Russian Amerika (34 page)

"The long answer, if you're interested, is this."

They abruptly went silent.

"In 1979, at the Battle of Bou Saada in French Algeria, then Major Grigorievich defied the orders of his commanding officer by commencing an orderly retreat rather than attack an impregnable position held by forces outnumbering his command three to one. The colonel, Major Grigorievich's commanding officer, held a pistol to the major's head and ordered him to attack the enemy."

Smolst shook his head and sipped his drink. "Imagine a large, thin loaf of rock, thirty meters high. Then add five more loaves of rock, each half again higher, one behind the other. Now add nearly a thousand heavily armed Algerians evenly dispersed through those loaves of rock.

"There is dust, and the sun is hot enough to boil your brains. I forgot to mention that the major and his men had been fighting up this miserable ridge for over seven days, were running out of water and ammunition, and had already taken thirty percent casualties. But as long as he led, they followed."

Every person in the room stared at him, completely mesmerized. Most had stopped drinking as they waited for his words. He smiled and continued.

"The colonel, a man who had spent his thirty years service behind desks from St. Nicholas to St. Petersburg and had wrangled a combat command to fill out his vanity-oriented career, ordered Major Grigorievich to take those ridges. He shouted the orders from a hundred meters distance, couldn't even face Grisha. The major crawled through heavy enemy fire to face the colonel and beg him to change his mind.

"The major was fortunate that his sergeant major followed. For when the major faced the colonel, the colonel pulled his side arm and pointed it at the major's head. 'Order your men to attack or I'll shoot you for mutiny on the spot,' he screamed."

Smolst glanced around. From their faces he could tell this was news to all of them, even Captain Danilov, who had been there. He also knew he was creating the seed of a legend here, but the Dená Army needed it. Besides, he was greatly enjoying himself.

"And?" Lieutenant Demientieff said.

"Major Grigorievich refused the order, said it was madness and he would not send his men to certain death. The colonel had lost control hours before and was now close to insane. When he started to pull the pistol trigger, the sergeant major shot him. Since they were all in the midst of battle, nobody knew where the shot originated, but they all saw it end in the colonel's head.

"Major Grigorievich was now in command and ordered his men to commence a fighting retreat. He saved their lives," Heinrich had to stop and swallow,

"and the Imperial Army court-martialed him for disobeying orders. The bastards should have given him the Alexander Cross."

"You were there, Major?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, I was there. That was when I knew I would someday repay the Czar and his Imperial Army full price and when they least needed it. I have the Dená people to thank for the opportunity."

They burst into applause. He knew a Dená appreciated a good story as well as the next person.

"Let me buy you a drink!" he shouted. The party resumed and a line formed at the two kegs of beer.

"If I may, Major?" Lieutenant Demientieff asked.

"May what?"

"Ask what your rank was at the Battle of Bou Saada?"

"Of course you may." He winked at her. "I was a sergeant major."

59

Klahosta, on the Yukon River

"The Dená Army has destroyed or captured two Russian tank groups, knocked down almost every Russian aircraft they've encountered, except for bombers, and more people are joining their side." Georg Hepner leaned on the counter separating the two men.

"Where's the Russian Army?" Kurt Bachmann demanded. "The real Russian Army?"

Hepner laughed. "I need something to drink, I've come a long way. Part of the army is massing on the Siberian side of Czar Nicholas Bridge, part is landing in St. Nicholas, and one wing of the Imperial Air Force and a tank battalion are staging out of Tetlin. The rest of the Russian military is beefing up their borders with other European and Asian countries."

Bachmann sat a bottle of vodka and two glasses on the counter of his store and again sat on his stool. "So everything the Russians have in Alaska is around the edges of Dená country, nothing here in the center?"

Hepner filled his glass and drank half. "I haven't been everywhere, so I can't swear there aren't Russian elements inside the country. But I'm good at asking the right questions and hearing what I need to know, and if the Russians have troops inside Alaska, they're well hidden."

"I didn't think the damned Indians could get this far," Bachmann said, sipping from his glass. "Did you find the Freekorps?"

