Russian Amerika (ARC)

by Stoney Compton

  "C'mon, Ivan, wake up."

  Again the stinging. Rudi Cermanivich tried to open his eyes, but they would not obey him.

  "C'mon—"

  "Do not strike me again," Cermanivich said in English, the language in which he was being addressed. "I am injured all over, my body does not respond as it should."

  "I have a pistol. If you make any sudden moves I will hurt you."

  Cermanivich barked a laugh that turned into a painful cough. "If I make sudden move I will hurt me." He slowly raised his hand to his face and rubbed at the bloody crust around his eyes.

  "Do you have water? I need some on my face."

  A moment later a dollop splashed in his eyes. He rubbed briskly and felt his eyelids tug open. The light blinded him and he squinted. The throbbing in his head intensified.

  "What's your name, Sergeant?"

  Rudi blinked up at the man, realizing for the first time his opponent was an Asian. "Sergeant Rudi Cermanivich, Imperial Tank Korps, Flash Division. Do you wish my service number also?"

  The pilot smiled for a moment. "No, that's enough. This battle is over for us, why are you still trying to kill me?"

  "For you, perhaps the battle is over. For me, never. Who are you and why are you on Russian soil?"

  "First Lieutenant Gerald Yamato, 117th Fighter Squadron, Republic of California Air Force. I'm not on Russian soil, I'm in the Den Republic, I think."

  "Kalifornia? For what reason do you make war on us?"

  "Ask the politicians, I'm just following orders."

  "Who do you fight for, and against?" Rudi demanded.

  "We're aiding the Den Republic and fighting against you, the Russian Empire."

  "There is no Den Republik, how can you aid what does not exist?"

  "The Den Republik has been a recognized country for a week, at least. Are you guys supposed to be pretty hot in combat, or what?"

  "We are— were crack tank group. Four days ago we disembark from ship which picked us up near Chinese border week before. We did not anticipate aircraft nor any other opposition."

  "You're in a war zone, it isn't like 'San Diego—Day of Infamy' or anything like that."

  "We were surprised, but nothing on the scale of your 1931 defeat, no." Rudi grinned, which hurt. "But I was not aware of your country's role in this insurrection."

  "This is our third day at war, so don't feel bad about not getting the word. Where are you hurt?"

  "Shorter list if you ask where I am not hurt."

  "Can you stand?"

  "I don't know. Will try."

  He pushed himself up and the pain level rose with him. Rudi leaned against the rock he had fallen from and tried to breathe without hurting. Never before in his life had he endured this much pain.

  Am I going to die here? he wondered. His heart slowed from a stampede to mere gallop and the pain receded. Slowly he turned and faced the rock, put his hands at shoulder level, and tried to stand.

  Stars danced through his head and blurred his vision. Sensation deserted him as darkness charged.

  "Just what I need, an injured prisoner." Jerry Yamato spat on a rock and finished adjusting the sergeant's comatose form on the litter he had fashioned from the plentiful willows along the river.

  His stomach growled and, as if in response, so did the sergeant's. Food needed to be found, and soon. Jerry worked his eyes slowly over the terrain, hoping to see movement.

  They had been relatively quiet for some time now. Perhaps game might be available.

  And I will get it how?

  The sergeant's rifle was junk. The .45 slug had smashed the receiver and trigger mechanism. At the time, he had been aiming for the Russian's head.

  The man was probably going to die long before he could get him any medical help. The temptation to just shoot him and put him out of his misery passed through Jerry's mind. He shuddered in revulsion, disgusted with himself.

  "I've got to at least try and help him."

  He figured he was about a half mile from his parachute and harness. Dragging the sergeant that far shouldn't be too much of a problem. Then the harness and chute would be of immeasurable help.

  Bouncing the litter over the rocks, Jerry was glad the Russian had passed out. He was also making far too much noise if he wished to find game within a mile. Doggedly, he continued dragging the litter.

  After twenty minutes by his own watch, he stopped and sagged onto the nearest boulder. He felt completely done in, and had yet to spy his cache. With extreme care he lowered the litter to the ground.

  Yamato pulled himself onto the largest rock within three yards and looked for his harness marker. A glance over his shoulder gave him the wisping smoke from the wrecked Eureka and farther away the tendrils from the tanks as a gauge. Unless his memory was playing games with him, he should be on top of the cache.

  He faced forward again and caught motion out of the corner of his eye. A quick step and he was sliding off the rock, turning to face the unknown and unholstering his .45 all at the same time. He landed beside the boulder with both feet spread wide, his elbows resting on the rock and his weapon pointed at . . . a frightened young woman?

  Dressed entirely in soft leather molding to her voluptous curves, abundant dark hair framing her porcelain-fine features, she held his parachute bunched in her arms and stared at him like a frightened fawn.

