Alaska Republik-ARC (23 page)

“Thank you!” Wing said with enthusiasm. “I was just wondering what to wear.”

The pockets of each coat revealed an indigo knitted watch cap and a pair of warm gloves.

“These fellows think of everything,” Tobias said.

They pulled on the gear and then followed Captain Vandenberg up the ladder. Two sailors helped them step onto the wet steel deck. Wind-whipped rain blew past at a forty-five-degree angle.

Grisha laughed. “Damn, it smells good here!”

“How can you inhale without drowning?” Wing shouted.

The
Mako
was being pushed up against a dock by a small log tug borrowed from the local sawmill. Men on the dock threw lines to sailors along the hull of the submarine. The lines were quickly secured and tightened, pulling the sub up snug against the large rubber fenders hanging down from the dock.

On the dock, a hoist lifted a gangway across and placed it between the dock and deck of the submarine. The chief bosun gave the captain a thumbs-up.

“Good luck, General,” Vandenberg shouted. “We’ll be in the area if you need to leave quickly.”

“Thank you, Captain. Our people owe you and your crew a party after this is all over.”

“We’ll look forward to it. Now, please let me get under way.”

Both men smiled and shook hands. Then Grisha, moving carefully on his crutches, followed Wing and Tobias as they hurried across the gangway to the dock where a group of people in oilskins waited in the stormy afternoon.

“Grisha, how good to see you, my cousin.” Paul Chernikoff extended his hand.

“Paul!” Grisha propped the crutches in his armpits and grabbed Paul’s hand with both of his. “It’s good to see you, too. Your brother sends his warm regards.” He lowered his voice, “You and I need to speak privately very soon.”

“I understand. Let’s get in out of the weather.”

He led them to an ancient Russian wood-burning omnibus. Once inside, the vehicle was pleasantly warm and cozy. Everyone pulled down hoods or removed rubberized mariners’ hats.

For a few seconds each party looked over the other. Then Paul grinned again.

“You look healthy, cousin.”

“Thanks. Except for an almost healed leg, I am. This is my wife, Colonel Wing Demoski Grigorievich, and Sergeant Major Nelson Tobias.”

“Paul, I would know you anywhere. You look just like your brother,” Wing said.

“Yeah, we get a lot of that. Welcome to Tlingit Country. Allow me to introduce our brand new diplomatic corps.”

Grisha glanced out the window. The
Mako
had already disappeared. He turned his attention to the group. The bus moved through the storm and down a small road between stands of sixty-foot hemlock and spruce.

“General Sobolof is head of the Tlingit Nation Army and on the War Council. Colonel Augustus Paul is from New Archangel, Colonel Gregori George is from Angoon, and Lieutenant Colonel Titian Bean is from T’angass. I am from Akku, as is General Grigorievich.”

“May I ask where we are being taken?” Grisha asked.

“To a safe place, Grisha,” General Sobolof said. “May we dispense with formality and call one another by the names we all know?”

“Of course, Vincent,” Grisha said smoothly. “If that’s how you wish it to be.”

“Good. How goes your war?”

“It isn’t just
my
war, it’s
our
war. The Imperial Russian government has ordered a cease of hostilities with the Dená Republik, the United States of America, and the Republic of California. However, I am told there is still a battle raging near Delta between a number of different armies, but I am sure we shall prevail.”

“So
who
are
we
fighting?” General Sobolof asked.

“Vincent, we are all fighting your two-faced ally, the Empire of Japan.”

“I know we are contemplating fighting Japan, but why are you?”

“We don’t want to fight them
after
they have made military gains in Alaska. Do you not agree?”

“Yes, I do agree. But to be very candid, Grisha, we haven’t much of an army to throw at them, and an even smaller navy.”

“Actually, I believe we are here to discuss something different,” Wing said. “Unification?”

“There are a number of viewpoints on that issue,” General Sobolof said carefully. “We realize that things must change, that things
are
changing whether we wish it so or not. But we are an ancient people and have become set in our cultural ways.”

As he hesitated for a moment, she plunged forward.

“You wish to change
some
things but not
everything
?” she asked with a smile.

“That’s an excellent way to put it, Col—uh, Wing,” Colonel George said with enthusiasm.

“So what do you want to change and what do you want to keep?” Grisha held his smile in his eyes.

The omnibus stopped.