"That's what you paid me to do, that's what I did."

"Where are they?"

"Just across the BC border. But that's only, what, a hundred and fifty men?"

Bachmann grinned. "A hundred and fifty accomplished, well trained soldiers right here could make a very large difference." He smacked the bar top with his doubled fist.

Someone rattled the door.

"If the door's locked it means we're closed!" Bachmann bellowed. "Come back tomorrow."

"Must be nice to own your own town," Hepner said.

"There's a lot of responsibility," Bachmann said. "Keep the Cossacks paid off. Keep goods on the shelves. Make sure the damned Indians don't go upriver to Tanana or down to Melosi to sell their game, furs, and crops."

"But still, you're like the king of Klahotsa. You got them all too scared to crap without your say-so." Hepner grinned and tossed back the rest of his drink. He reached for the bottle but Bachmann had already returned it to the shelf behind him.

"I want you to get a good night's rest. First thing in the morning you get back in your boat and go find Major Riordan and his Freekorps. Tell him I want to hire his boys for at least three months, and the sooner they can get here, the better."

"They're at least five days away, and they have vehicles, not boats."

"That's their problem. There is a road out there they can take, if they're tough enough to get through the Dená."

"I don't think the Russians will be too keen on them using it, either."

"Have them tell the Russian commanders that they're working for me, the Russians will let them through."

"This could take some time."

Bachmann smiled. "As long as they arrive in time."_

60

Chena Redoubt

Three weeks inched by unattended by conflict. The sudden absence of the enemy proved more worrisome than coping with solitary fighters or squadrons of gunships. Grisha sent out more and more scouts, posted double sentries, constantly anticipating the sudden appearance of another Russian armored column or more camouflaged ground troops.

Where were the Russians? Grisha wondered, reading the pamphlets the Dená propaganda department printed by the bale.

The Dená Army constantly worked on rebuilding Chena Redoubt. More recruits drifted in to be turned into soldiers and the bitter truth of February softened into the false promises of March.

Bodies recovered from the broken redoubt were placed in an unheated building to wait for thawed ground later in the year. For three weeks, four men worked from dawn to dusk building coffins. Unless hers was one of the unidentifiable charred bodies, Valari Kominskiya did not number among the dead.

Grisha chafed and worried at the interminable waiting. "Anything from the diplomatic front?" he asked Wing for the third time that morning.

"Same as yesterday-the Czar's representative insists this is an internal matter for Russia to settle, and the NATO countries are saying it's a revolution. We should be thankful that the Yanks, the First People's Nation, and the Californians have such an independence-minded history."

"There's more to it than their history," Grisha said, "I'll give you odds on that."

A truck roared up next to the building and labored in unmuffled cacophony for a long moment before shutting down. Doors slammed and Wing smiled over at Grisha. "I think we've got company."

The door to the outer office slammed and a loud indistinct voice could be heard through the wall. Knuckles rapped briskly on the office door and Sergeant Major Tobias appeared.

"There's a woman here to see you, colonel. She says to tell you she's blue." His eyebrows arched for a moment in disbelief and he whispered, "But she's no more blue than I am, sir. Should I call the guard?"

Grisha and Wing burst into laughter and the sergeant frowned. Describing himself as a "clerical mercenary," Sergeant Major Nelson Tobias had appeared at the front gate of Chena Redoubt a week before. With his expert assistance they put order to the command structure and the sergeant major became gatekeeper for both Wing and Grisha. The man was a military treasure but knew nothing about the Dená Republik or the Council.

"Her name is Blue Bostonman," Grisha said once he could speak again.

"Do show her in, and treat her as if she were a general."

With a muttered, "Very good, sir," he disappeared and moments later Blue hurried through the door.

"Where did you get him?"

"Where do we get any of them?" Wing said, crossing the room and hugging the older woman. "How are you?"

"Tired." She glanced at Grisha. "And the bearer of news."

"Good or bad?" Wing asked.

"Both. What do you want to hear first?"

"Bad news first," Grisha said, coming to his feet.

