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  The Town By The Sea

  ( The Old Fortress - 3 )

  Владимир Павлович Беляев Неизвестный Автор

  Vladimir Belayev

  THE OLD FORTRESS

  PART THREE

  THE TOWN BY THE SEA

  FOREIGN LANGUAGES PUBLISHING HOUSE MOSCOW

  TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY ROBERT DAGLISH

  DESIGNED BY A. VASIN

  OCR: http://HOME.FREEUK.COM/RUSSICA2

  This Book is dedicated to the memory of the Bolshevik writer Yevgeny Petrovich Petrov, who was killed in action...

  A CALL FROM HEADQUARTERS

  There was no home-work that evening and we had come out for a walk round town. Petka Maremukha was bouncing along in his short leather jerkin that smelt of sheep. Sasha Bobir had put on a pair of shiny new galoshes over his battered boots and fastened all the buttons on his long brownish-yellow "raglan," which someone had made for him out of a British army great-coat. I had struggled into my grey chumarka. It was tight across the shoulders and short in the sleeves and the hooks would not fasten properly. Aunt had made it for me out of my father's old coat the year before last, but I

  was still very proud of it because all the active Komsomol members went about in chumarkas like mine.

  It was Saturday and there were a lot of people about in town. Not all the shops in Post Street were open, but the brightly lit windows splashed long shafts of light on the narrow pavements.

  We could have joined the noisy stream moving along those narrow pavements, of course, but we didn't want to. As usual on Saturday evenings, besides girls and chaps from all districts of the town, there were a lot of young profiteers about on Post Street. Komsomol members and young workers had another haunt—the avenue near the Komsomol club.

  We kept to the middle of the road. It had thawed during the day and the sun had shone just like in spring, but towards evening the frost had set in again. The puddles were coated with ice and long gleaming icicles hung from the rusty drain-pipes.

  "Fancy, putting galoshes on, Bobir! See how dry it is!" I said to Sasha and dug my heel into a frozen puddle.

  "Don't mess about!" Sasha squealed, jumping away. "Call that dry!"

  A stream of mud had spurted over his shiny galoshes. Sasha stared down at them bitterly. He looked so dismal standing in the middle of the road that Petka and I couldn't help laughing.

  "Is that your idea of a joke!" Sasha snorted, looking even more annoyed. "And you're a member of the committee!. . . Setting an example, I suppose!" And taking an old scrap of newspaper out of his pocket, he started wiping off the mud.

  As we walked on, Sasha kept glancing down and grunting with annoyance. I knew he was touchy and often lost his temper for nothing, so I did not tease him.

  "Don't get sore, Sasha," I said soothingly, "I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't think there was any mud there."

  "Huh—didn't think!" Sasha grunted.

  But we were interrupted by a shout from Petka:

  "Quiet, chaps!. . . Hear that?"

  Not far away, on the other side of the boulevard, a machine-gun had opened up. One burst was followed by another, then one more, then after a short silence we heard five rifle shots fired in quick succession.

  It was the alarm signal. Every Communist and Komsomol member knew that signal. In those years all the Communists and older lads among the Komsomol members belonged to the Special Detachments, and five quick rifle shots was the signal for them to report at once to headquarters. Wherever we happened to be—in the hostel, in the foundry at the factory-training school, at a Komsomol meeting, or simply out for a stroll—as soon as we heard it, we had to rush off to the well-known house in Kishinev Street, where Special Detachment Headquarters was situated.

  We knew well enough that we lived only fifteen versts from the frontiers of capitalist Poland and Rumania, and that such an alarm might be followed by real invasion. Then all of us "specials," together with the frontier guards, would have to hold our little town against the first onslaught until the regulars arrived.

  Sasha was the first to break the silence. "It's the alarm... Isn't it, Vasil?"

  "It is," I said. "Come on, chaps! Let's run!"

  ... At the door of headquarters we were met by Polagutin, the Special Detachment Chief. The long holster of his Mauser was unfastened and we could tell from the anxiety in his face that the situation was serious.

  "What group?" Polagutin asked.

