Alaska Republik-ARC (29 page)

Nothing happened. He wasn’t facing an inexperienced recruit; this fellow knew what it was all about. He waited.

A volley of automatic fire erupted from a dozen places and Mother Kubitski’s little boy Leonid dove for cover. His adversaries were just as professional as himself.

Perhaps more?

The fire drew attention from his troops and the enemy area received heavy machine gun and mortar fire. He utilized the lull in incoming fire by running toward Janeki’s last known position. Just as he was about to go to ground again, a bullet clipped the side of his steel helmet and knocked him sprawling.

He lay stunned. His head throbbed worse than the most massive hangover he had ever experienced. Between the earlier graze and this near miss, he felt marked for death.

For a moment he saw two of everything and squeezed his eyes shut. The scent of flowers suffused him and he didn’t know if he should enjoy the incongruity or worry about brain damage.

He had to get to Janeki before the colonel got all of his comrades killed. He wasn’t going to argue with the man. He would just shoot him.

A roaring grew and for a moment he thought it was part of the concussion. It turned out to be aircraft, and this time they
were
firing. Provost Marshal Kubitski swiftly crawled under a truck and prayed it didn’t take a direct bomb hit.

77

Village of Kilsnoo, Russian Amerika

“What do you think their answer will be?” Wing asked, staring at the closed conference room door and doing her best not to fidget.

“In my opinion, there can only be one answer: to agree with us or something very close to agreement.” Grisha wished he had something to do with his hands. For a brief moment he envied cigarette smokers until he also remembered how they smelled.

“We don’t have a lot of time left bef—”

The door opened, breaking her sentence along with her train of thought. Colonel Sam Dundas gave them a slight bow.

“General, Colonel, we would appreciate your presence.”

Wing studied the man. She didn’t know Sam Dundas like Grisha did, and therefore found his face unreadable. Grisha took her arm and they walked through the door.

She desperately didn’t want this mission to fail. Not only did it signify the possibility of a unified Republik of Alaska, it also returned to her beloved Grisha the status of which he had been robbed. She didn’t think these people gave him much respect and that put her hackles up.

All five men stood when they entered. General Sobolof indicated the two chairs on either side of him at the head of the table. No one spoke as Grisha held Wing’s chair and she sat. The others sat when Grisha did.

Wing tried not to hold her breath. From somewhere inside her she heard Blue say, “Don’t ever show ’em that it matters.” She forced herself to relax, give the men around the table her best “I’m on your side” smile, and wait.

“General Grigorievich, Colonel Grigorievich,” General Sobolof said in his most ponderous, official tone, “we sincerely appreciate and salute your presence here, and we further understand what personal danger you endured in making this visit.”

He’s going to send us packing,
Wing thought.

“To that end we wish to assure you that your efforts are not in vain. We have agreed to
most
of General Grigorievich’s suggestions and are certainly open to further debate.”

“You are?” Wing blurted.

All of the men except Grisha broke into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” she snapped, trying not smile.

“You thought we were going to turn the whole thing down, didn’t you?” Sam Dundas asked, wiping a tear from his eye.

She gave them her full grin. “General, I will
never
play poker with you, or any other game where I might lose money.”

This time Grisha laughed too.

“Now that we’ve had our fun,” General Sobolof said, “let’s get down to business.”

Two people, a woman and a man, came in through a side door.

“This is Captain Pletnikov and Lieutenant Davis. The captain will record our conversation on this machine, and Lieutenant Davis will transcribe everything said with her incredible command of shorthand.”

Wing nodded in tandem with Grisha. The captain sat down and glanced at the lieutenant. She opened her tablet on the table and nodded back. He snapped a switch on the machine and it began to hum.

“This is General Vincent Sobolof of the Tlingit Nation Army. I am officiating at a meeting between members of our War Council and delegates from the Dená Republik. I will now have each of these people identify themselves, beginning with our guests.”

Wing waited while Grisha spoke and then she identified herself and stated her rank. While the men around the table spoke, she allowed herself a glow of pride. They were making history here, and despite what happened later, this would be remembered, and matter.

