Alaska Republik-ARC (22 page)

“Yes,” said General Myslosovich, feeling an intense headache explode between his eyes. “We have been fighting our own people.”

The major strode up to them and snapped to attention.

“In the name of Lieutenant Colonel Samedi Janeki of the Imperial Russian Army, I demand your immediate surrender.”

“Christ, man!” General Myslosovich shrilled. “We
are
the Russian Army!”

50

Fort Yukon, Dená Republik

“Lieutenant Yamato, I don’t think it’s advisable for you to fly,” Lieutenant Colonel James Burton said.

“You’re the flight surgeon. You can order me not to go up, but if it’s my decision, I’m on my way.”

“Your wound is as good as it can be; the stitches make a big difference. I think you could use some more rest, but your responses are fine and I know you have more investment in this war than others.”

“And I told them I’d be back with modern aircraft.”

“That’s a beautiful bird you brought in. The mechanics are treating it like royalty.”

“They know quality when they see it, sir.”

“Okay, you’re back on the flight list. I’ll call Major Shipley and tell him you’re cleared.”

“Thank you, Colonel Burton.” With a salute Jerry was out the door and hurrying toward the flight line. He entered the Operations Building next to the hangar.

A sergeant in ROC uniform looked up from the front desk.

“May I help you, Lieutenant?”

“I need a plane.”

“Your name, sir?”

“First Lieutenant Gerald Yamato, 117th Fighter Squadron, ROC.”

“You were shot down out there in the wilderness, right, sir?”

“Yeah, I sure as hell was.”

“Through that door, Lieutenant Yamato”—the sergeant pointed—“you’ll find the Operations officer. He has all the planes. Glad you made it, sir.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. I’m glad I made it, too.”

He pushed through the door where a corporal glanced up from a typewriter. “Hi, Lieutenant Yamato, welcome back.”

“Corporal Anderson, it’s good to see you.” Jerry immediately turned his attention to the Flight Status Board. “Wow, we have seven operational birds and all of them are on the ground?”

“We’ve been ordered to stand down, Jerry,” Major Shipley said, coming out of his office. Captain Kirby and Lieutenant Currie trailed him.

Jerry snapped to attention and saluted his commanding officer. “Congratulations on your promotion, sir. Good to see you.”

Shipley returned the salute. “Thanks, but I’d rather still be the XO and have Major Hurley back. You’ve done a hell of a fine job, Lieutenant, or should I say, Captain?”

“Major?”

“Actually that’s wrong too. I received a message from Sacramento this morning promoting the entire squadron to the next rank. It seems we benefited from some good press over our battle with the Russian armored column.”

“That’s because there weren’t any reporters there,” Captain Kirby said.

When they finished laughing, Jerry asked, “So is the war over?”

“Not that I’ve heard. This morning we had orders from Dená Southern Command to stand down for the day, no reasons why, but then we’re just a bunch of fighter jockeys, right?”

“Maj— Colonel Shipley, I have obligations which require the use of a P-61.”

“You have military obligations beyond this squadron?”

“I told them at Delta that I’d be back with a modern aircraft and help them in the fight that’s imminent.”

“When you were debriefed upon your return last night, all the information was sent to DSC. Their orders as of this morning were quite explicit.”

“May I have your permission to contact their intelligence people? Perhaps they didn’t fully understand?”

“I have no objection,” Lieutenant Colonel Shipley said. “We would all rather be flying.”

They all followed Yamato into the radio room. Sergeant Reddy looked up from his lurid paperback and pulled his headset off.

“Traffic seems to be pretty quiet, Major Shipley. Lieutenant Yamato, welcome back!”

With a nod at Shipley, Jerry said, “Can you connect me to the Dená Southern Command?”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant Yamato.” Sergeant Reddy repositioned his headset and turned a dial. “Chena One, Chena One, this is Cal Squadron one-one-seven, do you read?”

Jerry found himself holding his breath. There had to be a way around the ordered stand down: the woman he loved faced great danger and he had to do what he promised.

“Jimmy, that you?” the sergeant said. “Yeah, it’s Bob Reddy, good to hear you again.”

Jerry felt impatient. Hell, Magda was more military than this!