  "Who are you?" he asked, not lowering the pistol.

  "Sm-small English," she said. "Ruski?"

  Jerry shook his head. He found her beauty disturbing. What was she doing out here all al—

  A stunning blow knocked him against the boulder, turning his legs to jelly and his mind to star-speckled mush.

  "Good work, Magda," God said just before Jerry's wits slipped into the void.

  Back | Next

  Framed

  Back | Next

  Contents

  88

  Tanana, Den Republik

  "I think he's coming around, now, Colonel."

  Wing grinned despite herself. Her unexpected promotion to colonel was still new enough to feel disproportionately grandiose. She watched Grisha's face as his eyes fluttered and finally opened.

  He frowned at the ceiling.

  "You're in the hospital, Grisha," she said in a low voice. "Don't try to move, they have your leg in traction. The longer you stay quiet, the quicker they'll let you out of here."

  He looked down at the sling and pulley arrangement in which the doctor had trapped him. "Pretty fancy. Where are we?"

  "Tanana. The U.S. fixed up the old Russian military hospital." Wing glanced around and sniffed appreciatively. "It actually looks, and smells, like a hospital now."

  She smiled down at him, wondering if he remembered asking her to marry him. "How do you feel?"

  "Weak, and I don't like it." He frowned, looked up at her, and the frown slid away into a smile. "And in love. Pretty strange situation all the way around."

  She bent over and kissed him.

  Grisha took a deep breath. "What's the military situation?"

  "We have both the Diomedes. The bridge still stands but we can vaporize it if the Russians try to use it for military purposes. All Russian units between the town of Bridge and Chena Redoubt have been neutralized or eliminated."

  "We've won the war?"

  "Not quite. From what we can gather, there's a massive Russian retreat toward St. Anthony Redoubt. Those are the guys we fought outside Chena."

  She gave him a moment to appreciate the victory. "There was a second column advancing over the Alaska Range from St. Nicholas, but the RCAF hit them with a fighter squadron-"

  "The 117th?"

  "Yes. And they not only destroyed the majority of the tanks and other armor, but they cut the road. The only threat we have to worry about from St. Nicholas is aircraft."

  "How many birds did the 117th lose?"

  "Almost half their strength. Their commanding officer has been recommended for a posthumous Medal of Honor."

  "How
can we ever repay them?" Grisha whispered.

  "We will, don't worry. There is also a column moving north from Tetlin, no idea as to strength."

  "What about the F.P.N column?" Grisha's eyes seemed normal again.

  "What F.P.N column?" Wing wondered how he could have military intelligence that she didn't.

  "How long have I been in here?" He waved at the room.

  "Since late last night. The Battle of Chena happened yesterday."

  He told her what he had seen from the transport. "From the air their column looked to be about five miles long."

  "I wonder if they're going to claim all territory they take?" Wing said. "This could be a whole new problem."

  "Is the U.S. or the R.O.C. claiming anything they've fought for up here?"

  Grisha's mind was clear as ever, she thought. "No. But the U.S. and the Californians established a liaison with us before committing troops. The F.P.N is just attacking."

  Grisha surveyed his left leg and the cat's cradle of wires hooked to it. "How long do I have to be in here?"

  "Two weeks, minimum, if you ever want to walk normally again. It was a worse break that they thought, Grisha."

  "In more ways than one! Okay, I want a radio operator, a desk that I can actually use from this position, a telephone, and some routing boxes for papers, whatever. If I can't be in the field I'll do what I can from here."

  "You were wounded in the line of duty, Colonel Grigorievich," she said with feeling. "Nobody will think you are shirking if you're flat on your back in a hospital bed."

  "I know Malagni can handle—" he was looking at her face while speaking and what he saw there stopped him. "What?"

  "Oh, Grisha, I thought you knew." She told him about the epic man-to-man contest, how both sides had stopped fighting to bear witness, and how it ended.

  "Things were moving so fast," he said. "When we dropped on Chena we just watched for muzzle flashes and didn't pay attention to anything else." Grisha stared through the wall; Wing wondered what he was seeing. "Malagni is really dead, that is so hard to believe. Do we know the name of the man who killed him, who he killed?"

  "Bennie Amos from Venetie said the promyshlennik's name was Boris Crepov—, what?"

  The blood seemed to drain from Grisha's face in seconds. "Did he have a scar on his right cheek, a big one?"

  "Yeah, made him look even more fierce, they say. I was too far away for detail like that, and, afterward, I had other things to do."

  Grisha relaxed and his color returned to normal. "He's the bastard that almost killed me on the trek from the slave camp. I'm the one that gave him the scar, that day on the trail when Nik and I ran into Valari's ambush. Crepov was the man I cut."

