Alaska Republik-ARC (24 page)

But the money was so much better in his present situation. Major Riordan had been less than forthright when he told the battalion they had a new war and they would draw standard pay. He hadn’t mentioned the identity of the employer, nor when the next payday was scheduled.

He’s never screwed us over,
Strom thought.
Not yet
. He had yet to decide if he believed that Riordan would do that. As a naturalized Frenchman serving under an Irishman, he held a quiet skepticism as to the commander’s grasp of reality.

He halted and waved his men down before thinking about it. There had been a noise, a very small thing, but yet something different than before. He waited, patience as much a part of him as his spleen, and just as hidden.

There! He heard the sound of a foot pushing at, or slipping on, gravel. Not with effort, he decided, but in eagerness. There were close to a firing line; someone waited for them.

He pointed to two troopers and motioned them forward. Both were well trained and veterans of at least three engagements. But in his heart of hearts, Strom didn’t care for either of them.

They moved up the slope, keeping low and maintaining vigilance. They passed Strom’s forward position. He watched them edge around boulders and slide down into what depressions the land offered.

They disappeared from sight. The lieutenant realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to continue breathing. He strained to hear anything, the least sound, or slightest suggestion of resistance, anything alive beyond their position.

The ground they traversed was torn and blasted, only splinters and pieces of leaves were left of the brush and trees which once grew here. Boulders held their positions but sat split and fractured; their shards had blasted through the area at high velocity. Strom took it all in silently.

Sergeant Verley, his immediate subordinate, motioned from the far side of their position.

Take cover? They were under cover! What did he mean by—?

He registered the rumble then and quickly screamed back at the men behind him, “Take cover. It’s an avalanche!”

The universe filled with hurling rock.

57

Refuge, Dená Republik

Magda watched the succession of broken men and women being carried into the Refuge and wondered how this could have happened, not realizing she was speaking aloud.

“We didn’t expect the artillery,” Gregori Andrew said, making a sling for his bloody left arm. “Them rock pieces were flying all over the place. The one that did this”—he lifted his left arm with his right hand—“flew right through one of them Russian soldiers like he was a thin sack of blood.”

“Go over to my mother, there; she’ll help you.” Magda felt angry, sick to her stomach, guilty, and relieved all at the same time. Her scout patrol was scheduled to begin five minutes after the attack started, therefore they were all still in the Refuge when the shells began falling.

Scout Two, returning from reconnoiter, had been wiped out.

“Magda,” Uncle Frank said as he approached. “I’ll bet I know what you’re thinking.” He put his hands on her shoulders and stared into her face. “It’s called the ‘fortunes of war’ and nobody knows what will happen. It just wasn’t your turn.”

Her eyes felt hot and she didn’t want to cry. “I hear your words but my heart still doesn’t understand. Maybe next week or next month I’ll finally get this all straight, but not yet. Right now I’ve got to get my squad moving. We don’t have any eyes out there watching. Thanks for the support, Major.” She saluted and he returned it.

Her squad consisted of a corporal and five privates. Even a week ago nobody had bothered with rank, but now everything needed to be exact and military.

Corporal Anna Demoski stood when Magda approached. “I’ve got the guys all ready to go, Sergeant.” She handed Magda her pack and weapon.

“Thanks for minding my gear, Corporal. Let’s move out.”

The five privates—four men and one woman—rose to their feet and followed without saying a word. All prior levity had vanished with the artillery barrage. It finally hit home: they were in a shooting, and killing, war.

They passed through the wide cave mouth, which was being closed up as quickly as the work crew could manage. The passage to the outside twisted back and forth. Large boulders were being levered into a wall complete with firing slits backed by yet more rock so a satchel charge or a grenade would only harm the defenders in that location.

Only the turrets on the two Russian tanks could be seen under the ceiling of rock. Nothing was built higher than their lowest firing elevation. Machine guns poked through the wall like spines on a rock porcupine.

Magda stopped her people at the very end of the passage. Two sentries peered out at the summer morning.

“See anything?” she asked.

“Nothing yet, but we know they’re out there somewhere.”