“Please, let us discuss this over food,” General Sobolof said. “You all must be hungry.”

“I think we can all agree on that,” Sergeant Major Tobias said, beaming all around.

The
Yéil naa
, or Raven clan house was large and comfortable. Many paintings and carvings depicting Raven decorated the walls. At the far end stood an eight-foot traditional carving of Raven done in highly polished black stone. The yellow cedar floor was nearly reflective enough to use as a mirror.

In the center of the building stood a blazing rock fireplace open on all four sides, and every rock was carved with hieroglyphics. Each red cedar plank wall featured a beautiful Chilkat blanket flanked by button blankets.

Wing turned to stare back at the entrance. The entire doorway was the open mouth of a huge totemic frog.

“That’s the
Kiks.ádi
door,” Colonel Paul said. “We are especially proud of that work.”

“You have every right to be,” Wing said in a hushed tone. “It’s magnificent.”

Four women stood close to the great fireplace, cooking on wide sheets of steel suspended over the flames. The aroma of exotic foods filled the clan house and a wave of
rightness
washed over him as Grisha suddenly realized how hungry he was and how familiar this all smelled.

53

Delta

“See?” Jimmy Deerkiller whispered. “Right through those rocks there, it’s the guy who was asking all them questions a couple months ago.”

Ben Teske stared hard, licked his lips and eased his .338 magnum up, balanced it on the rock in front of them and squinted through the telescopic sight. “Yep, it’s him all right.”

“There’s someone with him,” Jimmy hissed.

Ben moved the weapon slightly. “Looks like an Eskimo in a Russian uniform.”

“They’re trackin’ us,” Jimmy said as he lifted his weapon and laid it across the bolder beside Ben’s.

“You take right and I’ll take left,” Ben said, peering through the scope.

“I’ll do the count.” Jimmy licked his lips again. “One. Two. Fire!”

The two trackers both fell backwards with destroyed heads.

Ben stared down the trail. Jimmy bent over, “Don’t forget your brass.”

“Yeah. Y’know, I think I killed a couple guys in the fight that night, but I couldn’t see ’em like this: up close and in the daytime.”

“I think you better get used to it, brother.”

Pelagian crept up behind them.

“Okay, guys, as soon as you see more troops coming toward you, fall back to the first line. Okay?”

“We’ll do it, Pelagian.” Jimmy turned and watched the big man fade into the brush. “Y’know, when I was a kid I used to be afraid of him.”

“Why?”

“He’s so damned big. I used to think he was some sorta monster.”

“I always felt safe around him,” Ben said, still watching the slope below them. “He never—hey, did you see that?”

“What?” Jimmy stared down into the hazy summer afternoon.

“I thought I saw someone, but they dropped before I could really be sure.”

“Scan your side,” Jimmy said and went silent.

They intently watched the 180 degrees of slope before them. Nothing moved; the ground lay bereft of life. Ben found himself staring at the boot propped up on a rock, where one of the trackers had fallen.

Motion flickered on the left in his peripheral vision and he snapped his gaze onto it without moving his head: two men in mottled green-to-black field dress. He grabbed Jimmy and pulled him down with him as he dropped behind the boulder.

“Wha—?” Jimmy blurted. The sound of his voice was abruptly obliterated by heavy machine gun fire chipping rock and blasting the top of their boulder. Ricochets whined off into space.

“Damn!” Jimmy said. “Thanks, man.”

“We need to withdraw, right now.”

“I’m right behind you.”

54

Over the Dená Republik

Jerry felt totally at home for the first time in what seemed like forever. The P-61 responded under his hands like an eager lover who understands exactly what is wanted of her. Magda’s presence suddenly suffused him and he forced the thought of her out of his mind.

This was deadly business and he needed to maintain vigilance if he wanted to kiss her again.

“Captain Yamato,” Colonel Shipley’s voice crackled in the headset. “You know where we’re going, so you take point.”

“Yes, sir!”

The Alaskan landscape rushed beneath them in full spring fecundity and bright morning brilliance. Numerous tree-shadowed lakes, large and small, reflected their swift passage. Yamato turned to the south and the flight crossed the wide, brown Yukon River and paralleled the famous Russia-Canada Highway. Jerry knew it led to Magda and St. Anthony Redoubt.

Shipley ordered the nine fighters to spread out. “Keep your eyes peeled; this is still Russian air space and until President Reagan says otherwise, we’re still at war.”

