Russian Amerika ra-1

by Stoney Compton

  “You guys are more than you’re saying, aren’t you?” Grisha said casually.

  “Isn’t everybody?” Jimmy said with a snort. “Hand me that wrench.”

  As he pondered the man’s words, Grisha became aware of a pulsing in his ears.

  “Helicopter!”

  Jimmy lifted his head sharply and listened. “Yeah. About two klicks away, wouldn’t you say?”

  “But just one.” Grisha frowned up at the brittle stars. “Why would they have just one helicopter up this time of night?”

  “Reconnaissance,” Jimmy muttered to himself. “That’s the only reason I’d have a bird up in this deep freeze!”

  “You’re right. Are we done here?”

  “Just about. Hold this cable up so I can hardwire this thing.”

  The sound of the helicopter receded.

  “You got people out there?” Jimmy asked. “Patrols and all that?”

  “I think that’s where Slayer-of-Men went when he found out about his brother.”

  “I hope he’s awake and on the job. Shit, this thing wants to fall over.”

  They grappled with aluminum rods and tie-downs as the aurora borealis rippled above them.

  39

  A Kilometer From Chena Redoubt

  As the helicopter receded into the distance, Bear Crepov smiled at Major Kominskiya.

  “I didn’t think you’d really get off the machine. I thought you’d turn rabbit on me.”

  “This is not the first time you have misjudged me,” she said, shrugging into her pack. “Shall we get to work?”

  “We have much to do, you and me,” Bear said carefully. “And not everything involves enemies.”

  She turned and looked at him. All he could see inside the ruffed hood of her parka were twin points of starlight reflecting off her eyes.

  “I agree,” she said, and pushed off to the northwest, toward Chena Redoubt.

  Crepov tightened the hood down around his face and followed her. The cold burned in his scar and nipped at his nose.

  Experimentally, he sniffed at the air. His nostrils tried to stick together. He immediately knew it was at least minus thirty-five degrees Celsius.

  The survival habits of three decades unconsciously took over. He slowed his pace to avoid working up a sweat, yet skied actively enough to stay warm. He pushed out the fur ruff on his hood to its maximum in order to create a barrier of warm air between his face and the subarctic night.

  He thought only of Valari Kominskiya’s body and what he planned to do with it at his first opportunity. And there would be an opportunity.

  The rest of his training kicked in and he studied the land around them. Chena Redoubt had been home to him more than once. He’d hunted caribou, moose, wolves, and men in this oblast. Bear knew this countryside as well as he did the streets of Tetlin Redoubt.

  Valari skied ahead of him at the same speed he maintained. Good. There was nothing he hated more than worrying about someone else, whether he had to or not.

  The fact clicked in his mind that she wasn’t breaking trail, she followed one.

  “Major!” he hissed. “Stop.”

  She slid to a halt and looked back over her shoulder.

  “Yes?”

  He pulled up beside her.

  “This trail you are following must be known to the rebels if they have put out even one patrol.”

  “My God, you’re right.” She glanced around. “What do you think we should do?”

  He grinned deep inside his parka hood. She was beginning to really interest him. Capable but submissive, he liked that in a woman.

  “Follow me. I’ll break trail and we’ll come in behind the redoubt. There’s a place where worthless items are thrown in winter and avoided in summer.”

  “Lead.”

  The aurora borealis flared into existence, danced and capered above them. Bear had to slow considerably as he broke trail. If one sweated heavily inside arctic coverings the chances of freezing to death attained unbeatable odds.

  Between the dark, scattered cabins whose presence proclaimed the outskirts of Chena, the kilometer-long stone wall of the redoubt loomed before them. Nothing moved, no sound issued from the cabins around them. Starlight on the bright snow gave enough illumination to see they were alone outside the fortress.

  “Perhaps everyone is dead?” she said.

  “No. They are either tired or lazy. A lapse like this will not last if they know what they are doing.”

  “And?”

  “I do not think they are lazy.”