“Jimmy, listen, I have a lieutenant here who wants to contact your people. No, I don’t know which ones, but I’m going to put him on, okay?”

Sergeant Reddy tore off the headset and motioned for Jerry to approach.

“C’mere, Lieutenant Yamato. Here put these on, yeah, that’s right. Okay, this is Jimmy Sunnyboy you’re talking to, he’s with the Dená Southern Command.”

Sergeant Reddy slid from behind his desk and motioned for him to sit. Jerry put the headset on and grabbed the microphone.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?”

“Who is in charge there?”

“Here in the radio room or on the base?”

“The commander, over everybody.”

“Oh, that would be General Grigorievich.”

“I need to talk to him.”

Jimmy Sunnyboy laughed. “That’s not easy to arrange, Lieutenant. Would you care to tell me why you want to speak to the general?”

“I just flew in from St. Anthony Redoubt in an antique aircraft. The combined Dená and Russian defenders are facing three Russian armored columns. Our people, your people, are holed up in the rocks waiting for the attack.”

“Yeah?”

“And I told them when I left that I’d be back with planes and fighters, to help them survive the Russian attack.”

“Whattya want from us?”

“We got the word to stand down from you people! We need to be attacking, not sitting on our butts in the officers’ mess!”

“What’s your name, Lieutenant?”

“Actually it’s Captain Gerald Yamato. I just got promoted.”

“Congratulations, sir. I’ll be right back.”

The carrier wave collapsed into hash and Jerry glanced around at the other officers. They all stared at him. He concentrated on the heavy metallic-acrid odor of vacuum tubes and electricity that always registered in his mind as “radio.”

“You there. Captain Yamato?” Jimmy sounded out of breath.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Okay, I’m putting on General Paul Eluska. He’s in charge of the whole army while General Grigorievich is away.”

“Thank you, Jimmy.”

“What’s the story, Captain?” the voice carried authority, interest, and empathy.

“General, this might take a few minutes.” Jerry launched into the tale of his journey from the air base outside Sacramento, Republic of California, to Delta, Alaska. He left nothing out and ended with “…and the woman I love expects me to return with at least one modern aircraft to help turn the tide.”

“You have a hell of a gift for story telling, Captain Yamato. Our governing council is negotiating with the Czar through the British. All involved parties were supposed to stand down. From what you’re telling me, the Russians are trying to pull another fast one on us.”

Jerry glanced up at the other pilots; they were hanging on the general’s words as much as he was.

“You have our leave and our blessings. Go get the bastards!”

“Thank you, General! I gotta go now.”

Jerry ripped off the headset and tossed it to Sergeant Reddy.

“Make apologies for me, okay?” He raced out the door behind the other pilots.

The Ops sergeant had already hit the klaxon and a high-pitched warble pierced the air outside the building.

“Captain Yamato,” the sergeant shouted, “You’ve got zero-three-four, okay?”

Jerry gave him a thumbs-up as he raced through the door.

51

Delta, Russian Amerika

“General Myslosovich, Colonel Janeki, this is Corporal Cliper,” Major Riordan hesitated for a moment before continuing. “He is an Athabascan from this area. I have used his knowledge to good effect in the past.”

“You’re a turncoat,” Colonel Janeki said.

“I am a realist, Colonel,” Cliper said. “It does not take a genius to see which side is going to lose this conflict.”

“I like this man,” General Myslosovich said with a wide grin. “He knows of which he speaks!”

“Where are the people who live here?” Janeki asked.

Cliper’s eyes took on a haunted cast.

“I don’t know. I was here for three weeks about a month and a half ago. I come from far upriver and they would talk to me but there were times when I knew they were lying.”

“So far he has no knowledge,” Janeki said, staring at Riordan.

Riordan didn’t respond. This young Russian lieutenant colonel wanted him as a trophy; he’d known it from the first moment they met. Riordan struggled to keep his face impassive: just when he’d had Myslosovich’s command in his hands!

“I asked them what would happen if the Russians attacked them,” Cliper continued.

Riordan tried not to show his contempt for the spare, balding Indian. He recognized him for a man who thought himself adept at manipulating others. Using him as a foil against Janeki might not work.

“They said they would take refuge in St. Anthony Redoubt.”