78

Battle of Delta

Magda peered intently where she had seen the Russian troopers fall back. At least the artillery had ceased. The Russians were probably worried about hitting their people. Private Clarence Attla, hunkered down to her right, nudged her.

“Somebody is coming around that rock over there, Magda.” He gestured with his chin and aimed at the spot.

“Could it be our people?” she whispered.

“Ain’t we the right flank?”

“Supposed to be, but you never know who might have gotten off course. Don’t shoot unless I say so.”

“You’re the sergeant,” he whispered through a quick grin.

They both watched the slab of rock. The firing had died down to intermittent shots. They could both clearly hear someone moving slowly through the scree around the base of the rocks.

A head popped up and then down again. Magda glanced at Clarence. He shrugged. The head edged from behind the slab at a different spot.

She realized the person wasn’t attacking; they were trying to make contact or surrender. She shared the thought with Clarence.

“And
how
do you know that?” he asked.

“If they were attacking, they’d just lob a grenade over here and charge in when the thing went off.”

He stared at the slab and scratched his jaw. “That’s good thinking, Magda. I agree.”

“Be ready to shoot anyway.” Her mouth went flat. “It could be a trick.”

“Okay, you take it from here.”

“This is the Dená Army,” she said in a loud voice. “Stick your rifle straight up and ease around that rock if you want to live.”

A rifle speared into the air. “Okay,” a voice called. “Don’t shoot, okay?”

“Okay,” Clarence replied. “Get yer pokey butt over here.”

Magda thought the rifle looked like a California carbine.

“Clarence? Is that
you
?” A man wearing ROC dungarees edged around the slab and moved toward them, keeping low behind the rocks.

“George? What the hell you doing out here? I thought you were still fishing down at Russian Mission. Get over here, man.”

Clarence and George pounded each other’s back and grinned.

“Magda, uh Sergeant—”

“Magda’s just fine,” she said through her smile.

“Uh, this is my cousin, George Hoyt from Russian Mission. I ain’t seen him for years.”

“Hoyt? What kind of a name is that?” she asked.

“My great-grandpa was one of them Moravian missionaries. Great-grandma sorta absorbed him into her way of life.”

“What you doing out here, George?” Her voice went crisper than she intended.

“Yeah. I’m with Major Smolst from Chena and we got a bunch of California rangers and paratroopers with us. Them California guys want to hook up with the people at Refuge and coordinate an attack.”

“That would be us,” Magda said. “Anybody else with you, George?”

“No. Just me.”

“Clarence, you stay here. I’m going to take George to Pelagian.”

“Yes, Sergeant Magda.”

George followed her along their line of soldiers. “You’re a sergeant?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Not at all. It’s just that you’re the prettiest sergeant I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re a flirt, George. It must run in the family.”

Pelagian was suddenly in front of them. “Magda, who’s this?”

“Father, this is George Hoyt from Russian Mission. He’s Clarence’s cousin. He’s also a scout for Major Smolst and the Californians.” She stepped aside.

“George.” Pelagian shook hands with him. “Where are your people?”

George pulled a map from his blouse pocket and spread it on a flat-topped rock. “We’re here, the California rangers are here, and the paratroopers are here.” His finger stopped moving and he looked up at Pelagian. “And you know where you’re at.”

“This is great; we have them hemmed in on three sides. All they can do is retreat toward Tetlin.”

Magda’s radio beeped and she lifted it to her ear as she keyed a response.

“Magda, this is Jerry. I just flew over a column of armor less than ten miles from Delta headed your way—”

“Oh Christ! How are we—”

“Let me finish! It’s an FPN column.”

“FPN?”

“You know, First People’s Nation.”

“I know what the letters mean, but what does it mean that they’re
here
?”

“We are going with the assumption that they are on our side, even if they did put a few holes in my plane.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Not this time. Don’t worry. What is your tactical situation?”

“Here, talk to Dad.” She handed the radio to Pelagian. “It’s Jerry.”

“Captain Yamato, how good to hear your voice!”