  “They also seem to know what they are doing. Now what?”

  Good question.

  After a moment’s thought, he stabbed his ski poles into the snow, unslung his weapon and carefully propped it against them, creating a pyramid. He shook the pack off his back and dug out the rope and anchor hook. He silently measured the height of the fortress wall with his eyes.

  If anyone guarded the parapets above, he and the major would soon be dead or captured. He preferred death. Bear looked back at Valari.

  “Step back, give me some room, and cover me.”

  He swung the hook in an ever-widening circle. Abruptly he released it and the metal claw sailed up and over the thick, slightly inclined wall. By the time they heard the soft thump as it landed, both their gun muzzles pointed upward.

  Nothing.

  Bear allowed himself to breathe again and slung his weapon over his shoulder. He bent down and tripped the bindings on his skis, straightened, and leaned toward Valari.

  “I will find out what’s up there and signal you when it’s safe. Don’t take any naps while I’m gone.” He hauled himself upward, hand over hand, while his mukluk-encased feet silently walked up the frost-rimed stone.

  When his head cleared the wall, he hesitated, searching the snow-filled roof for movement. The gleaming white and indigo shadows undulated away from him like a frozen wheat field. Paths where guards usually patrolled bisected the snowed-in roof.

  Nothing moved. He pulled himself across the wide icy wall and jumped down into the trench worn in the snow. He crouched low, keeping his head below the surrounding walls. His breath puffed out and momentarily obscured his vision. He tried to breathe more slowly.

  The path became a roofless tunnel through the deep snow and he hurried down straight sections, stopping to ease around corners. Very quickly it became obvious that the roof stood empty of anything other than the elements. However, something nagged at the back of his mind, a tiny, insistent warning that wouldn’t allow him to stop until he’d covered the entire plain of connected stone roofs.

  Those little nags had kept him alive in the past. Men who didn’t listen to their gut usually died before their hair showed any gray. He crept around another corner—and froze.

  Two figures shambled toward him, heads down. He couldn’t see any weapons, but this was no time to take chances. He brought his weapon up and took careful aim.

  The first parka-clad form stopped and pulled on a wall. A door opened, emitting a great cloud of warm air that instantly fogged around the figures. Once the cold ate the fog, the two were gone.

  Bear continued to breathe slowly, keeping himself in the “look and listen” mode. It might be a changing of the guards. No, that wasn’t it. The new guards always relieved the old ones on post.

  What had the two been doing? He pushed the question to the back of his mind and finished his roof reconnaissance. Finally he became satisfied of his solitude.

  He turned and hurried back to where Major Valari Kominskiya waited.

  40

  Chena Redoubt

  “Getting anything?” Jackson asked with a tinge of anxiety in his voice.

  “Shit, man, would you just give me some space?” Jimmy Scanlon snapped, rolling his eyes.

  Grisha’s eyes felt grainy, but he wanted to see if this little machine could capture words from two thousand miles away. Haimish and Jackson both wore smiles when Grisha and Jimmy returned. Nathan and Chan somberly
whispered in a corner.

  Jimmy turned a knob. Static gushed out of the speaker on the backpack. He twisted more knobs. The static lowered and then stopped. A low humming interrupted randomly by small beeps issued from the speakers. “That’s their carrier wave,” Jimmy said.

  “All right!” Jackson crowed, and slapped Jimmy on the back. Alf Rosario picked up a microphone and spoke into it.

  “This is Northern Lake, this is Northern Lake. We have a taped feed and a live feed for you. Do you copy? Over.”

  What an odd way to talk, Grisha thought.

  “We copy, Northern Lake, transmit your feed.”

  Grisha felt his eyes bug out. It worked, it really worked.

  “This is truly magic,” Nathan said, staring down at the machine. “Are these your friends in California?”

  “Yes,” Jackson said with a grin. “Squirt the tape, Alf. They can check it out later. We probably don’t have much time.”

  “Why not?” Grisha asked.

