Russian Amerika (ARC)

by Stoney Compton

  "Are you ready, Crepov?" the captain asked.

  "Am I ready for what?"

  "Are you ready to take the field and find these men for us?"

  "I wouldn't have entered this borscht-maker if I wasn't."

  "Good." She turned to the corporal. "Crepov will lead, I will go behind him, and you will follow me."

  "But, Captain, I think it's not good for you to be between him and me. What if he attempts-"

  "Corporal, I am armed."

  "Da." The corporal evenly regarded Crepov, then stared out at the passing scenery.

  You'll pay for that one, pet.

  The engine changed pitch and they banked to the left. Crepov looked out his window and found himself staring straight down at a snow-covered meadow. A branch of the Toklat River, frozen and brittle, wound along about a kilometer away.

  The craft dropped in a tight spiral and Crepov's heart tried to fly out his mouth. He swallowed in a vain effort to make it retreat. His gorge attempted to follow, but he successfully kept it down.

  Just as Crepov thought the noisy machine would crash into the ground, it leveled off and gently landed. The engine died and the great steel blades swooshed to a stop. He slid the door open and stiffly dropped to the snow-covered ground.

  After allowing his legs to know the earth for a moment, he turned and pulled his skis off the special rack on the landing skids. Mounted on the other side of the tubular skid strut was a 9mm machine gun that the pilot could fire after aiming his machine at the target.

  Crepov decided there might be something to these things after all. He placed his skis, stepped into them and clamped the bindings over the toes of his boots. After stretching his legs for a minute, he struck off toward the game trail he had spotted from the air.

  "Where are you going?" the captain snapped. "I didn't order you to move out."

  Crepov stopped and twisted to regard her.

  "I'm going to do my job. I will also do as I please. You may do the same." He moved out again, setting a track for them to follow.

  Not until he reached the game trail did he look back. They were methodically closing his hundred meter lead. He carefully examined the trail.

  Only small game and predator tracks; no ski had passed since the last snow. From the crust on the white mantle, he would estimate the last snowfall at over a week before.

  The captain slid up to him, trying not to breathe hard. Crepov pointed to the trail.

  "What?" she asked, looking at it then back at him.

  "No human has been by here yet. Are you sure this is where our quarry will pass?"

  "Yes, as sure as I can be."

  "Then let's find a good ambush site." He skied down the trail toward the tree-covered ridges.

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  21

  Near the East Fork of the Toklat River

  Grisha and Nik sat and ate a cold lunch on a pile of needles under an unusually large spruce tree. After swallowing his last bite of moose jerky, Grisha said, "I want some fresh meat."

  "We don't have any."

  "I know that. I want to hunt for a while. This is a game trail."

  "Not now. Maybe tomorrow."

  "You don't have to hunt if you don't want to, General," Grisha said. "But I'm hungry for rabbit."

  "But . . ."

  Grisha abruptly stood and secured his poles to his pack before swinging it onto his shoulders. He put on his skis and finally picked up the recurve bow and his quiver.

  "Grisha, please let me be in front."

  "I'm a better hunter than you are," he said with a grin. "Better shot too. Besides, you've been in front all day long. It's my turn."

  "Tomorrow you can be in front. Today I want to be first."

  Grisha stared hard at his companion.

  "I heard a saying once that they use down in the American countries. 'Go fuck yourself,' is what they say. And that's exactly what you can do." He skied away, pulling an arrow out of the quiver as he went.

  The game trail wound through the woods and curved into a cut separating two ridges. He decided there could be game in the heavy brush at the cut. He nocked an arrow and skied as quietly as he could into the entrance.

  Abruptly a snowshoe hare bolted out of the brush ahead and ran toward him for three lunging strides. Suddenly the animal saw Grisha and veered off to the man's right. For five seconds the hare presented an easily accessible target before disappearing in the timbered flank of the ridge.

