gold stayed on the train after Kolchak was captured?”
“I think so. The train guards completed their mission, including the time they were carrying Kolchak. They protected the cargo. They did not allow the Czechs or Bolsheviks on the train to inspect it.”
“So, we must follow the cargo to the destination at Vladivostok?”
“I agree.”
My time in the Trenches
He was satisfied with the article. It was the third in his series about the war experience. He built the story around the daily records from his diary, and referenced the diaries from some of his brothers-in-arms who were also there. Some of the accounts were humorous; soldiers tend to find humor even under the most deadly circumstances. He’d written the series based on first-person perspectives from several of his men. They hadn’t all recorded the same events; there were too many men in the Brigade for everyone to have been at the same place at the same time, particularly with men rushing to the front with supplies in France. Several had different experiences regarding their commander, so the contrast added depth to the story. The accounts were, however, consistent in many ways.
John Albrecht crafted the language, but the words often came directly from the men he’d served with. There were many passages in the articles referring to Hicks, at least by title and rank if not his name as, “Always standing tall, and leading from the rear.” John chuckled each time he wrote it. Another quip read, “The Colonel always said that any supply officer who doesn’t come home rich is a fool.”
No matter how the articles veiled Hicks, the history of the National Guard unit at the Lansing Armory was studied by everyone in that part of the state. They all seemed to know someone. They were rightly proud of the unit. They also knew the Hicks commanded the 7th Brigade and was hated by his men as a thief and coward. The men had done their duty honorably in spite of Hicks. He couldn’t hide.
Hicks was enraged and worried about public opinion of him or an investigation into stolen Government supplies. Hell, he hadn’t done anything that all other supply officers had done during the war. The military system always enlarged orders for pilferage. It’s the only reason anyone wants to be in the supply specialty. He told himself and others in defense of his record that, as an Army officer, he had always been prepared to lead men in combat, which he would gladly have done, if he had had such orders. It was his proud duty. Instead, he had had to sacrifice glory for the higher good of his country and he managed supplies. That was his rationalization. He had felt entitled to a little extra incentive.
He hated Albrecht. He hated all of the men who were smearing his good name and military record. They were all inferior to him; the military decided that when he was given command over them. He did have one problem, however. He had tons of contraband brought back from Europe stored in an old barn on granary property. It was all in former shipping crates. He’d returned all unused Army supplies to the armory when the Brigade returned, but he’d had men transport his personal crates to the granary. They weren’t Army supplies, but investigators might get the wrong impression if they looked at the huge stash, and there was the possibility that Army supplies were intermixed. Since the newspaper articles began appearing, he knew that the men couldn’t be trusted to keep their mouths shut. He hated Albrecht for publicizing it.
When the latest article appeared, he boiled over. The paper, and Albrecht, had effectively called Hicks a coward. He had served his time in the war like everyone else. He’d almost been in combat. He had endured cold Siberian winters. He’d protected the train from Czech soldiers. How dare this former Sergeant call him a coward! It was intolerable.
John Albrecht had purchased a small farm south of Lansing in Jackson County several years before the war. He’d planted fruit trees and had married his lifelong girlfriend, Sarah. She’d managed the farm during the war with her son, Carter, from a previous relationship. John had formally adopted the boy after they were married and loved him as much as a natural son. After returning home from Russia, the farm was almost beginning to produce marketable crops. His pre-teenage boy and he could manage it with occasional help during harvest season. It wouldn’t replace his job at the newspaper for several years, but it might be possible to live from it when he retired. He loved his family and provided well for them.
As the sun began to rise, he cranked up his new Ford model-T pickup, which he kept in the barn, and drove to the end of his dirt drive, then onto the single-lane dirt road, heading toward Lansing. It would take more than an hour to drive, so he started early, before anyone else was up at the farmhouse. This morning, he was shocked to see his old Commander, Suckson Pricks, standing in the middle of the road, holding a 30/30 Winchester lever-action rifle. John stopped in the middle of the road. He exited the truck, “What do you want, Hicks?” The rifle didn’t immediately concern him. Hicks was a coward, and John knew it.
