"All right then, you use the captain there for a shield and move back down the trail to where it turns. I'll back up with your corporal until I can find cover."
"Then?"
"Then the corporal helps your wolfhound move slowly down the trail—at the same time Rezanov moves toward me. Once they pass each other you won't be able to fire for fear of hitting the wrong people."
Her lips were very dry; she licked them again. Her mind darted over his words, searching for treachery, couldn't find any and knew she hadn't looked closely enough. But there was no more time.
"Da. It will be as you say." She looked down at Nik. "Get to your feet very slowly, with your back to me."
He turned away from her and rose slowly to his feet.
She grabbed his collar and prodded his spine with the Kalashnikov.
"Walk backward," she ordered. "If you try anything foolish I will spread your bowels all over your Creole brother."
He stepped back and hit the toe of her ski with his heel.
"Stop." She reached down and unlatched the bindings with her rifle muzzle. "Now step back over the skis."
Once he was across them, she stopped him again.
"Pick them up and hold them in front of you. If you try—"
"I'll do what you say, damn it!" he shouted. "Just shut up!" He bent over and grabbed the skis.
She glanced at Vlad as he shuffled backward down the trail away from her. This just hadn't worked out according to plan, she thought dully. Rezanov moved backward again.
The slow, awkward journey seemed to last for ulcerating hours. By the time they reached the bend in the trail, her back and legs ached. She peered past her hostage.
Perhaps Grisha outsmarted himself. The range of his weapon was considerably less than hers. But the assault rifle was not known for its accuracy at long distance either.
"Let Rezanov go!" Grisha shouted. His voice echoed down the valley.
Vlad and Crepov staggered slowly toward her. She prodded the traitor.
"Get away from me. There will come a time when I kill you, if your noble savages don't do it for me."
Rezanov hesitated for a moment and looked into her eyes. "There is a saying in the southern republiks that applies to you, Valari:; go fuck yourself." He walked away down the path.
She nearly laughed. Sweat ran down her face despite the frigid cold. The men came together and each stepped off the trail slightly to allow the others to pass.
Vlad looked drawn and angry. Blood covered the left side of Crepov's face. How had Grisha done that? They shambled up to her, Vlad released the promyshlennik and slumped beside the man when he fell.
Valari brought her weapon up quickly, but the trail stretched away cold, gray, and empty. They turned toward the distant helicopter.
A shot rang out and the sound echoed through the cut and past them, bounced off the frozen ridges.
They stopped. Crepov raised his head with an effort.
"He—the one that cut me—killed your cossack," he said thickly.
"So it would seem," Valari said distantly. Her eyes squinted in the dim midday brightness.
I wonder if Rezanov told him about the radio before he died?
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24
Near the Toklat River
"There's one thing I still don't know," Grisha said, breaking the silence between them left by the gunshot.
They sat in the brush from where they had lost sight of Valari. No sense in trying to distance themselves from this place until the helicopter departed.
"What's that?" Nik said warily.
"How'd they know where we were?"
"I have a miniature Japanese radio that I reported in with periodically. Now you tell me something."
"What?" Grisha asked, staring into Nik's eyes.
"Why'd you just fire off one round? You didn't even aim it toward them."
"So they'd think I just shot an informer, before he could tell me about his radio."
"Huh?"
"Valari outsmarted me when I was still naive about her. No matter. But since she used me once, she thinks I'm stupid."
"Da?"
"It's my turn to outsmart her."
"Oh," Nik said with a frown. "Very well."
"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you explain?"
"And when do I do that, at the evening meal? 'Pass the salt, please. By the way, Grisha, I'm a spy and I must betray you and you're all going to die.' Something like that?"
"Why do you think we're all going to die?"
"Because they have helicopters, and fighter planes, if they need them. They have spies everywhere. They have two hundred tanks about two days from here. They have—"
"Look around, Nik! What do you see?" He waved his arm. "They can't get us in here with a tank. If we disperse, the planes can only blow up buildings, not kill people!"
"If your shelter is gone, you die."
"Not all the shelter is open to the sky. This problem has not been ignored. You knew that. But still you didn't tell me."
"I needed commitment."
"I gave you all that I had," Grisha said tightly.
"Not you. Cora. I mean, I knew you and I were friends, I knew you would understand once I explained it."
"Then why didn't you explain it?"
"Because if I told you, Cora would find out. I wasn't sure she would understand. In the beginning I was going to do what Capt— what Valari wanted."
Grisha felt as if he'd been slapped. Before he could find suitable words, a helicopter racketed toward them.
"Quick, pretend you're dead!" Grisha said. "Lay down on the trail."
Nik sprawled on the ground, facedown. "What if they put a few rounds into me to make sure I'm dead?" he muttered.
"They won't chance it, they're too big of a target and they don't know my location."
The helicopter roared over them. Grisha watched it pull up, wheel around in a tight turn and start back toward them. He pulled back farther into the thicket and aimed his Kalashnikov at the pilot.
