Russian Amerika ra-1

by Stoney Compton

  The thought dog eat dog crossed Jerry’s mind but he didn’t share, deciding this wasn’t a good time.

  Suddenly Jerry noticed the giant possessed blue eyes, and what little hair cowered about his ears definitely was not as dark as his skin. Coffee with lots of cream, he decided.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” Jerry asked, smiling through his pain.

  “You’re very perceptive, Lieutenant. No, I’m not. But I have been here for a very long time. My question to both of you is: why did you bring war to our valley?”

  “Accident, pure accident,” Jerry said. “This is where my shot-up plane crashed and my parachute brought me. Rudi, here”—he nodded his head—“fell down along with his tank, which had also been shot up. Nothing personal, but this is just where we landed. That okay with you?”

  The giant considered the question. “No, it isn’t. But what can one do?”

  “Are you both madmen?” Rudi asked in a low voice.

  “Probably,” Jerry and the giant said in unison.

  Jerry laughed. He hadn’t laughed for real since his orders had come through three weeks before. But this got to him; his laughter came from some place deep within him that had been pent up far too long. His headache eased.

  The giant laughed with him, but a different cast had taken over his eyes and Jerry realized he was being measured for something and he hoped it wouldn’t hurt.

  “I like the way you think,” the giant said. “What’s your name?”

  “First Lieutenant Gerald S. Yamato, Republic of California Air Force. My comrade here is Sergeant Rudi Cermanivich, Imperial Russian Tank Corps. Who are you?”

  The giant frowned. “Then I was correct when looking at your uniforms; you are enemies.”

  “We were. I think Rudi may have shot me down. But we both seem to be out of the war and we might need each other.”

  “But I heard shots, which is what attracted my attention.”

  “There was much gunfire up on the road,” Rudi said, tossing his head back and then shuddering in pain.

  “I heard that.” The giant’s frown deepened. “But I also heard rifle shots down here by the river.”

  “We had yet to come to an understanding,” Jerry said. “But we did. So, who are you?”

  “I am Pelagian, I rule this valley and all in it.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “In the Swedish Triumvate, Denmark, to be exact.”

  “Your accent doesn’t sound European and you don’t look Swedish.”

  “My father was Danish and my mother was French and Algerian. I spent nine years in the British merchant marine and decided to change careers.”

  Jerry laughed again. “From sailor to king, right?”

  Pelagian didn’t laugh. “Well, not quite that abrupt a change. I trapped for a decade before realizing my gift for uniting like-minded people.”

  Jerry didn’t smile, even though he wanted to. A different cast clouded Pelagian’s eyes and his countenance precluded levity of a sudden.

  “Like-minded people?”

  “The people of this valley and the flats beyond were getting pushed about by the Cossacks as well as the promyshlenniks for yasak. The first time the Cossacks came to my humble cabin and demanded ‘tribute’ I told them to go to hell. They did their utmost to persuade me to comply with their demands.”

  “You told Cossacks to go to hell?” Rudi said in a wondering tone. “Did they not try to kill you?”

  “They did. I killed them instead. It seemed the only thing to do at the time.”

  “What did the authorities do?” Jerry asked.

  “They were the authorities. I was left alone for over a year.”

  “So what happens now?” Jerry said, trying not to fidget. “Can we use your, uh, facilities?”

  “First you must pledge your fealty to me.”

  “Pledge my what?”

  “You must accept me as your king.”

  “Before I can take a piss?”

  “If you try to run away I will kill you.”

  “I believe you. I will not try to escape, I promise.”

  “Magda, release him.”

  The raven-haired beauty materialized beside him and deftly untied the knots.

  Jerry tried not to stare, but he knew it would be easier for a moth to resist the flame than to not look at her. Her fingers flew over the shroud lines and suddenly he was free. She looked up at him and smiled.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Now please turn away.”

  Magda gave him a puzzled look and Pelagian said something to her in Russian. She snickered and turned away.