"You've been accused of war crimes by the Imperial Army. Armistice negotiations have broken down in San Francisco. The Russians refuse to continue until you are produced to answer their charges, or you're relieved of command and imprisoned by us."

"War crimes! What war crimes?"

"You're accused of throwing a Russian major, a woman yet, out into minus sixty degrees without clothing." Blue measured him with her eyes.

"Claude maintains that you wouldn't do such a thing but we need you to go south, immediately."

"It happened," Grisha said softly and sat down in his chair. "But I didn't do it."

"Benny Jackson did it," Wing said flatly. "I was there."

"That's true," Grisha said. "I wanted to just kill her and get it over with. They want me to go south?"

Blue nodded. "The Californians are sending an aircraft for you."

"What does the council say about it?"

"The war seems to be in a hiatus while the negotiations proceed. We're eager for a resolution and a treaty. We feel very close to victory. There's a lot of pressure being generated in Europe and even Imperial Japanese warships have been sighted off Kodiak Island."

"It stinks," Wing said flatly. "There's more to this than meets the eye."

"I asked the council to let me be the messenger. We figure no more than three days down there should do it. Think of it as a vacation, Grisha."

"Am I being put on trial?"

"You're to answer questions put to you by a panel of representatives. Two representatives from each member nation of the North American Treaty Organization as well as Imperial Russia and the Dená Republik. They have no true authority over you, this is all politics and propaganda. Smoke and mirrors."

"Some vacation," Wing muttered.

"You need to come back to Tanana with me. They're going to pick you up in the morning. We'll have to drive all night."

Grisha felt his resolve waver. All of his instincts screamed in alarm but he could see no alternative. "I will obey the council's wishes."

"Grisha!" Wing moved between him and Blue. "Didn't you hear me? This stinks, dammit. There's something going on that they haven't told us."

"Who is they?" Blue said, sudden ice in her voice.

Wing swung around to face her. "This smells like a sacrifice to me. There are at least five witnesses still alive who could tell them that Grisha wasn't the one who threw that bitch out into the cold. Has anyone asked the Californians about it? Has anyone asked Captain Jackson about it?"

"He's a colonel now," Blue snapped. "This is a delicate political situation. We have to give every indication of complying with the wishes of the NATO countries in order to maintain their backing, the ones we have, that is. We're dead without them, don't you see that?"

"All I see is that Grisha didn't do what he's accused of, that he's doing a hell of a job and he's needed right here until this whole thing is finished once and for all."

"I have orders"-Blue tapped her pocket-"for Grisha to return to Tanana with me immediately. If you wish to question the council's intelligence I suggest you accompany us back to Tanana. But one way or another, Grisha is going with me."

"What do you mean, 'one way or another'?" Grisha asked.

"This wasn't my idea," Blue said. "But they sent a squad with me as security and escort."

"A squad!" Wing shrilled. "Do you realize this garrison would die for him if asked?"

"Yes." Blue seemed on the verge of tears. "So please don't push it."

"Am I under arrest?" Grisha asked quietly.

"No. We'd never go that far. But we need you to go south and talk to these people, Grisha. Will you please do that?"

"Didn't I tell you once that I'd do anything for the Dená Republik? Let me collect my things."

"You said something about good news?" Wing said.

"Malagni!" Blue shouted.

The big man pushed through the door. The absence of his right arm in no way diminished him. He grinned fiercely.

"Two of my most favorite people in the world. Things must be tough to make you a colonel. But I have to tell you, your little ambush out there on the RustyCan really impressed me. That fancy-ass colonel your guys captured is a cousin of the Czar, and he's blabbing his ass off."

Grisha and Wing embraced him, patted his back. Wing reached up and kissed his cheek. "We were so worried about you." Grisha stepped back, looked up into the man's face. "Are you returning to duty?"

Malagni glanced at Blue. "You didn't tell them?"

"Not all of it."

He turned back to the others. "They made me a lieutenant colonel. I'm taking over Southern Command until you come back, Grisha. That okay with you?"