Alaska Republik-ARC (3 page)

His heart hammered and Jerry found it difficult to swallow. Heat suffused the entire universe and he tried not to think about water. Suddenly he ran out of the downed willows and stopped. With his mouth hanging open, he desperately listened for any sound beyond the bluish-green leaves screening him from the threat beyond.

The rattle of a machine gun belt carried through the dusty air. Jerry decided the gunner was reloading. He sat back on his haunches and rose to his feet, hunched over and terrified. He decided it was now or never.

He charged through the willows and into the open.

2

90 miles east of St. Anthony Redoubt

For at least the thousandth time, Lieutenant Colonel Samedi Janeki wished the Imperial Russian Army would line tank hatches with rubber or something softer than steel. His kidneys were taking a beating as the Imperial 5th Armored rumbled toward Chena Redoubt from Tetlin Redoubt.

The Russian Amerika Company could certainly profit by making the Russia-Canada Highway more travel friendly. The smallest stone in the semi-packed surface looked larger than his fist. But then his column of 30 tanks, 15 trucks and assorted other vehicles were tearing along at 15 kph, which made it impossible for his driver to avoid the larger rocks.

As his Zukhov jarred over yet another small boulder, his radioman broke in on his comm channel.

“Colonel, communication from St. Nicholas Redoubt!”

“Patch it in, Kerenski.” A click transferred him to a different frequency. “This is Lieutenant Colonel Janeki of the 5th Armored.”

“Janeki,” the voice came through scratchy, “this is Skalovich.”

“Georgi, my friend, how are you?” They had been friends for over twenty years and Georgi, a full colonel, now sat behind an impressive desk in St. Nicholas Redoubt as deputy commander of Northern Land Forces in Russian Amerika. Georgi would get a star before Janeki did.

“My health is good, thank you, Samedi. But I must make you aware of bad news.”

“I’m being replaced?”

Colonel Skalovich forced a laugh. “No, nothing like that. In fact at the moment you are irreplaceable. Lazarev and the Flash Division have been destroyed crossing the Alaska Range.”

“Destroyed, by whom?”

“The Republic of California Air Force.” Janeki could hear the disgust in his friend’s voice. “They’ve also cut the road. Now everything must go through Tetlin first.”

“Don’t worry, Georgi, the 5th Armored can handle the mission.”

“I am not finished with bad news, Samedi. Tetlin Redoubt is under armored attack from the east.”

“California again?”

“No, the First People’s Nation. They have taken the British Army out of the war and are hitting Tetlin with at least three dozen tanks. You took all our armor with you, didn’t you?”

“As ordered,” Janeki said, angry that his voice had tightened along with his jaw.

“I know those were your orders, I issued them. This FPN thing caught us flat-footed. We do have artillery and infantry there, and they are offering a stiff resistance.”

Janeki instantly felt mollified. “Do you want me to stop my advance and return to Tetlin, Colonel?”

“No. You should be linking up with your old mentor Myslosovich within twenty-four hours. He has lost his ass at Chena and will be full of doom and gloom. Turn him around and hit Chena again, we need to be as deep into Dená territory as possible when the cease-fire order comes down.”

“Cease-fire order? Why would they do that, we’re just getting started in this wasteland. Only a small fraction of the army has been committed to stop this piddling revolt.”

“It’s not common knowledge yet. Imperial Command is trying to pull its fat out of the fire, but most of the Pacific Fleet went to the bottom day before yesterday, courtesy of the Republic of California Navy.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Janeki breathed into the microphone.

“It gets worse, Samedi. No sooner than the diplomats asked for peace terms, the Japanese Navy started shelling Naval Base Kodiak.”

“The Japanese?” Janeki shouted. “Where the hell did they come from?”

“It seems the Kolosh are pulling the same crap on us the Dená did. Only they asked the Japanese for military aid rather than the USA or the ROC.”

“Who
isn’t
up here messing in our internal affairs?”

“As near as we can figure, the CSA, Republic of Texas, and Deseret.”

“Well that’s a damned relief, no religious zealots to worry about!”

“I don’t think the Mormons have an army as such.”

“Mormons? I was speaking of the Confederacy, wild-eyed Protestants to the last man.”

Colonel Skalovich’s laugh was genuine this time. “I’m glad you still have your sense of humor, my friend, because you’re going to need it.”