  Jerry moved two boulders away before voiding. Now he felt he could deal with anything, including the baron. He walked back to Rudi’s side.

  “How are you feeling, sergeant?”

  “I couldn’t hold my bladder in both hands at this point. I feel someone has dropped large bolts into my transmission while operating at high speed.”

  “Bad, right?”

  “Very bad.”

  “What are you saying to your enemy?” Pelagian asked.

  “He is severely injured. Is there a doctor in your valley?”

  Pelagian moved over to them and looked at Rudi. He untied the shroud line so quickly that at first Jerry thought he cut it. Grabbing the sergeant’s blouse with both hands he calmly pulled it open, raining what few buttons remained among the rocks.

  Rudi’s body featured heavy bruises, lumps where none should exist, dried blood from an unseen wound, and he smelled bad. Pelagian ran his hands over the wounded chest. Rudi sucked in his breath in pain and fear but said nothing.

  Pelagian turned and shouted, “Bodecia, bring your bag.”

  “Is he badly hurt, Father?” Magda asked at his side.

  Father? Jerry thought. He studied Pelagian’s face and discerned the faint network of lines around his eyes. To be her father he would have to be nearing forty or forty-five. From six feet away the man could pass for thirty-five or even younger.

  “He is in grave danger of leaving us for another realm, whether he wishes to or not.”

  “Would like to stay a while,” Rudi said through a grisly smile. “If not too much bother.”

  “You have been a soldier for a long time,” Pelagian said.

  “Thirty-one years and never demoted. Have been sergeant for twenty-two years. Is as bad as I think?”

  “My wife is the healer here, she will tell us.” He moved to the side and an older version of Magda stood there examining Rudi’s torso.

  Jerry hadn’t seen her walk up. He felt positive she had just materialized on the spot. He looked at Magda, who had moved next to him.

  “How did she do that?”

  “Do what?” Magda’s words no longer carried the heavy Russian accent.

  “Get in front of us without me seeing her.”

  “You were looking at me, we could parade a wolf pack past and you wouldn’t notice.”

  “I thought you said ‘small English’?”

  “Do you give a potential enemy leverage?”

  “Yes, my unmilitary lack of attention when you’re around.”

  She laughed and her perfect teeth flashed in the sun.

  “Is Bodecia your mother?”

  “Of course she is. Do not worry, your friend is in no danger while she is present.”

  Jerry mulled over the thought of calling Rudi his “friend.” After all, not more than a couple of hours ago, the man had tried his best to kill him, twice. But he did feel something for the proud old soldier and let the comment pass.

  “Where do you people live?”

  “Within twenty miles of here. Where do you live?”

  “In the city of Castroville, Republic of California. Ever hear of it?

  My dad grows garlic, lots of garlic.”

  “I know of garlic, and have heard of your republic. It is far from here.”

  “Yes,” he said. “In a great many ways.”

  Bodecia
squatted next to Rudi, whose litter now lay in a convenient swath of rock-free gravel.

  “Why do you fight Russians?” Magda asked, her eyes following his gaze.

  “We are allied to the Dená Republic and they are fighting for their lives.”

  “Dená?” She turned and spoke in Russian to her father.

  In a heartbeat Pelagian stood in front of Jerry. “The Dená are openly fighting the Russians? When did this happen?”

  “Why did you think we were here? The first concentrated Dená attacks happened earlier this year. They simultaneously struck at all the major redoubts in what they claimed as their traditional territory.”

  “How do you know so much about it?”

  “Our government always explains why they want us to declare war. When we got the first stories about the heroic Athabascan Indians fighting the evil Czar, we all voted to kick Russian butt.”

  “Why do you sound bitter?”

  “Just being sarcastic. I voted against the war, but then I’ve had more education than the majority of the electorate.”

  “Does that make you right and them wrong?”