Jerry kept his eyes on the road below them, noticing the small outposts every few miles. What had Magda called them? He felt completely serene and ready to blow hell out of the Russian armor gathering at St. Anthony Redoubt.

“Colonel, Ellis here!”

“Go ahead, roger.”

“We have bandits at two o’clock.”

“Bandits?” someone said with evident disbelief.

“Cut the chatter!” Shipley ordered. “Okay, I see them. Ellis, Fowler, put your glasses on them and tell me I’m wrong.”

“Wrong about what, Skipper?” Jerry asked.

“I count six Russian Yormolaev-2 bombers with eight Yak fighters flying cover,” Fowler reported. “Looks like they’re headed for Chena or Fort Yukon.”

“I concur,” Ellis said. “They must be out of St. Nicholas Airdrome.”

“I don’t think they’ve seen us yet,” Shipley said, “Probably because they’re an easy 5,000 feet higher than we are. Captain Currie, alert Dená Command, we’re going to engage.”

Jerry’s heart fell, but he knew Colonel Shipley was making the only realistic decision.

“We’re gonna hit them as hard as we can,” Shipley said. “Major Ellis, you are now Sucker Punch Two. Take Currie, Donaldson, Cooper and Cassaro, cut right and stay on the deck until you’re under the bombers, then blow them out of the air.”

“Yes, sir.” The five Eurekas banked and dropped almost to treetop level on a course to intercept the now-distinct Russian aircraft.

“Fowler, Yamato, Hafs, and Kirby—you’re with me, Sucker Punch One. We’re going to bore straight in and hit the fighters. If we’re real lucky and they’ve all got hangovers, we might pull this off.”

“This is a lot more interesting than hitting an armored column,” First Lieutenant Hafs said. “And I love the odds.”

“I always knew you were crazy, Mark,” Yamato said with a grim laugh. “This just proves it.”

“As soon as we know they’ve seen us,” Lieutenant Colonel Shipley said, “drop your wing tanks. We’re going to need all the agility we can muster.”

Jerry felt the adrenaline singing in his veins while fear for Magda’s situation ate at his guts.
We’ve gotta do this fast
, he thought.
I’ve still got to keep my word
.

The Yaks grew in his gunsights and he flipped off the safety cap over the trigger button on his stick. Suddenly the Yaks dropped away from the bombers and turned toward Shipley’s flight. The ruse had worked.

As if on cue, the wing tanks dropped from beneath the wings of all five Eurekas. They roared up to meet the enemy.

55

Delta

“They’re hiding up there in the rocks,” Major Riordan reported to the general and lieutenant colonel. “It cost us two good men to get that intelligence. I’ve ordered a squad to engage the enemy and report their position. We’ll envelope the area with cannon fire and eliminate the possibility of an attack. Then we can arrest the surviving traitors from Chena Redoubt and hang them.”

General Myslosovich awarded him a wide smile.

Riordan wasn’t watching the general; his eyes were on the lieutenant colonel.

“Not bad,” Lieutenant Colonel Janeki said. “I would have done exactly the same thing. But how can you be sure they’re all in the open?”

“No matter what, they’ll be softened up after the barrage.”

“I approve.”

The radioman in Riordan’s command car called out, “Major, the transmission is breaking up, but they’re receiving fire.”

“Coordinates?”

“Range four, vector three, sir.”

Riordan snapped the numbers to the sergeant beside him and within thirty seconds every tank in the command fired at the ordered target. Explosions echoed back to them, one after another.

The shelling lasted five minutes, then abruptly ceased.

“Who’s going to go look?” Lieutenant Colonel Janeki asked, staring at Riordan.

“My men are already up there. They’ll report soon.”

56

Battle of Delta

First Squad, Company B, of the International Freekorps, crept up the mountain. A week ago they had mustered thirty effectives; since the midnight attack of a few days ago they were down to nineteen. Lieutenant Alex Strom felt electrified with every sense wide open for input.

His record listed battles in Afghanistan, China, the Belgian Congo, Portuguese East Africa, and all the way back to his first as a Royal Austrian Fusilier private at the Siege of Berlin. Over the years and wars, he had worked his way up the muster list.

This was his second command as a lieutenant. His elevation to commissioned status came in the French Foreign Legion while serving in Africa. If this current arrangement failed, he could always return to France, which he now considered as home.