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Andre rubbed his temple. "I must have seen it wrong. There was a flash outside the window—thought it was a missile launch for a moment."
Gromov raised a curious brow. "Are you a soldier?"
Andre nodded. His bearing made it obvious. Denying it would be pointless, and in the Soviet Union, being a soldier earned you public respect. There was no shame in service.
"Rocket Forces?" Gromov continued.
"No, I'm a pilot."
"A fighter pilot—guarding the skies," Gromov said, smiling faintly. "If my eyesight had been better, I would've enrolled in aviation school myself."
"You work in a shipyard. That's just as valuable," Ekaterina chimed in. "Comrade Lenin said all revolutionary work is equal."
Gromov nodded. "You two—heading to Moscow to visit relatives?"
Before Andre could clarify, Ekaterina answered quickly, resting her head against his shoulder. "Yes, we're visiting my family. After your award ceremony, I'll take you to meet them."
Andre blinked. Visit her family? He hadn't expected that step so soon. He realized he knew very little about Ekaterina's background. Who were her parents? What did they do? She had never mentioned them.
And she hadn't said "parents"—just "elders."
Before he could think further, Gromov's eyes sharpened. Andre followed his gaze. A young woman was walking down the aisle, slim and curvy, carrying a large aluminum lunch box. She must've come from the dining car.
Something didn't sit right.
The train jolted slightly and slowed. The rhythmic sound of metal grinding against metal echoed through the cabin—it was entering a tunnel in the Stanovoy Mountains. Caves were frequent in this region.
Andre frowned. Something was off about the girl. This was the last car—she had no reason to be walking further back. She was passing through just as the train entered the tunnel. Was she using the lunch box as cover?
He glanced at Ekaterina. She had noticed his expression.
"What are you staring at?" she asked, following his gaze. She saw the girl too—and jealousy sparked in her eyes. Without warning, her fingers dug into Andre's side, pinching hard.
Only me. You're only allowed to look at me.
The girl's expression changed subtly when she heard Andre's name. Her eyes narrowed. There was something cold—calculated—in her gaze.
Suddenly, darkness filled the cabin. The train had entered the tunnel, and the shift from sunlight to dim emergency lighting was jarring.
Andre's mind clicked into focus. Too late. His instincts screamed.
He grabbed Ekaterina and dove to the floor just as he heard the faint but unmistakable sound: thwip, thwip—suppressed gunfire. A spark flew from the steel wall above his seat. A bullet had hit the metal.
She had a gun. Hidden in the lunch box.
Andre shielded Ekaterina with his body, bracing for more shots. He cursed not having his Makarov on him. Even if he had suspected trouble, bringing a weapon onto a civilian train wasn't an option.
More suppressed shots followed, striking the floor and walls. The assassin was aiming low—trying to finish the job even after they'd hit the ground.
Just as Andre gritted his teeth, expecting the next round, two sharp cracks echoed through the carriage—much louder.
Real gunfire.
Across from them, Gromov—the quiet engineer—had leapt from his seat, pistol in hand. He returned fire with uncanny precision, shooting toward the aisle where the girl had been.
An engineer? With a sidearm?
Andre barely had time to think. The timing of Gromov's return fire was perfect. He had reacted instantly, and that could only mean one thing—he was trained.
Outside the sleeper car, the passengers screamed and scattered. Heavy footsteps pounded across the carriage floor as chaos spread.
Seconds later, the train burst from the tunnel and daylight returned.
Andre exhaled and looked down at Ekaterina, still beneath him. She stared back in stunned silence.
"You saved me…" she whispered. "And I thought you were just checking out another girl."
Andre gave a pained chuckle. "Don't get used to that. Besides… I think I was shot."
Ekaterina's expression shifted instantly. She sat up, pressing her hand to his abdomen. "Where? Let me see!"
Together, they shifted so she could check. But there was no blood. No bullet wound. Just a deep red mark.
She sighed in relief—then frowned. "I might've pinched you too hard earlier. My bad."
Andre groaned. "Seriously?"
Before they could laugh about it, Gromov returned, eyes alert.
"Did you catch her?" Ekaterina asked.
"She shattered the bathroom window and jumped," Gromov replied. "We're stopping at a small station ahead. I've alerted the local garrison. She won't get far."
Andre narrowed his eyes. "You're KGB, aren't you?"
Gromov didn't answer directly. He simply gave a small smile.
"You were here to protect me," Andre continued. "Well, I guess I should thank you. If you hadn't reacted… we'd be dead."
Andre still didn't care for Serov, the KGB officer who often meddled in military affairs. But he wasn't going to paint every agent with the same brush.
Gromov had saved their lives.
The quiet returned, though tension lingered. Andre leaned against the wall of the train, finally feeling the pain in his muscles. Ekaterina held his hand gently, and for a moment, they said nothing.
But in the depths of his mind, Andre couldn't shake the feeling: if one assassin had found him this easily, how many more were out there?
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