  “No.” The word sighed out of him. “Nothing that yin and yang. I wish it were. I wish life was all dark or light, but the sky is always changing.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “To what?”

  “The ‘heroic’ Indians who attacked the bad Russians, Lieutenant.”

  “Oh, sorry. Well, they pretty much won the day. They even took Chena Redoubt, which I gather was a very big thing, but the Russians bombed it flat after the Dená occupied it. They lost a lot of their cadre.”

  “Cadre? I was in the merchant marine, not the bloody navy.”

  “The ones running things. In charge.”

  “Lieutenant, are you feeling well? Your mind seems to be wandering overmuch.”

  Yamato focused. “Well, I’m almost to the point of starvation. Breakfast was at oh-four-hundred California time on Tuesday and it’s been a long day.” He squinted upward.

  “For about a fortnight this time of year it really doesn’t get dark.

  ’Land of the Midnight Sun’ and all that.”

  “I thought it was six months.”

  “They didn’t tell you everything about Russian Amerika, did they? Here, chew on this.” Pelagian tossed him a strand of flesh.

  Jerry sniffed it and his mouth watered. He chewed off a bite.

  “That’s a strip of smoked salmon. We call it ‘squaw candy.’ I quite like it.”

  Jerry nodded agreement and kept chewing. He wondered if Pelagian was going to tie him up again.

  Sergeant Cermanivich gasped loudly. Jerry stopped chewing and watched Bodecia shift her stance and grab Rudi again.

  “This one will also hurt, but you will feel better after.” She abruptly twisted his torso.

  Rudi shrieked and went limp.

  Bodecia’s hands continued to move over the sergeant’s torso and arms, pulling tugging, pushing, twisting before suddenly stopping and dropping her head to his chest.

  “He is a strong man.” She straightened to her feet. “He will live, I think.” She stared at Jerry. “Now tell me about the Dená Republik.”

  Jerry told them everything he could remember hearing about the Dená revolt that had touched off a continentwide war. He felt exhausted and wrung out.

  “Oh, the French and the Spanish also sent their fleets out—”

  “Who cares, the Dená Nation is mostly landlocked,” Bodecia said. “Do you remember any of the names of those killed at Chena, the cadre?”

  “Only one name sticks in my mind. Slayer-of-Men, how could I forget that one?” Jerry’s near-chuckle died before it reached his lips.

  Bodecia’s face froze and Magda emitted a small gasp. Pelagian stepped between them and Jerry.

  “You just named one of my wife’s cousins. He was one of my best friends.”

  “I’m sorry to bring you sad news. I wish I could remember more.”

  Bodecia spoke to Pelagian in a different language, not Russian or French. He answered and both women turned and walked away toward the dense willow thickets bordering the rocky river shore. In moments they had vanished from sight.

  “What is your plan, Lieutenant Yamato?”

  “Plan, what plan?”

  “How were you going to get out of here and back to California?”

  “I was sort of making it up as I went along, didn’t really have a plan.”

  “You are twenty miles from the nearest odinochka, which is a fortified trading post. They will give you all the compassion you can pay for, maybe less. You are thirty miles from the nearest Russian redoubt, but I think perhaps you might not care for that, either.”

  “Is that thirty miles following the river or going cross country?” Jerry nodded at the huge colorful ridge.

  “Both.”

  “What do you think we should do?”

  “We?”

  “The sergeant and me.”

  “I believe you have only one option, to come with us.”

  “Aren’t we your prisoners?”

  “I am not at war with either of you. The ropes were used to meet you both without use of firearms.”

  “Makes sense. Where are you going, back to your, uh, fort?”

  “No, we are going to the village of Delta, near St. Anthony Redoubt.”

  “Why?”

  “My wife has family there. She is angry with me for still being out here where no one can find us.”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I am visiting the length and breadth of my land, where I am honored as a leader, while returning from my trapping camp.”

  “Are you a leader in Delta?”

