The People's Will (2 page)

More onerous still because the judge was a little boy – a little boy just eight years old.

OSOKIN GLANCED AT
his watch. One minute before noon.

‘Steady,’ he said, his voice edged with suppressed excitement that he hoped wouldn’t be read as fear.

Colonel Otrepyev didn’t respond. He stood, or half stood, in the mouth of the side tunnel, too tall to fully straighten his back in the enclosed space. Ahead of him were the handful of troops that he’d brought with him on his mysterious late-night arrival, six days before, with orders from on high that his every whim was to be catered for. That side tunnel, the result of six days’ labour, was more than a whim.

The main attack force was some way behind, at the mouth of the larger tunnel. Osokin had no plans to join them when they finally surged forward. His duty had been to undermine the city, not to invade it. Originally he’d intended to follow up with the rearguard, taking a little less glory for a little less risk, but since Otrepyev’s arrival his ideas had changed. He wanted to see what lay at the end of that other tunnel.

‘All set, Lieutenant?’ he asked.

Lieutenant Lukin glanced up. He licked his dry lips and nodded curtly. He was the real genius behind all of this. He was scarcely more than twenty; only a few years out of the Imperial Technical School in Moscow. It was an odd route into the army, but an effective one. Science was the future of war; every officer knew that, all except a few geriatrics who’d have done better to die at Sevastopol in place of their men. But their time was past and a different breed of officer was eager to make its mark. Lukin knew his business – and his business was
tunnelling and explosives. It was as though he’d been born for this job.

Osokin would never have guessed that they would get so far in so short a time. They’d started just two weeks ago, as 1880 had turned into 1881, and now they were ready. Above them, the massive citadel of Geok Tepe stood, ignorant of how it had been subverted, unprepared for the devastation to come. Each day it withstood a barrage of sixty Russian guns raining shell and shot down on the mud-brick walls. But today, at noon, the danger would come from a quite different direction.

It was quiet now. The beginning of the salvo was to be the signal. Ahead of them, down the tunnel – a safe, long distance ahead of them – lay five thousand pounds of nitroglycerin. Two thin copper wires led all the way back to where Lukin was crouched. In front of him sat a small wooden box with a little handle at the side and two metal pins sticking out of the top. Lukin had tried to explain, and though Osokin had no real idea how it worked, he understood enough. Lukin had simply to wind the handle, generating an electric current and then – boom – the walls of Geok Tepe would crumble. Joshua himself could not have done better, even with ten thousand ram’s horns.

But Otrepyev’s arrival had added further complications. Osokin had despised him on sight, and had to bite his lip to keep from muttering the word ‘
oprichnik
’ whenever the colonel walked past. The more correct term these days was ‘
ohranik’
, but whatever the name, Colonel Otrepyev reeked of the Third Section. Or he might have done if the Third Section had still existed. Its disbandment five months before had been a universal joy. But its work continued, and its stench lingered.

But the colonel’s orders had to be obeyed. The extra tunnel had been dug and now another pair of wires emerged from it, at the far end of which lay more explosives; not as much as had been used for the main tunnel, but enough. Otrepyev and Lukin had discussed it all very carefully. Otrepyev knew where he wanted the tunnel to lead and Lukin knew how to get it dug. Lukin had been happy to assist. Perhaps he was too young to understand what Otrepyev was. Perhaps he was too smart to reveal his revulsion for a man who would spy on his own people. Perhaps he was
just too fascinated by the work itself. Only minutes earlier he had twisted his detonation wires with Otrepyev’s, and when the time came the larger explosion would mask the smaller.

When the time came.

Osokin looked at his watch again. It was a minute past. The sound of the guns would be muffled down here, but they’d be heard. Every day of digging they’d been audible, and that was above the crunch of shovels scraping unceasingly against the soil. Now all was silent. The loudest sound was Osokin’s own breathing. In the dimly lit tunnel it was impossible to see the men waiting behind, or the bend in the passage ahead which would protect them from the blast. The tallow candles spaced out along the walls flickered, making the shadows jump back and forth. Lukin had suggested using electric light, but the resources were simply not available out here, closer to Afghanistan than to Russia.

