Free Field of Mars by Stephen Miller Page A

alongside, separated boxes of fuses. There was an interval of two empty flatbeds and behind them a last carriage packed with crates containing bags of smokeless powder. They put out their cigars and waited while the stationmaster undid the locks, terrified of making a spark.
    Andrianov moved through the pallets and checked the seals and when he pronounced everything satisfactory and rewarded the sweating stationmaster with his envelope, the man smiled and bowed profusely. A second young Serbian had detached himself from the engine and had walked down the train to meet them. ‘We can leave anytime,’ he said to Krajic.
    â€˜Would you care to share some lunch?’ Andrianov offered. The chauffeur had packed a hamper in case there had been some delay.
    â€˜The faster we get away from here, the faster we can kill some Bulgarians.’ Krajic laughed and the second boy joined in. The stationmaster beetled on ahead of them, anxious to be done with the entire thing.
    â€˜You seem to be adept at difficult tasks. You certainly are courageous,’ Andrianov said to the two of them. The second one nearly blushed. Andrianov reached out and grasped the young man’s shoulder. ‘Give Apis my thanks for taking extra precautions.’
    â€˜It’s only logical,’ the boy said. ‘There’s value here.’ He looked back along the train.
    Andrianov smiled. ‘Maybe I will need you in the future. Occasionally I need men who can do difficult things. I look for men who can keep sight of the future, I look for someone with heart. Such men are valuable. I may call on you for a favour at some time. I am expanding my business interests here, eh?’
    The boy laughed. ‘Business? That’s for later, eh? We are both from the action cell, and when the Bulgarians finally come to their senses and surrender, then we’ll hide these guns until we can turn them on the Austrians and regain Bosnia.’
    They had stopped by the engine. ‘I want you to know that you’re performing a great service, helping to steal these guns,’ Andrianov said. The two young men were already climbing into the engine compartment. The driver and fireman looked at him for a moment and then turned their faces away, frightened.
    The first boy leaned out of the cabin. ‘We don’t need to eat lunch with you and we don’t need your kid gloves and your patronizing, excellency. Just keep the guns coming. Go!’ he said pushing the driver in the back, and then turned for a moment, still smiling.
    â€˜Here!’ Andrianov called. He pulled out a sheaf of bills and held them up to the boy. There was the sharp screech of a whistle and the great driving wheels began to slowly roll along the track. The boys were looking away—maybe they hadn’t heard him. Andrianov started walking along beside the engine. He suddenly felt a wave of admiration for the dirty young men, for their courage, and even for their foolish bravado. He had met them here on the battlefield and they were the real thing. ‘Here!’ he called out again, holding up the money. ‘For the cause!’ he called to them.
    The boys turned and saw him stumbling along, the banknotes drifting out of his fingers. For a moment they watched him and then turned away laughing with their eyes set on the track ahead. Then they were past him and the sound of the engine faded and was replaced by the clanking of the wheels of the wagons as they rolled over the joins in the rails, gathering speed, turning northwest towards its ultimate destination in Serbia.
    Andrianov looked around at the little station. The whole place was filthy and there was a sour reek from the toilets. Now that the guns were on their way to Serbia, he might as well get back to Bucharest.
    Mattei, the chauffeur had come out of the little house. ‘Do you want me to set out something, excellency? Or shall we continue to the city?’
    He turned to the chauffeur.