  Grisha didn't shoot. His heart thundered in his ears and he concentrated on maintaining his grip on the bowstring.

  What scared the animal? Wrong time of the year for bear. Nik is behind me. Maybe a moose? St. Nicholas, please let it be a moose.

  He crept forward a step, then hesitated. He glanced behind him. In the distance, Nik slid into his pack and took his first sliding stride toward Grisha.

  He jerked his head around to face the cut again. The merest breath of a sound carried across the snow to his ears. The bow suddenly seemed like a child's toy as he recognized the protest of oiled metal against metal.

  Another glance over his shoulder. Nik moved forward swiftly, craning his head to get a better look at Grisha.

  Good. He knows something out of the ordinary is happening.

  Slowly, quietly, Grisha eased the skis backward. No good—he had to keep looking back to judge his steps. He bent down and rapidly unfastened his bindings.

  He pulled the skis up and jammed them butt down in the snow. Watching the cut as closely as possible, he carefully retreated back down the trail. Nik slid to a stop ten meters away and waited.

  Grisha got to his friend's ski tips before he allowed himself to whisper.

  "There's somebody in the cut."

  "How do you know?" Nik stared past Grisha, watching the cut.

  He told about the snowshoe hare, hesitated.

  "Then I heard someone chamber a round."

  "Your hearing must be extraordinary," Nik said softly, "or else you're imagining things."

  Grisha felt his jaw muscles go taut and he squinted at the man.

  "I know what I heard," he hissed. "There's somebody in there."

  "Well, move then, let me see."

  Nik swung a ski pole up and smacked it across Grisha's left arm. Instinctively, Grisha jerked away from the pole just before it made contact and fell flat in the slightly softer snow at trail's edge.

  Nik skied for the cut. Grisha stifled a roar of anger and, gripping his bow and arrow in in one hand, flopped through the deep snow to the relative firmness of the trail. He scrambled to his feet as Nik passed Grisha's skis, standing like silent sentinels.

  The Russian disappeared into the cut. Grisha ran to his skis, quickly dropped them on the trail and snapped down the spring-loaded clamp over the front lip of his boot soles. Then he was gliding along, smoothly, silently, swiftly, arrow nocked, adrenaline charged. He skied into the cut.

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  22

  Near the Toklat River

  As soon as Bear Crepov saw the cut in the ridgeline, he knew it perfect for an ambush site. He side stepped off the game trail and motioned for the captain to come up next to him. When she stopped beside him, the Kalashnikov lay cradled in her right arm, her finger on the trigger.

  "What is it?" she said loudly.

  Bear winced and nearly slapped her. "Quiet, you bitch! Do you want them to kill us?"

  She blinked at him, whispered, "Are they close?"

  "They have to be. Get your pet corporal into the brush line over there," he pointed, "and I'll take cover on the other side of the trail. You pull back into those spruce behind that large mound, I think it's a rock."

  "Are you worried for my safety?"

  He quickly searched her face for signs of mockery, but found none.

  "I think you can take care of yourself," he said slow
ly. "But if there's shooting I want you out of the way. You're the only one who knows why we're doing this." He skied ahead another thirty meters, stopped, took his skis off, and hid his equipment in the brush.

  The corporal quietly disappeared on the other side of the trail. Crepov glanced back down the trail but could see nothing of the woman. He carefully pulled the slide back on his weapon and chambered a round.

  The quiet of winter settled on him. No birds this time of year, they had all gone south to the Confederacy and New Spain. He must be his own sentry.

  A voice broke the stillness. Bear couldn't make out the words, but he knew it for human. He tensed when he heard skis on snow, moving fast.

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  23

  Near the Toklat River

  Valari Kominskiya saw the huge promyshlennik stiffen and raise his weapon slightly. She pulled back a little even though it was impossible for anyone on the trail to see her. She felt a thrill of fear when close to the woodsman and had yet to decide whether she liked it or not.