When it came, it was more of a sensation than a noise, reaching Osokin not through his ears but his feet. He waited a few moments more, wanting to be certain. It was a different sound from that of the days before, when they had been digging. Now he could hear nothing of the guns themselves; the blasts of expanding gas forcing the shells from their muzzles. All that could be perceived was the shaking ground as the onslaught pummelled the city above. He glanced at Lukin, who had noticed it too.

‘The men, sir,’ said Lukin, jerking his head in the direction of the tunnel behind them. ‘All those bodies – must be blocking the sound.’

Osokin nodded. He looked over at Otrepyev, who finally returned his gaze.

‘Well?’ demanded the colonel.

Much as Osokin would have liked to toy with Otrepyev’s impatience, he knew his duty. The guns had begun firing; the rest must follow. He pressed his fingers against his ears.

‘Do it!’ he hissed at Lukin.

The lieutenant turned the handle rapidly, like a little boy playing with a
diable-en-boîte
. Just as with the toy, the exact moment at which his effort would bear fruit was unpredictable. Thus the blast, even though expected, was a surprise when it came.

It was testament to the glorious power of technology that so slight an action could have so devastating an effect. The sound from the side tunnel, the shorter of the two, came first, but only by a moment. Even with his ears covered it was possible to distinguish the scale and direction of the two blasts, until the one from the tunnel ahead became so loud as to drive out every other sound – every other thought. It was still growing in volume when Osokin felt its effects – first a wind rushing through the passageway towards him, and then a more solid impact, as though he had run into a wall, which threw him back on to the ground. For a moment his hands moved from the sides of his head in an attempt to break his fall and he experienced the full intensity of the sound hammering against his eardrums. He quickly covered his ears again, preferring to be bruised than deafened.

He lay still for a few moments. Clouds of dust and debris began to billow along the tunnel towards them. To his right he noticed that Lukin had removed his hands from his ears and was using them to cover his mouth and nose. Osokin did likewise, and squeezed his eyes shut too as the first flecks of pulverized rock began to pepper them. The noise was still loud, but now more of a slow rumble, as column by column the city’s southern wall started to collapse into the pit that the explosion had created.

He waited a few seconds before opening his eyes again. The air was still thick with dust, making it impossible to see more than a short distance. Even so, Osokin could just detect the presence of daylight – something of which he had known little in the past two weeks. As they’d planned, the tunnel roof had caved in ahead. Here it was still intact, but at the end of the passageway the crater would be so large that no amount of rubble could fill it and block out the midday winter sun.

From behind him he heard a noise. It might have been a shout, but his ears still rang too much to make out what was said. A new sound assailed him, a rapid thump, thump, thump this time, again from behind. He turned, but the route back to the surface was veiled in dust, worse now in that direction than ahead. Shadows advanced, emerging from the thick smog. The shout he had heard was the command to attack. Whether the citadel would be taken by these men, streaming in through the tunnel, or by those on the
surface charging across the detritus of the breached wall, no one could predict. So enormous a detonation could not be precisely calculated. It would come down to the relative sizes of the breach and the crater, and where the Turcomans chose to concentrate their defence.

Colonel Otrepyev had vanished. It was easy to guess where to. If Osokin stayed here, he would get caught up in the onslaught; either trampled underfoot or carried along by the crowd and into the sights of the defensive guns. He desired neither fate, and was still keen to discover what it was that Otrepyev had expended so much effort to get hold of before the marauding Russian army could fall upon it. He pulled himself to his feet and darted across to the side tunnel, into which Otrepyev had so recently disappeared.

Osokin had not ventured into this section of the mine before. Otrepyev said nothing explicit about its secrecy, but Osokin, like any Russian, understood without being told what was for him to know and what was not. Aside from the sappers doing the digging, only Otrepyev and Lukin had been down here – and Lukin pretty rarely. Even Otrepyev’s select squad of men were walking into the unknown. Osokin knew he was taking a risk. Whatever lay ahead was Otrepyev’s business. He might choose to have Osokin shot, but in the chaos that surrounded them it should be easy enough for Osokin to make an excuse for his presence.