  Pelagian gave him a grim look. “I am not ignored.”

  “I think you’re right. May the sergeant and I accompany you?”

  “Of course you may. I think you both would die if we left you here.”

  “I won’t argue that one, either. Are there telephones in Delta?”

  “Yes, they all go through the Russian Amerika Company switchboard.”

  “Oh. Well something will turn up, I’m sure.” Jerry surveyed Sergeant Cermanivich, who had yet to regain consciousness.

  “He will not wake for some time. He has a lot of healing to do. We will need to carry him.”

  “I’ll take the first turn.”

  Pelagian laughed. “Do you know how long it took you to go a half mile?” He pointed back toward the destroyed tank. “Almost an hour.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to hurt him any more than he already was.”

  “You misunderstand, we have a better way.”

  Magda reappeared from the windblown willows, leading four large dogs wearing harnesses. Under her arm were four long poles and some of the parachute shroud lines. She spoke and all four dogs stopped.

  In minutes she had Rudi’s litter slung between the dogs, an animal at each corner. The sticks worked as spacers to keep the dogs in the same configuration. Jerry’s parachute harness was hooked to the front of the litter and a makeshift sling tied to the back.

  “One person in front, one in back,” Pelagian said. “That way we all share the load and can go long distances.”

  “I’ll bet I’m in back.”

  “You can’t be in front, you don’t know the way.”

  Jerry couldn’t argue with that. He looked around, wondered how far they had to travel and what they would meet along the way. He glanced at Magda and she smiled at him.

  Something told him this adventure was just beginning. He smiled back.

  91

  Republic of California Ship Eureka, BB7 off Vancouver Island

  “The Russians refuse to heave to, Captain,” the signalman second class said.

  “Just what I thought they’d do. Mr. Gorin, put a shot across their bow.”

  “Of which ship, Captain Llerena? There’s ten of them out there.”

  “The one in front.”

  C
ommander Gorin spoke into the microphone on his headset and one of the five-inch 38s immediately fired. The shell splash in front of the leading Russian destroyer was easily seen by all on the bridge of the Eureka.

  Three Russian destroyers immediately opened up on the Eureka’s task force. One shell whistled past the Eureka’ s bridge and landed in the water.

  “All ships,” Captain Llerena barked, “fire at will!”

  The Eureka rocked to starboard as all twelve sixteen-inch guns on the four mounts fired simultaneously. The heavy cruisers Sacramento and Los Angeles and destroyers Hemme, Hepner, Bear, and Mitchell all fired their main batteries within seconds of the task force commander’s order.

  Battleship Gorki and destroyer Severin of the Imperial fleet both disappeared in a stunning blast of explosives and flying metal as the salvos hit them with more shells than the rest of the Russian fleet combined, setting off their magazines. Gorki had flown the flag of Admiral Buldakov, commander of the Russian Pacific Fleet and chief tactician.

  The surviving Russian ships, nearly in a straight line, steamed at flank speed toward the California fleet, which had formed a great C shape and was able to bring nearly every gun to bear on the hapless, enraged Russians.

  The entire Battle of the North Pacific took less than an hour before the Russian destroyer Tolstoi, crippled and taking on water, lowered the remains of her flag.

  “My God,” Commander Gorin said. “It was like ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’ in reverse!”

  “And just as stupid,” Captain Llerena said in a tone of disgust. “I almost wanted to give them another chance after the fifth ship went down. Did we lose anyone?”

  “The Hemme took three hits but is still moving under her own power, and the Mitchell is dead in the water. The Los Angeles is preparing a tow for her. Between the two ships we lost about ninety men, including the skipper of the Hemme.”

  “Gary Cole was a good sailor and a fine skipper,” Captain Llerena said.

  “Those ninety men gave their lives for a great victory. The Russians can’t even protect their own coast now.”

  “Captain, do you think we just won the war?”

  “Perhaps, Mr. Gorin, perhaps.”