  “The Russians will probably monitor the transmission and either jam us or try to take out the transmitter.” Jackson pointed at the machine. “This is a transmitter.”

  Nik wandered in, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “Does the Russian military have monitoring devices that can detect radio signals?” Haimish asked.

  “They have trouble picking up their own radio transmissions.” Nik yawned and saw the small transmitter. “What’s that?”

  Nathan told him while Alf made the machine whine at high speed. It stopped with a click.

  “Okay, Jackson, take the mike.” Alf handed him the instrument.

  “This is Northern Lake with a five-star performance,” Jackson said. “Do you copy? Over.”

  “Wait one,” a voice from the machine said. Clicks and short bursts of static quickly changed to a low hum. “Proceed,” the voice ordered.

  “The Dená Separatist Movement not only exists, but is receiving military aid from the United States of America. The DSM has captured a Russian armored column and used the materiel to capture a walled fort, Chena Redoubt, near the juncture of the Tanana and Chena Rivers. Most of the Russian-Amerikan fighter wing has been neutralized. Other redoubts have also been taken or are under attack as we speak. The elected government of the Dená Nation seeks diplomatic recognition as soon as possible.” Jackson stopped and smiled around at everyone in the room.

  “Can you get an ambassador out to address Congress?” the voice asked.

  “Not by road,” Jackson said. “We’re surrounded by hostiles.”

  “Wait one.” Grisha couldn’t decide if the voice was male or female.

  “Would you inquire about patching me through to my people?” Haimish asked.

  “We have a representative of the United States here. Would it be possible to patch him through to the nearest U.S. Army unit?”

  “Negative. But we can get someone from his delegation over here in about a half hour.”

  “That would be fine,” Haimish said with evident relief.

  “Please proceed on that, Five-Star.”

  “Acknowledged. Your transportation scenario is being dealt with, stay online, we’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  Grisha glanced around the crowded room. People smiled at one another and hope became a palpable entity.

  This might actually work.

  41

  “So it wasn’t a mutiny,” Bear muttered, peering down from the snowladen roof of the headquarters building.

  “They’ve captured the redoubt,” Valari said. “How could they do that?”

  “I told you they were a formidable enemy,” Bear answered in a harsh whisper. “But you damn Cossacks never believe anyone.”

  “Who was it said, ’The Indians aren’t organized enough to pull off something this big’?” she countered in a hiss.

  “We don’t have time to argue.” He turned away.

  They could see the entire courtyard. A group of people dressed in foreign camouflage complete with flak jackets herded a coffle of Russian soldiers from a barracks toward the prison wing.

  “That’s not moose hide they’re wearing,” Valari hissed. “They’re getting military aid from another country.”

  “They’re all still inside the redoubt,” he whispered.

  “So?”

  “Call in an air strike, level this place, and we stop their party cold.”

  “You are full of hidden talents, Bear. I like that in a man.”

  “There is much hidden about me that you have yet to appreciate. But this is not the time or place to show you.”

  “I am becoming very cold, could we leave now?”

  “Do you have the radio?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She fumbled inside her parka and brought out the bulky box of knobs and batteries. “Use it quick, tovarich, before the batteries freeze.”

  “Not to worry.” He snapped on the power switch and grinned appreciatively as the dials glowed to life. “I’m glad we preset the frequency before we left Tetlin Redoubt,” he said absently.

  “Do you want me to make the call?” she asked.

  “I want you,” he said heavily, “but I will make the call.” He unhooked the microphone and held down the transmit button.

  “This is Chena Probe to Imperial Tetlin, Chena Probe to Imperial Tetlin, do you copy?”

  “Tetlin to probe,” the voice from the radio sounded tinny, “we read you clearly, proceed.”

  “The Dená have the redoubt. Send an air strike now.”

  “Oh my God,” the tinny voice said.

  Valari gasped and Bear felt something hard press against the side of his head, his widened nostrils easily discerned the odor of gun oil. He pressed the transmit button three times in quick succession and hoped they were awake back in Tetlin.