  "Factory-training school!" Sasha gasped out.

  Polagutin checked our cards and said: "Get your guns."

  We ran down the long corridor to the armoury. There we received rifles that had been issued to us some time ago and several rounds of ammunition.

  "Shall we load here or outside?" Petka asked, shoving the cartridges into his trousers' pocket. He was rather pale. "Better wait for the order," I advised. "I've loaded mine already," said Sasha, tossing an empty clip on the floor.

  "Put the safety catch on!" Petka whispered anxiously. Sasha pointed his rifle in the air and started pulling the safety catch back. But the safety catch was oily and Sasha's fingers were numb with cold. The rifle wobbled in his hands. Any moment, it seemed, one of Sasha's fingers would catch on the trigger and a bullet would shatter the dim lamp hanging from the ceiling.

  "Give it here, you cripple!" Petka shouted and grabbed Sasha's rifle. "Watch me."

  But the spring in Sasha's rifle was new and stiff and Petka had a hard job with the safety catch too...

  The big room where every group came on Sundays to clean their rifles was crowded with specials.

  "How did you get here so quick?" Polevoi asked us. He had no rifle, but a revolver hung at his side, over his wadded jacket.

  "We were out for a walk," Petka began, "and suddenly we heard. . ."

  "The other chaps must be still running!" Sasha chimed in complacently.

  Komsomol members from our school—the "Polevoi Guard," as the chaps in other groups called us—began to appear in the room. They were all hot and red in the face and their coats and jackets were undone. Beads of sweat gleamed on their foreheads.

  "Well done!" said Polevoi, glancing over the new-arrivals. "A quick turn-out... But where's Tiktor?" Everyone looked round for Tiktor. "Tiktor's been seen drinking, Comrade Polevoi," a factory school trainee called Furman began.

  But just at that moment Polagutin appeared in the doorway and called sharply for attention.

  The room grew quiet at once.

  "This is the situation," said Polagutin. "The Petlura gangs that Pilsudski and the Rumanian boyars have been sheltering across the border are getting active again. They were seen in daylight today approaching our frontier. . . It is quite likely, comrades, that those gangs will be sent over our side tonight. It is your job and that of the frontier guards to give them a proper reception..." And raising his voice to a sharp tone of command, Polagutin said: "All except those from the factory-training school, fall in! Commander of the factory school group, report to me!"

  We crowded back from the door. Holding their rifles high, the chaps from the town groups filed past us. As the room emptied, my heart sank. "What about us? What are we going to do? They'll go out of town to patrol the forests on the border, but just because we're a bit younger we'll be kept behind as usual to guard hay at the food stores, or else we'll have to stay right in town to guard the fortress bridge, in case some spy or other tries to blow it up. What fun was there in guarding a lot of wooden barns full of hay or lying in ambush where everyone could see you, on the busy brightly-lit fortress bridge!

  An elderly special in a railwayman's cap ran into the room and
shouted: "All present and correct, Comrade Commander! The district secretary's arrived."

  "Kartamyshev here already?" Polagutin exclaimed joyfully. He turned to Polevoi and shook his hand

  firmly: "Good luck! Keep a sharp look-out, you've got a big responsibility. . . Good-bye, comrades!" And he walked out of the room.

  "We're staying here. It will be our job to guard the headquarters and stores of the Special Detachment," Polevoi announced solemnly. "Fall in!"

  A DANGEROUS POST

  In front of me stands a line of posts with barbed wire stretched tight between them. Beyond the barbed wire are allotments—a big stretch of lumpy frozen ground, most of it hidden in darkness. Some distance away, near the road, there is another line of barbed wire, but you can't see it from here. All the time I keep thinking that distant barbed-wire fence has been cut and bandits are creeping towards me across the black, frozen earth. My ears are cold, very cold, but so as to hear better I purposely keep my collar down, and my fingers gripping the rifle are stiff and frozen.

  So this is post No. 3 that I've heard so much about from chaps who have stood guard here before!