“Any idea when this cease-fire order will come down from on high?”

“No. We know the Baltic Fleet has steamed east to help, but we don’t know if they will be in time to make a difference. In my opinion, high command has put Alaska further down the list of important things to think about. I think they’re worried about Mother Russia’s east coast with the Japanese threat.”

“So we are fighting a lost cause, Georgi?”

“Perhaps, Samedi, perhaps.”

“Not if I can help it, old friend!”

3

Tanana Hospital, Dená Republik

“What is the status of our army, General Eluska?” General Grisha Grigorievich, commanding general of the fledgling Dená Republik Army asked impatiently from his hospital bed.

Paul Eluska flashed a shy grin and then settled back into his new role.

“Sorry about your leg, Grisha. I sent them California paratroopers under Colonel Buhrman and Major Smolst with a platoon of our guys after the retreating Russians. Between ’em they got about two hundred men. Then Colonel Jackson showed up with his California Rangers, another two hundred men, and I told him to go find Colonel Buhrman’s group and help out.”

“Are the Russians still fighting or just getting the hell out of Huslia?”

“They ain’t nowhere near Huslia, Grisha,” Paul said with a frown. “They’re headed for Delta.”

“I’m just trying to be funny or something, can’t do much else with this leg all trussed up. What’s in Delta?”

“That’s where St. Anthony Redoubt is, with a small Russian garrison that’s never seen combat yet, all fresh and ready to go.”

“Any idea how many?”

“Last I heard from Doyon Williams, right at a hundred.”

“What kind of armor?

“I think they got three tanks, a couple small cannons and a helicopter. They just guard the RustyCan Highway, Grisha, and provide a place to stay for traveling Russian big shots.”

Colonel Wing Grigorievich cleared her throat and put her hand on her husband’s arm. “General Eluska, have we any information on Russian movements south of Delta?”

“All we know is what Grisha’s flight spotted on the way to Chena. The FPN Army is headed north, and there was a column of tanks and other vehicles ahead of them. I think it’s safe to say they’re Russian.”

“That was two days ago. I thought the Russians had asked for terms,” Grisha snapped, frowning at his broken leg.

“St. Petersburg did ask for terms.” Wing cleared her throat and continued, “But their army has yet to wave any white flags or show signs of stopping. They’re probably trying to gain as much territory as they can.”

A knock sounded on the closed door.

“General Grigorievich?” Sergeant Major Nelson Tobias’ voice came through the door at a respectful level in cadence with the rap of his knuckles.

“Please come in, Sergeant Major,” Grisha said.

Tobias pushed open the hospital door and stepped inside, barely, before straightening to attention. “We have priority messages from the USA and the ROC commands.”

“What do they say?” Colonel Wing Grigorievich asked. She put her hand on her husband’s bed and the general covered it with his.

“The ROC has sent her fleet north into the Gulf of Alaska which includes air support.”

“And the USA?” Grisha asked.

“Claims one of their submarines sank a Russian destroyer in Clarence Strait, in the Russian portion of the Inside Passage.”

The fifth person in the room broke his silence, “It seems our people are going to get the aid they requested.”

Grisha smiled at his cousin, Captain Pietr Chernikoff, of the Tlingit Nation Army.

“Whatever happens, Pietr, our old world is gone forever.”

“Do you really think it can get worse than it was, Grisha?”

“I don’t know. Ask me a year from now.”

“There’s one more thing, General,” Sergeant Major Tobias said, his mouth working as if he smelled something unpleasant.

“Yes?”

“The Imperial Japanese Fleet shelled and effectively destroyed the Imperial Russian naval base at Kodiak at 0200. Imperial Russia has declared war on the Imperial Japanese Empire.”

“My God!” Grisha blurted.

“That’s insane!” Wing said.

“That was not supposed to happen!” Pietr’s tone carried anger.

“What do you mean by that?” Grisha snapped.

“We asked them to posture, nothing more.” Pietr’s face had gone as pale as possible. “They would demonstrate and then leave. We were sure we could get the Russians to back down.”

“You made a treaty with the
Japanese
?” Grisha felt stunned and terrified at the same time.

“At the time we felt we had no other choice…” Pietr’s voice trailed away.