“We’ll get back to you on their location, okay?” She patted the radio strapped to her side, then waved her people forward and led them into the deadly open.

58

Battle of Delta

“I want you to go up that hill at speed,” Lieutenant Colonel Janeki said to Infantry Captain Koseki. “Your wave will be followed by another, fifty meters behind you. Shoot everything that moves and any person who does not. Take no chances, understand?”

“Yes, Colonel! After the barrage there should be nothing alive on that mountain.”

“That was our estimation also. But there were enough people left to trigger an avalanche. They can’t engineer two of those on one mountain. But still—take no chances.”

Captain Koseki saluted, clicked off the safety on his machine gun, and motioned his men forward. Sixty heavily armed troopers started up the slope as quickly as they could manage. The center of the wave had the easy task of following the tracks of many vehicles on the closest thing to a road the mountain offered.

The captain appreciated the honor of commanding the assault, but at the same time he fought to keep his fear at bay.
One had to ask,
he thought,
where was the destination of the vehicles they followed? Were the Dená naive enough to leave their army exposed on a mountainside?

For two decades, Branif Koseki’s father had served as a counselor to the Czar. Baron Koseki went into a total rage when Branif told him he had joined the Imperial Army.

“Serving in the military is completely beneath you, beneath this family! I will arrange for a commission immediately. If you insist on playing the toy soldier, at least you must be an officer.”

Three years beyond the tirade, Captain Branif Koseki had not again laid eyes on his father.
The old bastard wouldn’t understand anyway,
he thought. Watching out for those who served under you was as alien to the baron’s mind as walking on the moon.

Sergeant Turgev’s right fist shot into the air and every man in line went to ground. Captain Koseki felt grateful for the plentiful boulders, some newly arrived, which offered shelter. He held his hand open, palm up.

Turgev pointed to his right and left, held three fingers stiff for a long moment and then grabbed his wrist with his left hand. Machine gun nests, three defenders each. Captain Koseki nodded understanding.

How the hell could they have lived through the barrage? Fox dens? Trenches? Caves? He focused on the tactical issue at hand.

He motioned for three men on both sides to go wide around the enemy flank. Then he signaled for two widely spaced men to move forward, along with Lieutenant Taksis. The lieutenant gave him a withering look and the three men moved slowly up the mountain.

Captain Koseki thought his lieutenant was a coward who could still be turned into a fighting man, and he had just granted him the opportunity. The flankers faded from sight and Koseki felt sweat beading on his forehead beneath his helmet. Deep in his soul he cursed Colonel Janeki.

Heavy machine gun fire erupted on the right, frighteningly loud, far too close, and from a weapon larger than any of his men carried. A high-pitched shriek climbed to unbelievable decibels before choking off abruptly. A Russian grenade, distinctive with its flat popping sound—the men called them “Czar’s farts”—exploded somewhere up in the rocks and brush.

Captain Koseki held his hand up and waved his men forward. He was the first to move slowly up the mountain, hunched over and frightened more of appearing cowardly in front of his men than of dying. He glanced back at his men.

Sergeant Turgev directed two squads toward the machine gun nests he had spied. The soldiers stayed as close to the ground as possible as they moved forward.

Machine gun fire abruptly tore through three of the soldiers, dropping them down into the rocks with the hammer blows of heavy rounds. Sergeant Turgev’s men opened up, firing beyond Captain Koseki’s field of vision.

Koseki and the men around him edged upward, eyes wide and casting about for targets and death. The captain eased around a large boulder and slid behind another. To his right the rocks abruptly decreased in size, creating an inviting path up the mountain that promised ease of movement.

Sergeant Turgev’s men continued firing and the staccato roar of two heavy machine guns now bounced off the rocky slope. Captain Koseki knew that basic military logic ordained more than two guns would be guarding this slope. Corporal Kasilof edged up beside him.

“Do you want me to send somebody around that way?” He pointed toward the open slope.

“They would be killed instantly. That’s a natural field of fire that even the poorest soldier couldn’t help but notice. Our foes do not seem to be fools.”

Corporal Kasilof’s eyes widened as he stared at the slope. “My apologies, Captain. This is my first combat experience.”