  Behind me rises the cold brick wall of the shed that stands between me and the inner yard. The projecting edge of the roof sticks out just above my head. The narrow passage for the sentry with barbed wire on one side runs along the shed wall for about thirty paces. It comes to a dead-end at the high brick wall of the next house, which joins that of the shed at right angles.

  "The chicken run"—that's what the Special Detachment men call post No. 3. A sentry on duty here feels cut off from his comrades, cut off from the whole world...

  Ever since H had been on duty I had been unable to take my eyes off a black hump that was sticking up on the allotment about ten paces away. It was like the head of a man crouching on the ground. I was very sorry I hadn't asked the previous guard, a student from the farming institute, whether he had noticed that hump. Suddenly the hump seemed to move and creep nearer. Shivering, I poked the barrel of my rifle through the barbed wire and was just about to fire, when I stopped myself. Suppose it was not a man at all! It might be a ball of weed blown about by the wind? Or a heap of potato-tops? Or simply a pile of earth that someone had left after digging up their potatoes?

  What then?... Then I should look a fool. The chaps would never let me forget it. My first dangerous post and I made a boob! They'd say I'd lost my nerve. . .

  The wind blew and the iron roof above me made a harsh whistling sound. That wasn't someone walking over the roof, was it?... Craning my neck, I peered up under the eaves of the shed expecting to see the black head of a bandit pop out at any moment. He could easily have jumped from the roof of the house on to the barn.

  Suspicious thumping noises sounded overhead. Surely they weren't footsteps?... I stood on tip-toe. Faint sounds reached my ears—a knocking in Kishinev Street, a rustling on the allotment, the creak of weathercock on the roof. My head swam from looking up at the mass of stars glittering above me in the cold frosty air.

  The thumping noises on the roof grew louder. I took a firm grip on my rifle and pointed it in the direction of the noise. A distant star glinted at me from behind a tall chimney-pot.

  "Ears like axes!" Polevoi had said as he marched us to our posts. "You are guarding the arms store for the Communists and Komsomol members of the whole district!

  Special Detachment stores are a very tempting target for capitalist spies."

  And even if he hadn't said that, we all knew what a responsible job it was to be guarding Special Detachment Headquarters. In the cellars there was a lot of dynamite, TNT, and ammunition. And we were guarding it all for the first time.

  "Ears like axes! Ears like axes!" I repeated Polevoi's favourite saying to myself and my frozen ears began to feel as if they were growing longer and longer and getting as thin and sharp as axe-blades.

  The roof was quiet again.

  That noise must have been the wind romping with a loose sheet of iron. But wait! Where was that black hump?

  I had forgotten about it... I searched for the black shape that had made me so uneasy. It was still there on the allotment and hadn't moved an inch.

  ... I paced slowly to and fro along the shed, trying to laugh at my fears. II reflected that dawn was near and soon I should have nothing to worry about. Why should anything special happen during my watch? Plenty of watches passed without anything happening at all. It would be the same with mine. But no one would be able to make fun of me for being the youngest in the group. And they didn't even know I had put an extra year on my age just to get accepted for the Special Detachment! Now I would come back off my watch a real fighting man, and for long afterwards I should be proud of having stood guard at post No. 3. They wouldn't have put a slacker here, however much he asked!

  When he brought me to the post, Polevoi had said briefly and simply: "If you see anyone on the allotment, just let him have it! There's no chance of a passer-by or a drunk wandering in here..."

  "Just let him have it!" There was something grim and terrible in that order.

  ...Again the wind began to howl in the bare, icy branches of the trees; last year's weeds and potato-tops rustled against the barbed wire; the iron rumbled on the roof; the weathercock creaked behind the wall of the house.

  And suddenly, in a fresh gust of wind, I caught the sound of Sasha's voice:

  "What do you want?... Halt!... Halt! ... Hands... Hey, this way, chaps!"

  For a moment everything was quiet, then I heard a piercing whistle. Doors banged in the guard-room. On the other side of the shed, men were running about the yard... Then I heard Sasha shouting again:

  "There!... Over there!... Catch him.. ."

  "Get a ladder! Quick!" came Polevoi's voice.

