Siberius (26 page)

             
“Answer me,” Barkov yelled into the mic, oblivious to Radchek and the two men at the card table. He waited for a response, but there wasn’t any.

             
“Maybe their antenna’s down.” Radchek said as he looked beyond the encrusted windows and saw heavy snow falling. “From the blizzard, perhaps. It
is
coming from the west.”

             
Barkov now wore a milder version of his familiar insane look. “Coming here was a mistake,” he said to no one in particular.

             
“We had no choice, colonel.” Radchek stood up. He wasn’t in the mood to argue. “The men needed rest. And if I might say so, sir,” he said, not giving a shit anymore. “So do you.”

             
Barkov spun around and glared at Radchek. But instead of seeing a young officer so unsure of himself that he followed the most irrational of orders, he saw a man as blank as a fresh sheet of paper. Or perhaps he was just exhausted.

Radchek kept his eye contact, focusing on Barkov’s tiny black pupils. “We will be in shape to leave in a few days.”

              “No, captain, not in a few days,” he said as he made his way to the door. “We are leaving right now. Assemble the men. Have them collect the prisoners.”

             
A day earlier, even an
hour
earlier, Radchek might have reacted differently. As it was, he had no energy and thus, stayed calm. They had arrived at the camp less than two hours before, and the men had eaten and bunked down in the barracks almost immediately thereafter.

             
“Colonel,” the captain said. “I can’t do that.”             

Barkov didn’t hear him, for he was wrapped up in his own little world, a world that was starting to unravel. He grabbed the door handle, then looked back at Radchek. “Captain, I gave you an order,” Barkov said. “Assemble the men.” Radchek ‘s jaw tightened, his fists clenched. The colonel released the door handle, and then stalked toward him. “Did you hear me?”

              “Yes, colonel. I respectfully decline to follow that order.”

Leaning against the far wall, Nierbanski wasn’t so tired anymore, nor were Garkin and Ormskovo as carefree as they were five minutes before.

              “I’m not going to give you another chance, Captain Radchek,” said Barkov. “Follow my order.”

A few feet separated him from the colonel now. Radchek stood his ground and stared unflinching into Barkov’s eyes.

With uncharacteristic speed, Barkov reached for his side arm. Radchek made a sweeping move, swatting the gun from his grip.

Garkin and Ormskovo stood up fast, making a move toward Radchek. Staying loyal to his captain, Nierbanski shot to attention, pointed his rifle at them. He shook his head
NO
at the two caretakers, and wide-eyed and full of fear, they backed down at once.

“
That’s not necessary, private,” said Radchek in a controlled, authoritarian voice. Nerves frazzled from sleeplessness, Nierbanski lowered his weapon, but not all the way. Radchek turned his attention back to the stunned senior officer.

“
Colonel,” Radchek said with nervous authority. “I am placing you under arrest as per provision 1166 section 8 of the People’s Army Code of Conduct. I hereby declare you unfit for command and request that you accompany these men to quarters until further notice.” Radchek waited, but the soldiers didn’t move. Ormskovo looked at the older Garkin and hoped he’d know what to do.

Radchek said, “Corporal-” He forgot his name.

“It’s Garkin, sir,” said the big, bearded man.

“
Corporal Garkin,” Radchek said. “These rules are very clear. You will in no way be held responsible should a committee see that I am in error here.” He turned to Nierbanski, who watched with wide, veiny eyes. “You’re a witness, private.”

Nierbanski nodded, unsure if the whole thing was part of a waking dream.

With growing confidence, Garkin picked the luger up from the floor and aimed it at Barkov. Following his lead, Ormskovo grabbed a rifle leaning against the wall and pointed it at the colonel. In quiet shock, Barkov watched the whole thing with nostrils flaring. Large veins bulged and throbbed in his forehead.

“
I want you to consider this action you are taking,” the colonel said to Radchek in a voice that was far too calm. “Make no mistake, you are in error, captain. And I will see to it, if you continue with this, that you stand in front of a firing squad before winter’s end.”

Radchek maintained his stoicism. Secretly, his knees were shaking and he was close to vomiting.

“Are you sure, captain?” Barkov said.

“
Corporal, take the colonel to the block house,” Radchek said. “Put him in the most comfortable cell available. See to it he is provided a hot meal and plenty of blankets.”

Barkov appeared inhuman as he lit into Radchek with flying fists. Radchek collapsed to the floor with the colonel delivering blow after blow to his face and head.

“I’ll kill you!” he screamed out. “
I’ll kill you!
”

Radchek tried to block the blows. “Get him off me,” he yelled. Garkin and Ormskovo sprung at Barkov, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him off. Before Radchek could stand, Barkov laid a kick to his gut. He collapsed again.

“
My family is waiting for me
,” Barkov said, struggling against the combined strength of two men. Radchek coughed and spit blood from his broken lip over the rotting floorboards. All this was going on as Nierbanski stood in stunned silence, his rifle pointed but not aimed at anyone in particular.

With great effort, Radchek got to his feet. His left cheek was already swollen and his nose spilled blood across his coat. “The order stands.” He wiped his bloodied nose. “Take him under guard. If he attempts to escape or attack you, you have orders to shoot.” He looked at Nierbanski. “Private?”

“Huh?” Then it hit Nierbanski and he snapped out of it. “I mean, yes sir?”

“
Man the radio until I get back,” said Radchek.

Nierbanski shuffled to the radio set, plopped down in the chair and stared. “Relax, private,” Radchek said, then patted his shoulder in a reassuring fashion.

“Are you okay, sir?” said the corporal as he handed Barkov’s luger to Radchek. Radchek nodded, and then Garkin and Ormskovo forced the colonel to the door at gunpoint.