“Spread the word, when I blow my whistle, everyone goes over these rocks. We must do it together or the effect of surprise will be lost.”

“Yes, Captain.” The corporal hurried back and spoke to every man. One by one, they all turned and stared at Captain Koseki.

He climbed up as far as possible without showing himself above the covering boulder and braced himself. A glance back at his men determined they all followed his example. The first time he put the whistle in his mouth he trembled so violently that it fell from his lips and dangled on its cord.

He cursed and jammed the whistle into his mouth so hard he chipped a tooth. Subduing his fear for the moment, he blew a shrill blast and leapt up and over the boulder, firing his machine gun.

59

Over Russian Amerika

Captain Jerry Yamato knew his aircraft to be superior to the Yak growing in his gunsights. At 3,000 meters he fired short bursts from his wing cannons and watched the Yak run right into the tracers. The Russian craft shuddered and smoke poured from behind the propeller. The plane seemed to shrug and nosed toward the ground.

The fighter immediately behind it came through its predecessor’s smoke like an avenging angel, cannon firing and no deviation in course as it headed straight for Jerry.

Jerry rolled to the left and dove at full speed before pulling the Eureka up at a steep angle to come up behind the Yak. At least that was the plan. He snapped
Satori
—every P-61 he flew induced
satori
—around and the Yak wasn’t there.

Immediately he rolled to the right and tracers streamed past the cockpit. He felt at least two rounds hit the fuselage as he pulled up and fought for altitude. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the sun flash off the Yak’s wings as it pulled up to follow him.

He became aware of the radio chatter.

“Dave, you got one on your tail!”

“Good shooting, Currie, but watch out for the belly gun on the one behind it.”

“Colonel Shipley, you got one coming straight down at you!”

Jerry looked back at the Yak. It had reached its performance ceiling and rolled back in a dive to lower altitude. Jerry grinned and nosed over, roaring down on the now vulnerable Yak with his wing guns blazing.

The Yak shook under the barrage as first smoke and then flame boiled out of it. It nosed over and hurtled toward the earth 6,000 feet below. Jerry didn’t see a parachute.

Bullets smashed into his plane and two rounds came through the cockpit, barely missing his head. He felt the air movement of one as it passed his cheek. Suppressing panic, he twisted to the left and climbed as fast as the bird would go.

Abruptly the belly of another Yak filled his sights and he squeezed off a long burst and veered to the right as the Yak exploded, filling the sky with debris. A burning tire streaked through the air and glanced off
Satori
’s nacelle. Jerry quickly thanked his ancestors that the thing had missed his prop.

“Colonel Shipley, Fowler here. I’m hit.” The words poured out in a rush.

“How bad, Dave?”

Jerry could hear the man’s rasping breath over the radio and twisted around trying to locate the others. His acrobatic flying had taken him over a mile away from the main fight. Unwittingly, he had moved close to the bombers, now fighting for their lives against Sucker Punch Two. One of the birds from Sucker Punch One flew toward him, trailing heavy smoke. Jerry realized it was Fowler.

“Ain’t gonna…make it. Chest wound. Losing lotsa blood, hard ta see.”

“Where you going, Dave?” Jerry asked.

“Wanna take…a bomber”—he coughed and his plane dipped and bobbed up again—“…with me.”

Jerry looked over at the four remaining bombers in time to see one of the Eurekas take a burst of fire from the leading bomber’s belly gun. The Eureka tumbled and burst into flame.

“Bail out!” he shouted. “Bail out!”

“Major Ellis just bought the farm.” Jerry thought it was Cassaro’s voice.

“Tell ’im to wait,” Fowler said. “I’ll go with…”

Jerry saw Fowler’s plane streak by. The cockpit was shot to pieces and part of the tail elevator ripped away as he watched. The plane arrowed directly into the leading bomber, colliding amidships.

A bright light filled the sky as the entire bomb load detonated, atomizing both aircraft. The shock wave knocked
Satori
out of level flight, rolling her violently to his left and into a spin. Jerry fought to pull her back into level flight. The second bomber took massive amounts of debris through the cockpit, nose gun, and top gun mount, killing those crew members. The bomber went into an earthward spiral.