  Vlad, her corporal, knew enough not to kill either of the strangers, and the woodsman had been carefully briefed and thoroughly cowed. Crepov's concern for her safety touched her oddly. She put it all out of her mind when a man skied swiftly through the cut.

  He quickly traveled past the promyshlennik, who didn't have time to stop him, and their plan became obsolete. She had to stop him. She lunged out onto the trail, wondered which man she was about to face.

  "Stop!" She held the Kalashnikov braced at her hip, ready to fire.

  The man wedged his skis against the side of the trail and ground to a quick halt. Nikolai Rezanov glared at her with more feeling in his face than she remembered from their last meeting. What was wrong?

  "So you did kill—" she began.

  Grigoriy Grigorievich entered the cut. Crepov leaped out of the brush and knocked him off his feet.

  "What?" Grisha blurted as he fell.

  Rezanov twisted, gripping his ski poles for balance. Valari swung her foot and knocked away the pole holding most of his weight. He fell awkwardly in the snow.

  Vlad emerged from the brush and stood behind Grisha. The corporal looked to her for orders. She jerked her head sideways.

  "Get on your feet and move up next to your friend there," Vlad ordered.

  Grisha got to his feet and picked up his skis.

  Valari shook her head.

  "Leave the skis," Vlad said sharply.

  Obediently, Grisha dropped them and trudged forward. Crepov stayed off to the side, his Kalashnikov at the ready. Except for Grisha's heavy beard, it was just how she had imagined it would be, victory was at hand.

  In his clothing Grisha looked like an Indian. He also looked larger than she remembered, probably due to the bulky furs. He still hadn't looked up at her.

  "Hello, Captain Lover," she said coyly, a smirk on her lips.

  Grisha stopped and his eyes fastened on her. In less than a second she saw astonishment, fear, hate, and death flash across his face.

  "What are you doing here?" he spat. His features became expressionless.

  "Why, I came by special helicopter to talk to you," she said.

  "How did you know where to find me?" His stolidity began to annoy her.

  "That doesn't matter," she said quickly. "What I have to say to you is very important, so listen carefully."

  He nodded his head and she licked her lips.

  "As agreed, we offer you your old life back."

  "What do you mean? You aren't taking us back to Tetlin Redoubt?"

  God, he could be so thick! "I mean you can have your boat back, or your commission in the Troika Guard."

  His steely grin called her a liar. "I think maybe you're offering more than you own."

  "We still have your boat."

  "You planned to do this to me on purpose?" His face went expressionless again.

  "Not at all. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But once you struck Karpov, you became a criminal. You would have been given a year at hard labor." Her lip curled slightly.

  "But Karpov, being the pig he was, had to drink too much. He reverted to a situation between us that had been over for years and tried to kill you when you interfered. You were more important than him at the moment, you could drive the boat, so I killed him."

  "But why are you meeting me in the middle of Den country?"

  She smiled and licked her lips again.

  "After your arrest, we examined your record. You're part Russian and part Kolosh. Historically your people traded with the Den . You're also an ex-major with extensive military experience and demonstrated leadership qualities. You would be a prize for these traitors.

  "By this time they have accepted you into their organization and soon you will be able to go anywhere, see anything. Correct?"

  "So? What does the Czar care about a bunch of Indians in the middle of the forest?"

  "They are trying to break away from Russian Amerika. They have attacked too many posts, killed too many people-"

  "Cossacks," he said with a hungry smile, "they only kill the cossacks, and those who refuse to surrender."

  Her jaw muscles tightened.

  "The Czar and the Russian Amerika Company want them neutralized." Her voice matched the season. "We know there is a circle of leaders inciting the rest of the Indians to rebellion. We also know there has to be a revenue source to finance this travesty. We need their names and where they can be found."

  She wondered why Grisha visibly relaxed.

  "Then you're out of luck. I only know a couple of them. Got no idea where they get their paychecks. You'll have to find someone else to get the names for you."

