closer still – there was movement in the smaller chamber. He couldn’t see the men who were approaching clearly, but he could hear them well enough.
‘We got him,’ a nervous voice declared in a whisper.
‘Be careful,’ came the response. ‘He wasn’t on his own.’
At least three of them, and maybe more from the sounds of quiet movement. Korolev stood with his back to the chamber itself, ready to turn and fire into the next room. There was more gunfire from Slivka’s direction.
‘That must be our boys giving them hell,’ the first voice said.
‘But where are they, then?’
‘That’s not one of them. That’s poor Borya.’ A different voice now.
‘Damn it, it is. Will I throw in a grenade?’
‘Are you mad? There’s a couple of tons of ammunition in there.’
Korolev glanced around at the crates full of munitions of one sort or another and didn’t like the look of them one bit. There was another footstep – too close now – and he moved to fire two quick shots at a dark shadow, which dropped to the ground shooting as he stepped back. The others joined in and ricochets whined around the chamber behind him as all hell broke loose.
It was time to give up this spot, he decided, pulling out the Nagant and, sticking his hand around the corner, firing three random shots into the gloom to a predictable response. Keeping low as bullets cracked and whined around him, he retreated as quietly and carefully as he could, stepping over a body and taking cover behind the crates. He kept his guns aimed at the entrance to the smaller room and kept moving until he reached the comforting dark of the far entrance. At least from here, he’d be the one able to see – and not be seen.
The enemy must have come to the same conclusion as a bullet clanged into one of the lanterns that hung from the ceiling and it exploded in a ball of flame as it soared across the room, fortunately landing in an empty corner where it did no damage except to light the room even more brightly. Korolev felt sweat break out along his spine, and it wasn’t from the sudden rush of heat as much as the thought of what might have happened if the oil lantern had landed on an ammunition crate. The same thought must have occurred to the bandits, as there was silence for an appalled moment which ended with a shouted warning and the sound of three shots. Two of the bandits came backwards into the light, firing through the doorway they’d just come from. Korolev shot twice, missing both times, and before he could fire a third time one of the men was clutching a wounded arm, his pistol lying on the floor, and the other one had also dropped his weapon and raised his hands in surrender.
Strange, thought Korolev, as he moved towards them, one gun covering them, and the other trained on the entrance they’d piled through. Very strange.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Greek wasn’t in a position, not having acquired the power of speech in the short time since Korolev had last seen him, to explain how he’d ended up in the passageway behind the bandits. But however he’d done it, it was his arrival that had resulted in a happier ending to the underground gunfight than Korolev had necessarily been expecting. The Greek clearly knew it as well, to judge from his pleased smile.
‘Good work, Greek.’
Not taking his eyes from the prisoners, the Greek nodded his proud agreement. He’d appeared out of the dark entrance shepherding a wounded man, who’d joined the two earlier arrivals. The prisoners now stood against the wall with expressions indicating they’d already thought their futures through and they didn’t like the look of them.
‘Anyone alive back there?’ Korolev asked, pointing along the corridor.
The Greek held up two fingers, before shrugging and reducing his estimate to a single finger. A tough man, the Greek – not that Korolev was complaining.
Korolev collected the guns the bandits had dropped, an ancient imperial army Smith amp; Wesson revolver and a more recent Nagant, emptied the remaining cartridges onto the floor and threw the guns into an open rifle chest. He picked up his machine gun and worked the side bolt to dislodge the jam and loaded the last magazine. Then he held his torch alongside the barrel of the gun, before walking into the smaller chamber the Greek had appeared from. There were sounds from the passageway beyond, but they were the sounds of the half-dead rather than the living.
Korolev was cautious, taking his time, playing the torch beam back and forth. Five dead, that was certain – a machine-gun bullet at close range was an unforgiving visitor and not many of the fifty odd he’d sent down into the mass of men seemed to have missed. But one man was still alive – Sergeant Gradov. One of the bullets had pulled an ear from his head, and others had torn at his thighs and an arm – but it looked as if he would live, and also as though he might be able to talk.
Korolev took no chances, advancing slowly, picking up any weapons he came upon, emptying the ammunition they contained and throwing them behind him – all the time keeping his gun pointing at the sergeant. Korolev felt his jaw tighten as he stepped over dead men, a feeling of nausea rising in him at the smell of warm blood and cordite mixed with the chill damp of the tunnel. He’d killed these men. All right, they’d have killed him soon as blink, and no doubt about it – but still. He’d sent their souls to the Lord whichever way you looked at it, and who was to say the Lord wouldn’t look on them kindly for resisting the Soviet Power that had destroyed his Church? Korolev felt despair dragging at him, and reminded himself not to think about such matters – maybe things weren’t perfect in this Soviet State of his, but at least he’d done his duty. And that was all there was to it – thinking about right and wrong was a dangerous game these days.
While Korolev was making his slow approach, Gradov had managed to push himself up so that he was now leaning against the tunnel wall, his weight balanced on one buttock, face haggard with pain and effort.
‘Go on, then – finish me off.’ His voice was hoarse as he summoned the energy to speak.
‘So, Gradov – a traitor.’
Gradov adjusted his gaze to look behind the torch’s beam.
‘Captain Korolev?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I told them you were trouble, but they wouldn’t listen to me. “If he came all the way from Moscow, it must be for a reason,” I said. But they knew better.’
Korolev took a step closer. He could hear voices from the room in which he’d left the Greek, Slivka’s amongst them. The battle was clearly over.
‘How did a fellow like you get involved in this? You don’t look the type.’
Which was true – he looked like a brute and a bully, sure enough, but not the kind who would take a risk if it didn’t involve lining his pockets.
‘We all have a past, Korolev.’
‘They had something on you as well, did they?’ Korolev said, thinking of Lomatkin and how he’d been led astray.
‘They had me where they wanted me. If I didn’t do as I was told, there was a letter addressed to the Chekists with my name inside it. And proof I’d fought with Makhno and shot a commissar or two one April morning back in ’twenty. Not just any commissars either. I picked some high-up ones, friends of today’s high-up ones, to make matters worse.’
Korolev nodded. A past like that didn’t leave much of a future.