  "Small world, isn't it?"

  "I was afraid of that man, knew he would hurt me some day. I just didn't know how badly." He sniffed and rubbed his left eye. "How soon can you get me a desk?"

  "Today. How soon can you marry me?"

  When he grinned like that she knew how he looked as a boy. "Don't you want a husband who can carry you over a threshold or jump over a broom at your side?"

  "I want to marry you before you can get away from me."

  "Well, for the next two weeks you know exactly where I'm going to be. It won't be much of a wedding feast, and our first night together will probably lack a lot of the things I had in mind, but you get a holy man in here and I'll marry you this afternoon."

  "You have a deal, General Plesnet."

  "Colonel," he said, still smiling. "I'm just a colonel, remember?"

  Wing snapped her fingers. "I knew there was something else I had to tell you. The War Council of the Den Republik promoted you to general as soon as they heard about your actions yesterday. And I think they're working on a suitable medal to go along with the two stars."

  "I'm a brigadier general? Does that mean I'll be stuck behind a desk for the rest of my career?"

  "It means you're in charge of the Den Army, Grisha."

  Back | Next

  Framed

  Back | Next

  Contents

  89

  USS Enterprise, CV5 in the North Atlantic

  Captain David Thiessen hoped their intelligence was correct, he was taking a big chance pulling Task Force 1 this far north. The weather in the Newfoundland Basin seemed to work hard to earn its reputation.

  "Pure crap," he growled as the bow of the aircraft carrier nosed into another mountain of green water. But they had managed to launch a recon bird three hours earlier before the weather changed yet again. Now he was worried they wouldn't be able to get Lieutenant Todd back onboard in one piece.

  The quartermaster striker on headphones piped up, "Captain, the radio room reports sightings from Prowler 1."

  Prowler 1 was Lieutenant Todd in his Hellcat.

  "Tell them to put it on the bridge speaker."

  "Aye, aye."

  A burst of static issued from the speakers on either side of the bridge and then the lieutenant's voice said, "—six ships with her."

  Captain Thiessen picked up his microphone and clicked for attention. "Sam, this is the captain. Please repeat your report, we didn't get the first part on the squawk box."

  "Yes, Captain. I have sighted HMS Endeavour accompanied by two Simcoe Class cruisers and four destroyers."

  "Well done, Sam. You sure it's the Endeavour?

  "Positive, Captain. I went aboard her in '82 when I was an ensign."

  "Just the battleship group with no birdfarm?"

  "I have seen no aircraft carriers other than the Big E, Captain."

  "Good work, Sam. The weather out here is getting worse by the minute, so I want you to fly into Reykjavik and land there."

  "Captain, I'll be interned, the Danes aren't in the war."

  "I know, Sam, but you'll still be alive. And don't forget, the place is crawling with good-looking, buxom blondes who appreciate sailors."

  Lieutenant Todd laughed. "Aye, aye, Captain. I'm just sorry I'll miss the fight."

  "So noted, Lieutnant, Enterprise out."

  The officer of the deck, Lieutenant Commander Stephens, watched his skipper with a gleam in his eyes. "We going to engage the limeys, Captain?"

  Captain Thiessen grinned. "Bet your ass, Louie. But we're going to wait and nail them when they come out of the storm, all beaten to shit and their brightwork dulled. Quartermaster, steer west, southwest, half speed, notify the task force."

  Back | Next

  Framed

  Back | Next

  Contents

  90

  Rainbow Valley

  "What have you done to us, Lieutenant?" Rudi Cermanivich's voice possessed sharp claws that ripped into Jerry's aching semi-consciousness.

  "Don't shout," he mumbled. "M'head hurts." He tried to raise his hand to his throbbing neck but couldn't move his arm; either arm. He cracked his eyes open and nearly wept at the intense pain riding the light waves into his nervous system. Tightly wrapped bonds proved to be his own parachute shroud lines.

  Without looking he knew his pistol was gone. So the Russians had come looking for Rudi after all. He swung his painful gaze around and found Rudi still in his willow litter, firmly tied with more shroud line.

  "What's happened?" Jerry whispered.

  "I thought you would know. When I wake up I am in this, this cradle—"

  "Litter, I made it for you. So I could move you."

  "As you will, litter. Did you also truss me into it like a Christmas goose?"

  "No. I suspect—"

  "Ah, both of our guests are awake."

  Jerry looked up, borderline fearful to see who owned that massive, booming voice.

  A bald, muscular giant looked back at him. Wearing soft leather clothing like the woman Jerry had seen somewhere in his past, the giant seemed sprung from the earth. The worked hide covering his chest boasted resplendent beadwork depicting a creature eating the tail of an identical, but darker, creature which in turn was eating the first creature's tail.
<
br />   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?"