“You’ve been printing lies about me, Albrecht! You’ve tarnished my record. People I know are questioning me. How dare you!” Hicks took two steps closer, shaking all over.
“I didn’t print any lies, Hicks. I only printed what we all saw.”
“People think I’m a coward. I have medals, proving my courage!”
“People believe what they want, Hicks, and don’t throw your medals around at me. We both know the truth about those.”
Hicks was still annoyed about not being addressed by his former military rank, it was written on his face whenever Albrecht called him by his last name. Hicks stepped another pace forward, less than five feet from Albrecht and raised his gun. “I’m going to end this once and for all!”
Albrecht didn’t flinch, “This won’t end anything, Hicks. I’m not the only one who knows about you. Hell, the whole Brigade knows. Do you think you can silence the truth by silencing me?”
Hicks bellowed, cocking the gun, “You son of a bitch!”
Albrecht didn’t fear Hicks and stepped toward him, grabbing the gun barrel and jerking it out of Hicks’ hands. “Stop this!”
Hicks’ face contorted with rage, having been disarmed by his former Sergeant. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a Colt 1911 .45 sidearm that he’d stolen from the Army. This time, in Hicks’ enraged state, he cocked and aimed the gun. Albrecht had no choice; he reacted instinctively and fired the rifle from the hip. Hicks was hit in the gut and folded backward into the road.
At once, Albrecht was in shock. He’d reacted against an enemy, just as any soldier would do. But, he had never killed a man before, at least not a man facing him only a few feet away. The man had a gun and was going to use it. Albrecht wasn’t able to think straight. He was emotional, he’d just shot a man who wasn’t moving and bleeding badly. He’d killed a man.
Just then, he heard his son running toward him. “Dad, Dad, are you all right!”
The boy stopped at his father’s side, staring in disbelief. “Dad, is he dead?”
“I ... I think so.”
“What do we do now, Dad?”
John was in a daze, “I’ll talk to your mother.”
John and Sarah
They’d been in love since the first grade at the one-room schoolhouse in Mason, almost from the moment John stepped down from his mother’s carriage and Sarah’s father helped her from the back of his horse.
John’s father managed a shoe factory and his mother was the school teacher. Sarah’s father and mother owned a small Michigan fruit farm. For eight school years, John and Sarah were inseparable. But they rarely saw each other outside of school, living several miles apart. Their parents didn’t socialize and their circle of friends was completely different. John had walked to Sarah’s farm a few times as a youngster, but lack of communications or transportation made it restrictive. They were together mostly at school.
Each year, both looked forward to beginning the new fall session with Mrs. Albrecht. They sat together, played together, ate their lunches together and helped his mothe
r prepare the room for the following day together. By the fifth grade, they were telling everyone that they were planning to get married and have a big wedding someday, and the whole class would be invited.
One of the saddest days in their young lives was graduation from the eighth grade. They said goodbye on the last day, without realizing it was their last school day together. The realization hit John sometime in the summer when he was starting an apprenticeship at the Lansing Chronicle. His school days were over. Sarah was helping on the family farm and trying to decide what came next. There were few options, living in isolation on a small Michigan farm.
It was difficult maintaining a long-distance relationship. John bought a bicycle on his fourteenth birthday and would ride to Sarah’s farm on Sunday, his day off, if the weather was good and his family had no other plans. Both were only-children, so their parents valued free time with them, as much as they wanted them to also have friends.
The first summer away from school, Sarah’s mother died and her father had to sell the farm. Sarah’s prospects grew dimmer. When her father took a job in Detroit in the expanding automobile factories and they were moving, she and John vowed to remain in contact and get married as soon as they could, promises that children will make.
John continued to