Flight From the Eagle Read Free Page A

pushed aside Kolniev's restraining hand and rose unsteadily to his feet. He was still dizzy and his surroundings had a curious remoteness, but he could sense the animosity and near insubordination of Raevsky and the others towards Barclay. They had been clustered round him, but at Barclay's approach they drew back and began to filter out of the door as if they felt unable to remain in the same room as the commander. Barclay took no notice. He had listened to their arguments, ignored their insults, made his decision and given his orders. He now stood looking at Orlov with the air of a university professor chiding a favorite student for working too hard.
    'I thought you might need me.' Orlov tried to put some indication of his loyalty and admiration into his voice.
    Barclay gave him a long, searching look, noticing the extreme pallor of his face, the more marked because of the contrast with his black hair, the lines of pain round his mouth, and the dark shadows under his grey eyes. He shook his head with a faint smile.
    'My dear boy, you're likely to die on your feet,' he replied. 'We have a difficult time ahead of us, as you must realize. The retreat cannot go on indefinitely. At some point we must stand and fight, and you are in no condition for the rigors of retreat or the strain of battle. Go back to the hospital and obey the surgeons. I shall not forget that you tried to return to duty and when the opportunity arises for an exchange of prisoners, you shall be among the first.'
    'Prisoners!' Kolniev jerked out. Barclay glanced at him, and then met Orlov's steady gaze.
    'You mean to abandon the wounded.' Orlov made a statement rather than asked a question.
    Barclay held his gaze. 'We have to move fast on an unobstructed road,' he said evenly. 'If any of the wounded are able to remove themselves from the city, they are free to do so as long as they do not obstruct the passage of the army.'
    He turned away to go back to the inner office but paused in the doorway to add, 'They could, for example, move on a parallel course to the south of the postroad, or head in the direction of the camp at Kaluga. You understand, Lev Petrovitch, that I appreciate your attempt to resume your duties, but I do not consider you fit and I order you to take sick leave—what you choose to do with it is your own affair. God be with you.' He went into his office and closed the door behind him.
    Orlov sat down and eased his arm into a more comfortable position. 'Transport?' he said.
    'I know where there are a dozen carts belonging to my company and I think I can find extra horses too,' Kolniev said. 'Smolensk was my home—there's none of my family left here now, but I still have a few contacts.'
    'Go and find them, then,' Orlov said. 'Where would be a good place to gather the carts and load them?'
    'There's a courtyard at the back of the Archive building.' Kolniev picked up a piece of paper and drew a quick sketch map. 'We'll need food and blankets.'
    'Come back to the hospital with me,' Orlov said. 'We'll get your men together and tell them what we propose to do. Those of them who can move about can help collect stuff together.' He stood up cautiously, this time without any ill-effect.
    Danilov came back into the room, very occupied with his fistful of papers, but he listened while Orlov told him briefly what he and Kolniev were planning. He raised his eyebrows and looked doubtfully at Orlov's arm, but made no comment, merely remarking: 'Your servant's here with your baggage —do you want it?' and picked up a map from his desk which he handed over silently.
    Orlov took it with a word of thanks and said: 'That's good —I could do with a clean shirt.' He was surprised that Danilov and Kolniev both laughed at this until he caught sight of himself in a mirror in the corridor outside and saw what a nightmare figure he looked in his blood-soaked coat.
    Outside in the street, the noise seemed to have diminished a little. Dusk had fallen, but the whole city