“Now that’s what’s insane!” Wing said. “Did you leave any soft spots in your treaty’s perimeter? Some place they could break through with impunity if it served their purpose?”

Pietr’s face flushed and he opened his mouth to respond, eyes dark and brow constricted. But he held his tongue long enough to digest her words. His mouth snapped shut and the frown lost contour and dissipated.

“Perhaps,” he said and his face reddened further. “I would need to revisit what I urged to be signed.”

“Can you rescind the treaty?” Grisha asked.

“Unlikely, cousin.”

“So we potentially have a new war to consider.”

“Grisha!” Wing blurted. “We have no navy, we barely have an army. The Japanese have both in numbers we can’t defeat.”

“She’s got a couple of good points there, Grisha,” Paul Eluska said.

“But we have allies, no?” Grisha searched all their faces but found no answer.

“Japan has a
huge
navy,” Wing said in a gentle voice.

“I must get in contact with my brother Paul,” Pietr said. “As soon as possible.”

“I’ll introduce you to our communications people,” Wing said. “Follow me.”

4

40 miles northwest of Delta

Captain Joe Coffey of Easy Company, 3rd Parachute Infantry Regiment, Republic of California Army, hustled through the woods and dropped next to his commanding officer. “They aren’t doing much rear guardwise, Del, uh, Colonel Buhrman.”

“You’re out of shape, Joe,” the colonel said with a wide grin only partially covered by his walrus mustache. “How far ahead are they?”

“No more’n half a click, shit, I couldn’t run farther than that.”

“Do they know we’re back here?”

“Don’t think so. They seem more worried about what’s in front of them. They don’t act like an army in full retreat.”

“Good. But if they figure out we’re back here, it could get hairy and damn fast. Nothing like a cornered rat for a real fight.”

“Kinda reminds me of that Spanish fight over in the Arizona no-man’s land. Remember that?”

“How the hell could I forget it?” Colonel Buhrman said with a snort. “Only time I’ve ever been suckered, and by the sheep-humping Spanish at that!”

“But we kicked their asses,” Captain Coffey said through his grin.

“And we lost four good men because we weren’t paying attention.”

Coffey’s smile evaporated. “Yeah, that’s right. Better keep our act together on this one, huh?”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself. Where do they have their tanks?”

“Way forward. You’d think they were attacking instead of retreating.”

“I’ve come to the conclusion that General Myslosovich likes to kid himself. He never retreats, only attacks. That suggests he’s vain and can be bullshitted. Good thing to know about your enemy.”

“Sometimes you scare me, Colonel Buhrman.”

“I must be losing my edge, used to be you were in constant terror of me.” He grinned again.

Joe laughed. He and Del had gone through the Presidio together. The officers the Republic of California Military Academy provided could more than match anything offered by West Point, VMI, TMI, or Sandhurst.

It had taken Joe Coffey nine long years to make captain; marginal peacetime was hell for a soldier. But Del had made colonel in the same amount of time. Joe felt no envy; Del was the smartest man he had ever met. Give him another five years and he’d have stars on his shoulders, no doubt about it.

“Constant terror? Naw. Worried that we might not live through your latest adventure, maybe. You always pull us through and I’ll take that to the bank.”

“As if you ever had anything left over to put in a bank!” Colonel Buhrman was still grinning.

5

63 miles south of Delta

Rudi could make out the hulking armored personnel carrier through the light screen of willows. He aimed toward the machine and waited for movement. Moments before he had heard the death cry of the Oriental-Californian pilot.

Despite his self-avowal not to dwell on it until later, Jerry’s face flashed through his mind. He was beginning to like that boy, even if he was a goddamned first lieutenant. Now this pustule-infested, borscht-eating, lice-picking, mouth-breathing, self-abusing son of a bitch in front of him had ended Jerry’s life.

Rudi tried to maintain his sergeant’s distance. Something clinked and he focused. Another clink.

The whoreson was reloading his heavy machine gun. He painfully pulled himself to his feet and stepped as quickly as he could through the willows.

The corporal behind the twin 9mm machine guns jerked his head up in surprise and quickly brought the muzzle around to bear on Rudi. A burst of automatic fire blossomed a row of blood roses across the corporal’s chest and toppled him lifelessly over the edge of the gun tub onto the mud-scarred trail.