  How I longed to run and help the other chaps and see what was going on! But I could not leave my post. Even if the whole place was on fire, I had no right to move from here.

  Still listening to what was happening in the yard, I stared hard into the surrounding darkness. And so that nobody could make a grab at me from behind, I stood with my back to the wall of the shed.

  My heart thumped, the rifle trembled in my hands. I was expecting something terrific to happen...

  A shot thundered just above me, in the attic of the shed. Then another. I heard a faint groan some distance away. Then everything was quiet again.

  About five minutes passed. Quick footsteps crunched in the narrow passage that led from the yard to my post. I jumped back into the corner and prepared to shoot...

  "Halt!" I shouted wildly as a shadow appeared round the corner of the wall.

  "You all right, Mandzhura?" Polevoi asked with anxiety in his voice. "Everything all right here?"

  "Everything's all right," I answered and at once realized that I had made a mistake in not asking

  Polevoi for the password.

  Polevoi walked up to me. He was out of breath and bare-headed.

  "No one ran through here?"

  "No one. Someone groaned on the other side of the shed, and there were shots in the attic..."

  "I know that myself. But out here," Polevoi pointed with his revolver towards the allotment, "you haven't noticed anything?"

  "No, nothing."

  "Very strange! How did he get through?"

  "Who was that shooting?" I asked.

  "Keep a very sharp look-out, Mandzhura. Now particularly. If you see anyone, let him have it straightaway! Understand? It won't be long now before it gets light. I'll be round again soon." And Polevoi strode away quickly, back to the yard.

  Two hours later, when I came off duty, I learnt from the chaps in the warm guard-room what had happened during that anxious night.

  While the sentries at the outer posts were freezing in the icy wind, Sasha had been having a much nicer time. Shielded from the wind by the sheds and the main building, he swaggered about the yard in his shiny galoshes. The smooth dry paving stones were well lighted by electric lamps hanging at the cor
ners of the main building.

  But soon Sasha's feet began to ache. He climbed the wooden steps of the shed, that lay in the shadow of a little balcony above. Sasha swore to Polevoi that he did not sit there for more than five minutes. But no one believed him, of course. Sasha must have dozed off on the steps.

  As he walked down into the yard again, Sasha heard la faint sound behind him. He turned round — and froze to the spot.

  A stranger was climbing over the balcony rail, apparently with the intention of sliding down the post into the yard. How he came to be up -there was a mystery.

  Sasha should have fired at once. He should have got the intruder while he was still on the balcony.

  But Sasha lost his nerve.

  "What do you want?. . . Halt!. . . Halt!. . ." he shouted in a quavering voice.

  The stranger immediately darted back through the narrow door leading into the attic. He was still in range of a bullet. Sasha suddenly remembered his rifle. He hugged the butt to his shoulder and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. When he took up his post, Sasha had forgotten to release the safety catch. Hearing Sasha's shout, Petka who was guarding the ammunition cellar thumped on the guard-room door with his rifle, and Nikita standing guard in Kishinev Street blew his whistle.

  "There... there... There's a bandit up there!" Sasha burbled at Polevoi as he rushed out into the yard.

  In a second the guards had a ladder against the wall. Polevoi was the first to climb on to the roof. Anxious to catch the bandit but wary of being ambushed, Polevoi darted across the roof and climbed in the last attic window.

  When he got inside the attic, Polevoi noticed a faint gleam of light far away in the darkness. It was a gap in the wall and a man was struggling to get through it. Polevoi fired twice. The unknown man groaned, but struggled through the gap and crashed over the roof of the next-door house.

  Polevoi ordered the two guards who had followed him to chase the stranger over the roofs. He himselfjumped down into the yard, checked my post and sent another three guards to inspect all the yards round headquarters, and the side-road that ran into Kishinev Street. But the bandit managed to slip away before our patrol reached the side-road. After squeezing through the gap on to the roof of the house next door, which was a hostel for chemistry students, the stranger leapt unhesitatingly into a big heap of dung in the hostel garden and slipped out through a hole in the fence into the side-road. Here the trail broke off.