“If they were attacked by Russians, they would go to Russians for protection?” Janeki asked, eyes wide in mock incredulity.

“That’s what they said, Colonel.”

“I hope you didn’t pay him much,” Janeki said to Riordan. “His information is as worthless as he is.”

“He knew all about the magic woman, and her husband, the great warrior.”

“And this helped you in what manner?”

“We knew who they were when we captured them,” Riordan said sharply, instantly regretting enlarging the incident.

“So produce these people. I would speak with them.”

“They escaped.”

“I hope you had the guards summarily shot,” Janeki said in a pompous tone.

Riordan glanced around the circle of men. Janeki had three armed men present. He suddenly realized the colonel was trying to provoke him, get him to do something stupid, and then kill him.

A male version of Bodecia,
he thought wryly.

“We were all too busy fighting for our lives when it happened. The DSM ambush was cleverly laid and perfectly executed. I caution you to put nothing beyond their means.”

“Well,” Janeki said, his eyes wetly condescending while fastening fast on Riordan, “we’re a bit more than a band of bandits, aren’t we?”

Timothy Riordan had to reach deep down inside himself to his core of discipline to not tear this bastard’s heart out with his teeth. He refused to give the son of a bitch the satisfaction of visible anger. Willing his eyes to be as bland as a monsignor at a baptism, he looked back at the Russian colonel.

“Well, sir, if your army of bandits can accomplish more, I’ll applaud all of you.”

“We fight for the Czar, for the flag of Imperial Russia,” Janeki said with gravel in his voice. “If you insult this command again, I’ll have you shot.”

“No offense intended,” Riordan let his eyes laugh at the man. “But if you try that, you’ll need your entire army.”

“Gentlemen!” Myslosovich said. “Please save your anger for the enemy. We need everyone we have to assure victory over the damned Dená.”

“Anger, General?” Riordan said with a wide grin. “No such thing. The good colonel here and I are just establishing our bonafides, as my sainted father used to say.”

Janeki visibly stifled a retort. Glancing around at the horizon, he called, “Sergeant Malute,” then held General Myslosovich with his gaze. “I have an expert tracker from Kamchatka; he can follow your dreams. He will find our missing traitors and their DSM accomplices, and we will hang them all.”

A small, bandy-legged man ran up, stopped at quivering attention, and saluted the colonel. “Sir?”

“I want to know where the villagers went.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

52

RCNS
Mako

Village of Kilsnoo, Admiralty Island, Russian Amerika

“Up periscope,” Captain Vandenberg ordered.

He snapped down the control arms as the massive tube rose from its well and was peering through the lenses before the scope finished its ascent. He slowly went in a full circle before he relaxed and turned to the others on the small bridge deck.

“Well, no welcoming committee that I can see. Our security must be good.” His grin couldn’t disguise the tension in his eyes.

“Was someone to meet us in a boat?” Wing asked.

“No, Colonel, not at all. We’re actually going to tie up to a pier for all of five minutes while you folks disembark. I was just worried that word had slipped out about our visit.”

“Are all of your missions like this?” Grisha asked.

“Pretty much, General. This is one profession where paranoia is part of the job description.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Excuse me, General, I’ve got to get you delivered.” He turned away and shouted, “Chief of the Boat, make ready to surface!”

The chief was no more than six feet away. He shouted back, “Aye, aye, Captain! All hands prepare to surface!”

Activity quickened all through the submarine and Grisha and Wing watched it all with wide eyes and total lack of understanding as the vessel made sounds different than anything they had heard before. The deck tilted upward slightly. Sergeant Major Tobias eased up next to them.

“Never in my life did I think I would find myself in one of these things,” he muttered.

“Seems to work pretty good from what I’ve seen,” Grisha replied.

“Give me the open air,” Wing said. “I need to
see
my enemy.”

“I concur, Colonel,” Tobias said.

“Bridge watch to stations, line handling party to stations,” Vandenberg ordered. The submarine began to slowly rock from side to side.

Men raced up the ladder to the conning tower, threw open the hatch and disappeared through a shower of seawater. A sailor carrying heavy jackets appeared next to them.

“Compliments of the California Navy. You folks will need these foul weather jackets, the weather out there is pretty nasty.”