Sgt. Golem: Royal Mech Hussar - Books 2 & 3

Angelica looked up as Piotr entered the flat where she had been left to babysit the Tsar while the others arranged for their meeting with this Lenin, whoever he was. The place was a mile and a half from the industrial district meeting site in a lower middle-class part of town. St. Petersburg was a bustling metropolis, a bit overwhelming for a former peasant girl who still found any building larger than a village church to be extravagant.

"Where's the colonel? And the sergeant?"

"They were delayed." Something in his voice sounded defensive.

"What happened?" Angelica demanded.

"The colonel can explain when he gets here."

"You can explain now."

Piotr looked momentarily taken aback but then glared at her. "What happened is that golem you sent snapped and attacked our contact."

Tsar Alexander unfolded his arms and sat up from where he had been sulking in a straight-backed kitchen chair. He had been an obedient, if arrogant, ward. He’d made a desultory pass at Angelica and accepted her rebuff easily, to her relief. Then he’d complained about the tea and the poor selection of baked goods they had bought at the corner bakery before retreating to this flat.

"Sergeant Golem?" Veronica looked up from where she had been sulking in the corner. "Impossible."

Then again, he had quite a temper, as she’d seen before. But he wouldn’t have gone off without a good reason! Probably. He wasn’t like any golem she’d ever heard of. Maybe he was… breaking down?

How she’d like to have Alexander here to ask. Or anyone who could take some of the concerns off her shoulder. Colonel Mazur was in charge, but he wasn’t exactly making her job any easier.

Piotr shook his head. “It’s not. He started arguing with them and then he punched our contact. After that, it was all I could do to explain to them our good intentions.

“Major. Did you explain our proposal?” Tsar Alexander asked.

"Yes, and he seemed agreeable. Once I gave him," he glanced at Angelica, "some assurances."

She gritted her teeth. She did not like where this was going. How dare this Russian leave her compatriots behind, at the mercy of their shady contacts. If Sam had done what he claimed, there had to be a reason.

“And the timetable,” The Tsar pressed. “Did he have any information about the timetable?"

Damn the timetable, Angelica thought. Where are my men? But she didn't say it out loud. She would give Piotr a chance to explain.

"Yes, the demonstration will be the day after tomorrow following the parade. Admiral Tarpov is sparing no expense in this grand gesture."

"Ah, good, good," the Tsar said. "Here, sit." He gestured to a chair for Piotr to sit as he rose and went to the sideboard. Sparsely furnished though it was, the apartment had a stocked liquor cabinet. He poured the major two fingers of something clear and brought it back.

Angelica stalked over to the window and looked out. There was no sign of Colonel Mazur or Sam on the street. She caught herself pacing in front of the window and forced herself to go back and stand near where Piotr was taking a shaky sip from his glass.

The Tsar sat opposite him.

"So, two days from now," he prompted.

Piotr nodded. "It's like you said. They have a wing or more of German machines they plan to show off. Lenin didn't say, but I believe the delay is so that they can bond the mechs to Russian pilots."

The Tsar nodded. "That matches what I've heard. Russia has far more women with the potential to bond with mechs. Germany's industrial power is considerable, but without pilots, mechs are useless. That must be the heart of their deal. Tarpov and Petrov are going to send a few squadrons of pilots to serve in Germany's army.”

Angelica jerked in surprise at this.

Even Piotr straightened up. "General Petrov would send our girls to go fight for a foreign power?"

The way he referred to Russian mech riders struck Angelica as extremely patronizing, but it was no more so than she was used to. Besides, he was talking about Russian girls, so she told herself she didn't care. Still, the idea of sending mech riders, who bonded their machines quite young, off to serve a foreign power... It was a repugnant thought. Would they really send 15 and 16-year-old girls to go fight for some foreign land? Mech riders were a treasure of their mother country and weren't to be squandered like that.

The Tsar shrugged. "It is a good arrangement. Germany has more mechs than girls and with war losses, we have far more available riders than mechs. I've heard some in Germany are talking of establishing a breeding program. If we don't make a deal with them soon, they might not need our pilots in the future. We would miss a valuable opportunity to get our hands on the latest German designs."