The craft moved over them again, slower this time, but it didn't stop. A face peered whitely through the heavy plastic window. The rotor wash created a sudden snow flurry that quickly escalated into a miniature whiteout. The engine bellowed to higher decibels and the machine vanished over the ridge.
Grisha eased his weapon down to rest on his knees and sighed. "Okay, you aren't dead any more." He brushed snow off him.
Nik rolled over and stared at the ridge. "You don't think they'll be back?"
"No. Not if they want to stop that promyshlennik bastard from bleeding to death."
"What did you do to him?" Nik asked, getting to his feet.
Grisha stood. "Raked his face with this." He moved his wrist quickly and abruptly a small knife gleamed in his hand.
"How long have you had that?"
"It's been my talisman since the day we were rescued from the cossacks." Grisha stared at his friend. "Did you think I would tell on you?"
"I don't know, would you? Are you?"
"No, I'm not going to tell them anything: you are."
"They'll hate me," Nik said slowly. "Cora will hate me. I was a cossack."
"Just like she was a student nurse, in another life. You're a weapon for the Den Republik now." Grisha began collecting his equipment. "You were actually a cossack captain?"
"Da."
"You aren't old enough to be a captain!"
They skied into the late morning, following their trail back toward Toklat.
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25
Toklat, December 1987
The pulsing beat of their engines reached far out in advance of the Russian gunships. In the village a hand-cranked siren shrilled into a wail for a full minute before the operator released the handle and fled into the forest.
The first h
elicopter buzzed in at treetop level, machine guns firing indiscriminately. More than forty Kalashnikovs filled the air with bullets.
Even from the ground they could see the effect of their fire; pieces of fuselage flew off, the engine sputtered as smoke leaked from it, one of the gunners collapsed, swaying in his safety harness. The gas tank abruptly ignited and the stricken machine exploded. The remaining door gunner screamed flaming to the ground.
Before the second gunship reached the village, the first already lay burning on the forest floor. The second machine strafed a different section of the forest and ran into another wall of lead.
The pilot must have been hit in the first few seconds. The second helicopter abruptly nosed over and crashed into the trees. The four surviving machines veered and circled back the way they had come.
They hovered a kilometer away, waiting.
A Yak fighter snarled over the village just ahead of its exploding ordinance. Three hundred square meters of forest blew into flying splinters and burning trees.
The fighter etched a circle and returned with cannons clawing out, searching for targets. Again the air filled with bullets. But the Den were used to the slower helicopters and very few, if any, rounds found the aircraft.
The Yak didn't return. The helicopters swiveled and thwapped away to the southeast. The forest waited; only the crackle of small fires broke the stillness.
In excited jubilance, the Den emerged from their bunkers and shelters.
"Where did you get all those Kalashnikovs?" Nik asked in awe. "The army had no hint you were so well armed."
"From allies who prefer not to advertise their aid," Chan said, his eyes gleaming. "One of these days soon you'll be serving in that branch of operations."
"Obtaining military aid?" he asked.
"Apparently you find it difficult to comprehend what an incredible asset you are to this cause." Chan pulled him away from the others and they slowly followed a path through a stand of birch. Their breath hung around them in the cold air as they talked.
"I, I do know a great deal about weapon procurements, but nothing about shopping for them."
"Why are you here, Nikolai?" Chan said abruptly. "How can you turn your back on a St. Petersburg education, an army commission, and a politically influential family?"
"I'm not turning my back on my education. I'm using it." He threw his arms out for emphasis. "I have never agreed with my father politically. That's why he got me a military scholarship—as punishment and challenge." Nik glanced out through the gleaming birch. The white trees held back the subarctic afternoon darkness.
"The academy was hell, but the mathematics, engineering, and electronics were worth the price of admission. For a short time I even worked with the command logic machine."
"The what?"
"The command logic machine. It's a calculating machine. It can solve great mathematical equations in a few tens of minutes."
"What do they use it for?"
"Mostly mathematics. But it's a wonder."
"I'm still wondering about your presence."
"At first I was scared to death. But I knew my mission wouldn't go on forever and so I decided to do the best I could and help you turn Grisha into what you wanted and learn all your secrets at the same time." Nik hesitated, his burning eyes stared intently into Chan's face.
"Then I realized that you have the beginning of something here that could change the face of the continent." Enthusiasm bloomed in his voice. "And I wanted to be part of it."
"Why? You're not an Indian."
"Do I have to be an Indian to be part of the Den Republik?"
"Of course not. But—"
"Then my race doesn't matter, only my attitude does."
"Go on."
"I know the definition of 'republik,' and I also know that Alaska will always be a Siberian colony as long as the Czar rules here."
Nik's words echoed back at him and he realized how loud he had become. He abruptly lowered his voice. "Sorry, I didn't mean to shout."
"You're saying you don't like the way things are out there? Why should you care, or want to be part of this? You're part of the aristocracy. Aren't you descended from the great Baron Rezanov?"