Magda watched her father as he listened. When he frowned she knew he had heard “FPN.”

“What are they doing this far north? Have they declared war on Imperial Russia, too? This changes things drastically here, especially for the Russians. We have them enfiladed on three sides and I believe they are low on artillery shells.”

He listened intently again and began shaking his head. “No, no more air strikes. We’re cheek to jowl with them at this point and I would hate to lose our people to friendly fire. Your squadron has done an exemplary job so far and the Dená Republik will never forget your service and sacrifice.”

He handed the radio back to Magda. She put it to her ear and turned away from her father and Private Hoyt.

“Jerry?”

“Yes, Magda?”

“We’re so close to the end of this. Please be careful.”

“I’m a hell of a lot safer than you are, my love. Please watch your step.”

“I will. Dená Scout out.”

“Yamato out.”

She clicked off her radio and turned back to her father. “So what now?”

79

Battle of Delta

“Where is the colonel?” Kubitski demanded.

The corporal hunching behind a destroyed scout car jerked his head up when the lieutenant yelled. The tears running down the man’s face only steeled Kubitski’s resolve.

The corporal swiped his face with a sleeve and pulled himself together. “Over there, sir. No more than thirty meters. They have a bunker of sorts—rocks and machines in a circle.”

“This is nearly over, soldier.”

The lieutenant peered across the space separating him from the colonel. Very little cover to be seen or utilized. Not good.

The battle seemed to ebb, gunfire slackened to brief bursts here and there, but no mass movement. He allowed himself to think it all might be over. Perhaps Colonel Janeki had regained his senses.

“I want a full assault on that damned mountain! We have traitors to execute!” Janeki’s voice rang across the space between them. Kubitski sprinted across the open area, moving his exhausted legs as fast as he could, feeling his heart bursting from his chest and nearly allowing himself to believe he had made it.

The shock of the bullet spun him in a complete circle and knocked him to the ground. Another bullet buzzed past his head as he rolled over and scrambled to his feet. If he stopped here, he was a dead man.

He knew he owed the absence of debilitating pain to shock, and that he couldn’t function much longer. Another bullet clipped his left arm as he hurled himself at the small opening between two tanks. He stumbled and fell between the two machines. His body didn’t want to move any farther; it demanded rest.

“What! My God, it’s Lieutenant Kubitski!” Janeki shouted. “Help him! Get him a medic!”

Kubitski felt he was peering out of a deep well. Darkness had closed in on his vision and in the cone of remaining clarity stood Colonel Janeki. He forced himself to raise his wounded left arm and beckon his commander closer.

Janeki rushed to his side and bent over. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“Deliverance!” Kubitski grated in a sand-filled voice and, lifting the pistol in his right hand, he shot the colonel through the brain. All went dark, but it was a good dark.

80

Battle of Delta

Major Smolst squirmed up beside Colonel Buhrman. “Just got word from Pelagian; blow a loud whistle twice and everybody charges the Russians.”

“Thanks, Heinrich.” He pulled a whistle from his blouse and blew two long blasts, put it back in his pocket and bellowed, “Charge!”

He was on his feet and running as fast as he could toward the Russians. Bullets whined past and he threw himself behind a medium-sized boulder. A quick glance around renewed his confidence; all of the California and Dená troops were advancing and firing like demons.

Colonel Buhrman pushed himself up and continued his headlong charge. He saw people moving down the mountain toward the other Russian flank. The roar of gunfire rose to a crescendo and began to ebb as some units engaged in hand-to-hand fighting. Russians were retreating to the mass of vehicles, some of which were burning brightly.

Smoke, cordite, feces, blood, sap, and diesel exhaust all assailed his nose. He couldn’t remember being in a fight more fierce than this one. He glanced around at his people again.

He watched Lieutenant Colonel Coffey slam into an invisible wall, spin and drop.

Aw damn, not Joe, not now!

Russian fire picked up again: time for a reassessment. He blew the whistle again and bellowed, “Take cover!”

The Californians and Dená went to ground in one fluid movement.