Angelica stared at the tsar in abject horror, her stomach twisting. He glanced in her direction and she quickly closed her mouth. He spoke so easily of things so utterly repulsive. Sending young girls off to die for a foreign land. Mech rider breeding programs? How could they be placing their hopes on this man? How could he be any better than the others?

The Tsar glanced at her again, frowning this time. He apparently had seen her horrified expression. "But of course it's a terrible idea. One Russia would never stoop to. But it does present us with an opportunity.”

The door opened and Colonel Mazur strode into the apartment. He was alone.

"Where's Sam?" The words slipped out of Angelica before she meant to speak.

The czar glanced in her direction. What was that expression? Guilt?

The colonel shook his head. “Lenin wouldn’t let him go after his outburst.”

"And you left him?" Angelica’s words came out in little more than a gasp.

Mazur looked at her. She saw a flash of anguish that was quickly replaced by a firm look.

"We didn't have a choice. They had hundreds of armed men, and the Sergeant was in the wrong. He assaulted our host and jeopardized the mission."

"The mission," she said. Her voice sounded hollow and empty in her own ears. As hollow as the hole in her gut.

Mazur's look was firm, but his voice was soft.

"Yes, the mission. Captain, we're trying to end the war, and that's bigger than any of us.

"Is it worth it?" she asked softly.

The question was rhetorical, but he answered it anyway. "It has to be."

As Mazur, Piotr and the Tsar began discussing plans and timetables, Angelica tried to focus. She had to get a hold of herself. This felt all wrong. She knew being in the army meant her life, any one life, was less important than the mission. But leaving someone behind like that tore at her.

Mazur saw her concern and took her off to one side. "Look, Captain, I understand how upsetting this is. But I've taken steps to get him back. They're not much, but at this point it's all I can do. If we go charging in there with enough firepower to get him out, all we'll do is bring the Russian army down on our heads and blow any chance we have for restoring the Tsar to power and getting our peace treaty."

"I understand," Angelica said. "But that doesn't make me any happier about it," she added.

Then she glanced around, suddenly noticed something else missing. "Where's Veronica?"

Veronica wandered the streets of St. Petersburg. She had no clear idea where she was going. She just had to get out of that flat. Day by day, ever since losing her mech, her agitation had been growing. What was she doing here? Why had she even left home to go with these people? It had seemed all so clear at the time, but now she just didn't know.

And then last night, at the camp by the gunship, Frank had all but proposed to her. She had managed to deflect the conversation without turning him down completely, but from the look on his face, he had gotten the message. She just didn't know what she wanted in life, but what he had been offering wasn't it.

She had hoped today's mission escorting the Tsar would make things more clear, but it hadn't. He was just another callous ruler, playing chess with people's lives. Here they were, trying to replace one set of dictators with another. What was it all for? Saving her country? Hadn't she already done that when they fought back the Russian assault and then took on Frankenstein? There hadn't been any word in days about the Russian invasion from Romania into Hungary. She should be there helping beat off those invaders, instead of here doing what? Helping them? She wasn't sure anymore.

She wasn't running away from her allies, she just needed to get out and clear her mind.

"Hello, Veronica." A familiar voice addressed her, and she turned. Natasha looked back at her with a hungry smile. Passersby stepped out into the street to avoid her, seemingly without even noticing her. The woman wore a heavy black cape over her dress, with a flash of a crimson scarf somewhere underneath. "Fancy meeting you here. You seem preoccupied by something. Tell me your troubles."

Veronica frowned. Where had Natasha come from? She had never trusted this woman. She had always bee a strange one, but now something was amiss. She looked different, strange, like she had aged twenty years in the last few days. The lines on her skin had deepened into real wrinkles. Had she had that wart on her nose before?

"Come, come, you can talk to me." Her voice sounded like a kindly grandmother, much different than the Red Widow Veronica had known previously. The old woman -- because she was an old woman now, Veronica realized -- waved a hand in an odd dismissive gesture.

Veronica felt her fears relax. Why would she hesitate to trust this old woman? She was no one to fear. This was a friend to confide in.