  "We know that you've been in Toklat since your 'rescue.' This is a long-term investment. But we need you in on the operation now, before any spring offensives are started."

  "How did you know where I was? How did you find me now?"

  "I'll tell you later—if you agree to our terms."

  "Do you really think I would be fool enough to trust you or any part of the army again?"

  She looked down at Rezanov.

  "You were supposed to have won him over by this time, or killed him, Captain. Have you been derelict in your duties?"

  "Captain?" Grisha said in astonishment.

  Nik wouldn't look up. He sat on the trail and stared at Valari's snow-paks.

  "I'm sorry I didn't warn you. You can't believe how convoluted this thing is, Grisha," he said calmly.

  "Why haven't you enlisted him?" Valari hissed.

  Nik looked up at her.

  "Because once I saw the birthing of the Den Republik, I realized how much I hate the blind, despotic greed of the Russian government and those who serve it."

  "Birthing!" She kicked him in the face, knocking him back into the snow.

  "There is no Den Republik, you pompous ass!" she shouted. "The Czar will never allow mere savages to dictate to Imperial Russia. They must be stamped out, made an example of—just like the traitors of 1917 and 1935!"

  She snapped her mouth shut and pulled back into herself. This won't work, she realized. I must woo them, not break their arms.

  She reached down and helped Rezanov sit up again.

  "Captain, you have lost your focus," she said gently. "These things happen. Now we must make the best of the situation."

  Rezanov's eyes found hers. Blood leaked from his nose, and a dark bruise thickened across his right cheek.

  "You only hear what you wish to hear, Captain," he said evenly. "I cannot do this to Grisha, to myself, or the Den people."

  Valari stifled the impulse to kick him again. She glanced at Vlad and Crepov. They stood watching her, close behind Grisha. Her gaze traveled back to Rezanov.

  "You are speaking treason, my friend." She patted her Kalashnikov fondly. "You know what becomes of traitors."

  "Just to save us all time, why don't you
go ahead and execute me right now? That's why I made contact the last time, I want out of this charade."

  "If you and your reluctant recruit here don't cooperate, that's exactly what we'll do."

  A grunt of pain and sudden scuffling jerked her attention back to the others. Crepov was on his knees, bracing himself up with locked arms, trying to regain his feet. Blood ran freely from a slash across his cheek.

  Grisha stood behind Vlad, holding a machine pistol to the corporal's head.

  "No, don't," Valari said before she could stop herself.

  "I thought I picked out the one you sleep with," Grisha said with a tight smile. "Now drop your weapon or I'll kill him."

  She pointed her weapon at Rezanov's chest. "You drop your weapon," she said softly, "or I'll kill him."

  "What do I care if you kill your own spy? Go ahead, then I want you down that trail as fast as you can go."

  "You don't care if I kill him?" she said, doubt washed over her.

  "If you don't care that I kill Corporal Lover, here." He jammed the muzzle of his weapon behind Vlad's ear. Vlad winced and tried to pull away.

  Grisha tightened his grip on the corporal's collar. "I have nothing to lose. Now get out of here!"

  Something sagged inside her. He was right. She, on the other hand, could lose everything if she didn't handle this correctly.

  "Let us all go," she said quickly. "And we'll let you both leave."

  The promyshlennik tried to stand but fell into the snow.

  "Get away from me or I'll kill all of you," Grisha said.

  "You can't get all of us before I get you." Her voice carried more of an urgency than she wanted to exhibit, but she had no time to think. "Do it my way and we all live."

  Muscles moved beneath the dark beard. This man had changed a great deal more than expected in a few short months; he was no longer a defeated cuckold. She hadn't considered that possibility at all.

  "Okay," he said. "Put down your weapon and carry your dog off."

  "You must think I'm stupid, Grigoriy. If I put down my weapon you'll kill all three of us."