  “You will tell them,” a calm masculine voice said softly, “that there was a mutiny here, and the traitors have been subdued.”

  The roof moved in the moonlight, suddenly populated with figures rising from the snow and shadows around them. A tall man closed on Bear and snatched the machine pistol from his hands.

  He heard the safety click off on the automatic weapon pointed at his head.” Da,” he whispered and nodded slightly. The muzzle eased back a third of a meter.

  “There has been a mutiny.” Even to him his voice sounded like an old man’s croak. He swallowed quickly. “The traitors have been overwhelmed.”

  The radio sat silent long enough that Bear thought the batteries had frozen. Suddenly a new voice issued into the crystalline night.

  “This is Colonel Rostov. Why do we not have radio contact with the redoubt?”

  Valari’s eyes widened.

  “Tell them,” the man said softly in Bear’s ear, “Lieutenant Dimitri Andreanoff and his squad spoke to me. The radio room was destroyed by traitors.”

  Bear parroted the words into the microphone. “Do you copy?”

  “Put the lieutenant on.”

  Bear turned and looked into the man’s face in supplication. Neither light nor humanity rested in those eyes. He felt he was looking at a Cossack.

  “The lieutenant is leading his men,” the tall Indian whispered, “but he left a corporal with us.”

  Bear lowered his gaze as he repeated the lie. For the first time in his life he felt helpless and used.

  “Very well!” the colonel’s voice snapped over the distance. “Put the damned corporal on.”

  The microphone jerked out of his hands.

  “This is Corporal Danilev, Troika Guards,” the Indian said in flawless Russian. Crepov recognized a St. Petersburg accent. “We’ve eliminated most of the traitors, but a small pocket still resists, sir.”

  “Don’t kill them all,” the voice on the radio snapped. “We want to know how this happened. Good work, Corporal. Give Major Kominskiya the microphone.”

  Another safety snicked off in the frigid subarctic night.

  Valari reached out and snatched the instrument. Her eyes
flashed about her. Bear felt his sphincter muscle twitch and he shivered. She grinned and snapped her mittened thumb down on the key with an exaggerated jerk.

  “Colonel Rostov, this is Major Kominskiya. What would you like to know?”

  “Do you agree with Corporal Danilev’s assessment of the situation?”

  “Yes, Colonel,” she said smoothly, effortlessly. “Lieutenant Andreanoff has the upper hand from all I have seen.” She glared at the tall, smiling Indian.

  “Have the corporal report every hour, Major Kominskiya. Do you copy?”

  “Yes,” she said, her face falling slightly, “I copy.”

  “Tetlin Redoubt, clear.”

  “Chena Redoubt, clear.” She dropped the microphone.

  “Very good, Major Kominskiya,” the tall man said. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Slayer-of-Men.” He smiled thinly in the moonlight.

  “And on occasion I also slay women.”

  Bear shivered again, his mind now as chilled as his body.

  42

  Chena Redoubt

  “Yes, Mr. Ambassador,” Haimish said, addressing the small speaker in front of him. “I have a message for Mr. Busch, he’s on President Cuomo’s staff.”

  “I know Keith. What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Tell him that Operation Nicky is already at stage three, the stage three is very important, sir.”

  “And this will do what for your situation?”

  “I’m hoping it means quick diplomatic recognition for the Dená Republik.”

  “Do you realize what you’re asking? If the United States grants diplomatic recognition to the DSM at this point, every dissatisfied minority in the world would be out cutting throats in hours. I mean no disrespect to your hosts, but we have to back our diplomacy with our lives.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador,” Nathan said quickly, “but you have a double investment here, perhaps triple.”

  “Whom am I addressing, please?”

  “Chandalar Roy, Codirector of the Dená Separatist Movement and President of the Dená Republic.”

  “Ah, pleased to meet you, Mr. President. I assume you have heard our entire conversation?”