Like a dam bursting, Veronica poured out her fears and angst into the ears of the old woman, who smiled softly and nodded her head. "Of course, of course," she said reassuringly. "Of course you could not have accepted his offer. He knew that. He won't be too upset." The old woman's presence and sympathetic ear brought a peace and relaxation to Veronica that surprised her, distantly.

They had been walking down the street for several minutes now. The buildings gave way to grey-sided metal and red brick industrial buildings, warehouses and factories belching smoke. The widow turned at a metal fence. She waved to a man standing guard, and he opened a gate in the fence with a vacant smile. Veronica didn't think to ask where they were going, though she wondered in a kind of disconnected way.

"You have to ask yourself what you really want in life. It's important to know that," Natasha was saying. They stopped at a metal door. Natasha reached to open it, but before her hand landed on the handle, it swung wide. She threw a smile at Veronica and went through into the dark interior. Veronica followed.

"What is it you want?" Veronica asked.

"Oh, I'm glad you asked, my dear, because that is why we have come.” The interior of the warehouse was dim, a vast cavernous space disappearing into the darkness in all directions. The old woman that Natasha had become waved her hand, and the lights up high on the ceiling flickered to life. Only the nearest few of them, but enough to illuminate something looming out of the shadows.

Veronica gasped as the lights revealed the looming shape. It was set at a crazy angle. It was lumpy, and it took her a moment to realize it was a house. The first thing she noticed were the windows, haphazardly placed across the exterior. Some were round and others rectangular. She could see three doors, one painted red, the other two unpainted wood. A rabbit’s foot was nailed to the center of the leftmost door. Rooms were set at awkward angles, some made of wooden slats, others brick, and still others out of stucco. The roof was mostly thatched with straw, but in other places on out jutting segments, it had red tiles or metal sheets. The whole thing was set at an awkward angle, supported by legs.

"It's her house," Veronica exclaimed. She turned to look at Natasha. "It's Baba Yaga's house. What's it doing here?" She looked back at the crazy structure. It was much bigger than the stories suggested.

"It was stolen from her long ago. It has passed through several sets of hands since. This is where General Petrov has been keeping it for the past few years."

"Stolen? Who could steal from Baba Yaga?"

"Do you see those ropes?" She pointed up. "They're warded against Baba. I only have a fraction of my mother's power, but even I can't touch them. They were made a very long time ago by a man called Da Vinci, specifically to steal her secrets. He failed, but another, using his designs, eventually succeeded. You don't think it was the ingenuity of ordinary science that created mechs, do you?"

Natasha was shaking her head, and Veronica stared at her, wide-eyed. The things she was suggesting were simply unbelievable.

"Mechs, as you know them, are based off of stolen technology. You can see how it sits at a crazy angle. One of its legs was taken. All mech technology was derived from that theft. They’ve pried out a few other secrets, but for the most part, they weren't able to get inside."

"But I don't understand," Veronica said. "Surely Baba Yaga's power... I mean, I've heard stories. Why hasn't she just taken it back?"

Natasha looked up at the structure fondly, with a fond expression. "No doubt she could have, but everything has a cost. She wasn't willing to pay. It's not as if this is her only house, after all. But it is one of her nicer ones, and I am eager to have it back. However,” Natasha looked back at Veronica. “We weren't talking about me. We were talking about you and what you want."

Something in her tone made Veronica wary and reminded her that she had been far too quick to trust Natasha with her inner doubts. “Are you offering me something? There’s a catch, isn’t there? There’s always a catch. My firstborn? I told you I’ve turned down two different marriage proposals now…"

Natasha laughed, a soft, grandmotherly amusement. "Perhaps, perhaps. It depends on what you want."

Veronica shook her head. "I don't know what I want."

The old woman Natasha had become smiled. "You can do better than that, dear."

"I," Veronica had to stop and start over. When she did, the words wouldn’t flow. "I don't want to stop. I mean, I don't want to stop being a mech pilot." She sighed. "That's not it either. I've always known I would have to stop, I would have to give it up someday. I'm okay with that. Really, I am. Just, just not yet. Not before I -- I don't know. But there's something I need to do before I can give it up. And I haven't found it yet." She twisted her hands together in exasperation and finally flung them back to her sides. "I'm sorry. I don't know what any of that means."

But Natasha was nodding her head. "I do, dear. I do."