The tunnel, as could be guessed from the time spent on it, was not long. It ended in an underground wall, constructed of large, heavy sandstone blocks – or at least it had done until the explosion. Now there was simply a jagged hole. Beyond was a corridor, constructed of the same stone. A greater amount of explosive might have brought the whole thing down instead of just one wall. The precise result was testament to Lukin’s skill.

Osokin stepped over the rubble and into the corridor. It was brighter here – lit by oil lamps rather than candles. The breach had been made just as the passageway turned a sharp corner. One path led, as far as Osokin could tell, to the north-east, the other north-west, though both twisted and he could not see far along either. The sound of feet marching away came from the latter route, and Osokin took it.

He soon caught up with Otrepyev’s men. They were moving swiftly, and it was clear that the colonel knew where he was heading, though it was hard to imagine he had ever been here before. In recent evenings, Osokin had seen him poring over maps that the other officers were not allowed to inspect. The route would not have been difficult to memorize.

From behind him, Osokin heard shouts. They were not Russian voices, but local Turcomans. Then footsteps – a single set – racing towards him. In a moment his pistol was drawn. He pressed himself into a corner of the wall and cocked the gun, raising it in front of him. He saw the shadow first, flickering against the stonework, and tried to guess where the figure would emerge. He squeezed the trigger.

His guess was wrong, fortunately for Lukin. The bullet ricocheted off the wall as the lieutenant raced along the corridor. His pace slowed momentarily in reaction to the shot, but as his eyes fell upon Osokin he seemed to comprehend the major’s error. He flung himself against the hard stone wall just behind where his commanding officer was crouched and drew his own pistol.

‘How many?’ asked Osokin.

‘Five,’ replied Lukin. ‘Maybe six.’

Even as he spoke, the first two appeared. Osokin had seen Turcomans from a distance, manning the city walls, but never this close. Their uniforms seemed almost medieval. They were dressed in some kind of mail, and carried small shields. They had rifles – supplied by the British, at a guess – but these were clumsy weapons to aim in an enclosed space. Osokin and Lukin’s revolvers spoke moments apart, and the two men fell – their chainmail no protection against a modern bullet. But behind them, two of their comrades had managed to take aim.

Osokin felt a burning pain in his right arm. His hand fell to his side and he tried to reach over to take hold of the gun with his left. At the same time he felt Lukin grab his collar and drag him round the corner to temporary safety. But it would not take long for the Turcomans to advance, and Lukin alone would not be able to hold them off. Osokin tried to raise his pistol, but his arm would not obey. A body threw itself forward, lying stretched out on the ground in front of them, rifle aimed. Lukin fired, but
the Turcoman’s tactic had been clever – the shot went above his head. The man on the ground returned fire, but missed, and then two more figures appeared behind him, standing, the barrels of their guns raised.

Osokin heard a volley of gunshots – perhaps four detonations timed to the precise same moment. In the enclosed space, it was impossible to tell the direction that the sound came from, but the two standing Turcomans crumpled; the one already on the ground twitched and lay still, with nowhere further to fall.

Osokin turned to see four of Otrepyev’s squad standing, rifles raised, wisps of smoke idling from the muzzles and twisting around the bayonets. Two of the men charged forward round the bend in the passageway. Osokin heard a scream, quickly strangled to nothing. He watched the soldiers’ shadows as they thrust their bayonets forward. Then they reappeared, rushing past Osokin and Lukin as if they were not there.

‘Can you walk?’ Lukin asked.

Osokin glanced at his arm and put his hand across to feel the wound. It had numbed him, but the bullet had gone through and not broken the bone. He nodded and got to his feet. The two of them ran on in the direction the soldiers had gone.

Soon they reached the end of the corridor – or at least as close to it as they could. Otrepyev’s elite squad blocked the way, and their way was in turn blocked by a heavy wooden door, with iron bands across it. One of the soldiers was bending down close to the lock, while Otrepyev leaned over him intently.

Lukin pushed forward through the men. ‘Let me!’ he shouted.