"Christ! What a cross to bear." Nik spat in the snow. "Yes, Count Rezanov was my eight-times-removed ancestor, as well as his lovely, and much younger, Spanish bride. The love story that secured a continent! Until history decreed something different."
"So why are you here, with us, when you have so much back in St. Petersburg?"
"Because it's wrong to keep a people down where they can't see the horizon," he said with a slight tremor in his voice. "And it's double-damned wrong when what's keeping them down are animals who are nothing more than pustules on the buttocks of decent humanity."
"My word," Chan said with a smile. "You're still a romantic."
"My only other choice was much worse. That's why I'm here now."
"Why did it take cossacks to get you to tell us the truth?"
"I was trying to obtain something here that was never available in St. Nicholas or New Arkhangel. But when I saw those slinking dogs in uniform, I realized that what I wanted had to be earned, not given."
Nik peered at Chan in the gloom. "My only chance to live the way I wish is to help you do the same thing."
"Welcome home." Chan patted the taller man's back. "Have I ever got a job for you. But first we've got to get this village packed up and out of here before daylight."
"What? We're going to evacuate everybody tonight?"
"That fighter will be back in the morning with a lot more just like it. Toklat has served its purpose. We knew this day would come."
"So where are we going tonight?"
"First to Minto. A council of war must be held in the next few days. Then we will go to many places. Some will go into Chena."
"Chena, on the road? There's a huge garrison there."
"We know," Chan said with a wide grin. "We know."
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Minto, December 1987
Minto buzzed with excitement. Visitors from upriver and downriver crowded into the available guest space and spilled into the council chambers. The log building had been ordered built by the Imperial Army to serve as military quarters when needed.
Villagers had completed the project, which gave them a sense of ownership. Grisha found the fact amusing but doubted the army would. On reaching Minto he realized Toklat had been a military operation.
Minto swarmed with children, and the resident adults were not as enthusiastic about an impending Den Republik as the people who had inhabited Toklat.
"You people are just going to bring the Russians down hard on us!" a middle-aged man bitterly informed Grisha. "They got an army, a navy, and an air force. How you gonna stop that with your fancy words?"
Grisha parroted Hamish's answer. "Politically and economically."
"Shit!" the man responded. "Them Russians hit this place 'cause of you—you're gonna be dead, one way or another!"
After that, Grisha asked quiet questions of Haimish, Chan, and Wing. The village was typical of the entire region, roughly thirty percent of the population were sympathetic to the cause, about forty percent seemed to tolerate it, ten percent didn't care one way or the other, and a vocal twenty percent adamantly opposed their goals.
"What's wrong with them?" Grisha had demanded of Chan. "Don't they want their own country?"
"They see themselves as realists who don't want to lose what freedom and property they already possess. Many of them consider themselves Russian even though they would play hell convincing the citizens of St. Petersburg of that."
"But if they had any vision, they could see the possibilities—"
"Did you?" Haimish snapped. "Face it, laddie, you were pushed into this by the Russian Amerika Company and the Okhana."
"So push them."
"Patience,
" Chan said with an enigmatic smile. "The day is coming when they will all choose. But they will see it as something they want to do. We won't have to push, the Czar will do it for us."
Grisha was beginning to appreciate how well the minds of Chan and Haimish meshed. Nathan arrived two days after the Toklat people reached Minto and spent long hours with Nik. The former Czarist soldier offered his memories to the Den Republik, to mine for what usable ore they could discover.
While Wing operated a cunning little tape recorder from California, Nik recounted his life from adolescence to present, with Nathan concentrating on him. Nathan asked questions that sometimes seemed pertinent, sometimes pointless. Nik answered them all.
Grisha asked a few questions of his own about Nathan, and sometimes got evasions, sometimes pieces of answers. Chan allowed only that Nathan was a very perceptive man. Wing unwittingly revealed that Nathan had Russian, Den , Yu'Pik, and Kolosh ancestors; she thought it common knowledge.
Grisha tried to slip into his charter-boat camaraderie in an attempt to hear if anyone ever entertained a negative thought about Nathan. If they did, they wouldn't talk about it. Few would even allude to the possibility of feeling negative about the man.
Slayer-of-Men told Grisha that he would never go wrong by following Nathan's orders. Finally he found one man, an old man who had weathered over sixty winters in Minto, who seemed open about the subject.
"Nathan Roubitaux? He was a strange kid. You could be pissed as hell at him, then he'd show up and all you could do was like the little shit. I gotta admit, he's done a lot for the People."
A faint apprehension slowly took shape in the back of Grisha's mind. In the meantime, Nik struck gold.
Gnady Ustinov wondered if he were wasting his time. For over a year he had been hearing stories about the Den Separatist Movement fighting the wicked Russians in order to free the Athabascan People. At first he thought it was just a drunk's bull crap.
Then his good friend, Ambrose Ambrose had visited from Nabesna. They had only met a total of five times in the last twenty years but due to a heavy correspondence they were as close as brothers. Ambrose brought important news.
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