Barkov’s face stayed red and angry. “I will see you again, captain, yes?”

“Under different circumstance, Colonel Barkov.”

Garkin snapped to attention at the sound of the colonel’s name.

Barkov?

His brow wrinkled up as if he hadn’t heard right.

Barkov!

He glanced over at Radchek, who saw his look of astonishment.

“Something wrong, corporal?” he said. Garkin didn’t answer, instead turned to his red-haired friend.

             
“Go on ahead,” he said to Ormskovo. “I’ll be there in a second.” Radchek started to protest the idea of only one guard on Barkov, even temporarily, but the look in Garkin’s eyes indicated he had something to say. And he didn’t want an audience.

Ormskovo looked to Radchek, who nodded a cursory okay. The private prodded Barkov outside with the hot end of his rifle. Snow and wind invaded the room before Garkin closed the door and turned to Radchek.

Before he could speak, though, Radchek said, “What is it?” Something had shaken the corporal.

“
He’s Colonel Barkov?” Garkin said, staring without blinking. He still had that incredulous look on his face. “Aleksei Barkov?”

Radchek searched his pockets. “Yes, corporal,” he said, then pulled a handkerchief from his coat. “Why?”

Garkin suddenly felt as if he’d overstepped himself. Remembering that he was a career corporal and expendable, he swallowed his thoughts and said, “Nothing, sir.” He grabbed his coat and went for the door. “It’s not important.”

“
Corporal,” he said wiping the blood from his nose. Garkin stopped. Radchek was half the bearded man’s age, but his tone was that of a father trying to eke a secret from a young son. “What’s on your mind?”

Garkin wished he’d learned to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he found himself saying, “Yes, sir.” He straightened up. “It’s just that I didn’t know the colonel had a command again.”

“Again?”

“
Yes, captain.”

“
How do you know the colonel?”

“
I was assigned to Krachinik labor camp when he arrived there,” Garkin said. “November of ‘45. Right after the war ended.”

Radchek wiped his nose one last time, then folded the handkerchief. “A colonel in charge of a gulag?”

“He wasn’t in charge, captain,” said Garkin. “He was a prisoner.”

31

The guard house stood 20 feet off the ground on a tower of stilts and cross braces and formed the corner of the southeast end of the perimeter fence. Inside, it was large enough for a cot and a wood-burning stove. It was warm and comfortable, but during bad weather, the guard house and tower swayed in the wind.

The snow fell diagonally, plastering the walls and windows. Private Jovaravich considered going outside to scrape the glass but thought the better of it. What was there to see? Besides, he liked being snowed in. He liked the solitude of Angara Labor Camp. Even better, the guard tower was his and his alone. A forgotten oasis for mediocrity and laziness. Plenty of rations. Plenty of vodka. And no one barking orders. An island within an island.

He would be sad when they closed the camp.

Jovaravich’s hair was steel gray; his face lined with battle scars won at the German front. Permanent dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his lips were split and scabbed over. That’s what the climate, the loneliness, the vodka, did to a person out there, or so he thought. It aged you, sapped your strength and killed your ambition. To Private Jovaravich, the tragedy of this existence was worse because he was only nineteen.

“Jovial!” he heard a voice holler from outside. “Jovial!”

Jovaravich opened the door and was struck by snow and cold. He grabbed onto the catwalk railing, held himself steady, and looked down.

Three figures stood in the yard between the blockhouse and Administration. At least, it looked like three figures; the storm was casting a diffused layer over everything and Jovaravich couldn’t make out specifics. Not that he needed to. There was only one person on earth who called him ‘Jovial.’

“
Jovial,” cried Garkin. Jovaravich hated the nickname. “Keep your eyes open tonight. We have prisoners.”

Jovaravich waved. He didn’t feel like talking right now and he resented being pulled from his nice warm guard house. He watched the three figures disappear in the storm. For a moment, he thought one of them was under gunpoint, but he wasn’t sure. Not that he cared much, though.

Prisoners? Here?
He reentered the guard house and closed the door.

“You have a visitor,” Ormskovo hollered as he and Garkin lead the colonel down the dim corridor. Nick and Talia watched in disbelief as they prodded Barkov toward a cell, unlocked the rusted door and nudged him inside.

             
“We’ll be back with your dinner, sir,” the corporal said in a respectful tone. They turned down the hallway, Ormskovo trailing the rifle butt across the bars with an echoing
clack clack clack.

As the soldiers reached the outside door, Nick thought he heard the younger one say, “You see his eyes? He’s crazier than a shithouse rat.”

The heavy door slammed with a wood and metal clang, and the cellblock was once again quiet.

              Radchek entered the soldier’s barracks and was struck by its condition. The stink of mold and sweat swirled together in a repugnant atmosphere. Canvas sheets covered holes in the ceiling, while holes in the floor planks were filled with dirt. Light from the yard spilled in through the windows as irregular shafts of blue. Outside, falling snow intensified while the wind whistled through the compromised structure. Inside, the cacophony of snores went unabated.

Radchek decided against waking the men.

The door to the barracks latrine flew open and Radchek entered. The smell in here was far worse, a potent mixture of wood rot and sewage that even the freezing temperatures couldn’t quell. Radchek’s broken nose didn’t allow much of a sense of smell, but the air was so thick he had the unpleasant sensation of tasting it instead.

At the wash basin and spigot, Radchek pulled the chain a few times before rust-colored water spurted out. He waited for it to run clear, found a soiled towel hanging from a nail, soaked it, and washed the blood from his face.

“I saw private Darchenko wash his ass with that towel,” Vukarin joked. Radchek spun around, and even in the dim light Vukarin could see his bloodied face. He lost his sense of humor right away. “What happened?” he said before closing the door.