Alaska Republik

by Stoney Compton

  General Spotted Bird grinned for the first time that day.

  “Indeed he was sent for. I sent for him. Have Mr. Cassidy brought forward at once.”

  Sergeant Yazzi spoke into the microphone for a moment and then lapsed into silence.

  Colonel Fires-Twice gave the general a look. “Is that Yukon Cassidy you sent for?”

  The general glassed the field again. “Yeah. Know him?”

  “We were friends when we were boys. I haven’t seen him since he got pissed and joined the Royal Canadian Rangers back in ’73.”

  General Spotted Bird dropped his binoculars to his chest and gave the colonel a level stare. “You never told me you knew him.”

  “You never asked, sir.”

  “Why was a white kid living in the FPN?”

  “His dad was one of those back-to-the-land rustics in the late ’50s. His mother is Hunkpapa Sioux, so he’s half Indian.”

  “How long did the father last?”

  “He’s the chief administrator for the big hospital in Sioux Falls, still married to his wife after all these years.”

  “That’s amazing. Most of those guys went home after three months. What was Cassidy like as a kid?”

  Colonel Fires-Twice grinned and shook his head. “He got me into more damned trouble than any five other people put together. Always had a scheme that would make us some money, get us horses, or much later, find wild women.”

  “And you haven’t seen him for over fifteen years?”

  “The few times he came back to Pa Sapa to visit I was out patrolling one of our borders. You know his record pretty well, General. How is that?”

  “He’s worked for me off and on for the last ten years. Best facilitator I’ve ever seen.”

  “I can easily believe that. He was always good in tight situations. One time he and I—”

  A battered utility with a lodge top screeched to a stop beside the Brulé tank and both men watched a solidly built man of medium height climb out and look up at them.

  “General Spotted Bird, you sent for me?” His gaze wandered over to the other man in the wide tank hatch. “Frank, is that really you?”

  “With your permission, General?” Fires-Twice said with a wide grin.

  “By all means, Colonel, go greet your friend.”

  Colonel Franklin Fires-Twice vaulted out of the hatch, landed on the hull and then jumped to the ground. He and Cassidy grabbed each other in a fierce bear hug and danced in a circle, pounding each other on the back. When they pulled apart General Spotted Bird saw tears on the faces of both men.

  “I’ve thought about you every damn day,” Franklin said. “Always wondering what you were up to, where you were, who you were—”

  “You’re looking good, Frank.” He wiped his eyes with a grimy sleeve. “And a full colonel, too! I always knew you’d get somewhere if I just got the hell out of the way. I’ve kept up on you, too. Two Valor Shields in one career is a record, isn’t it?”

  “So they tell me. It is so good to see you, my brother!”

  “We can’t let this many years separate us again, agreed?”

  “Agreed!”

  “Now I have to report to the general.” Cassidy turned and looked up at Spotted Bird. “Any word on our outlaw?”

  “The Freekorps went through here over a week ago. They jumped the border in the middle of the night without killing anyone. The Russians had other fish to fry and put the incident on the back burner. Where they went from here is anyone’s guess.”

  “Was Riordan with them?”

  “Oh yes. Our witness was very sure of that point. Riordan’s scout car nearly ran down the guy’s kids. Riordan had the driver stop and he screamed at the kids for being in his way.”

  “That asshole never changes, does he?”

  “There’s a firefight ahead of us—we’re taking out Tetlin Redoubt—but we can get you around the fighting and headed northwest if you wish.”

  “I would be most grateful, General Spotted Bird.”

  “You’re after Riordan?” Franklin Fires-Twice asked.

  “I’ll bring him back to the First People’s Nation to answer for his crime, my friend.”

  “Isn’t he surrounded by mercenaries?”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “But how—”

  “I’ll see you when I get back, Frank. Please stay safe.”

  “You too, Wayne.”

  Cassidy crawled back into the battered utility and started the engine. Then, with a wave, he swayed off down the road stretching north into the heart of Russian Amerika.

  7

  57 miles south of Delta

  “Majeur! We have sighting of Russian military.” Captain René Flérs exclaimed through the window of the command car, jerking Timothy Riordan out of a deep sleep.

  After waiting ten beats for his heart to slow, Riordan squinted his eyes and stared at his executive officer. “Are they actually attacking us, René?”

  “Non! Perish the very thought. They know nothing of our presence.”

  “Then you should have carefully touched my shoulder and spoke in softer tones,” he said softly. Then he screamed, “I nearly crapped myself when you startled me! Ten days of busting ass on the road takes it out of a man!”

  “My apologies, Majeur Riordan,” Flérs said as he cringed. “I was merely attempting to notify you in the most expeditious manner at my command.”

  Riordan sat up and glanced around. “Don’t worry about it, this time. So what’s the situation?”

  “Corporal N’go and Private Kyle report they have made visual contact of a small group of Russian Army vehicles and soldiers. They are at the junction where the road turns north again.”

  “Small, how small?”

  “Two tanks, six armored personnel carriers and three trucks. No more than forty Russians.”

  “Good work, René!” Riordan jumped to his feet and adjusted his uniform. Squaring his beret he flashed René a quick smile.

  “We’re going to come out of this better than we are going in.”

  René smiled.

  8

  58 miles south of Delta

  Jerry fought his mixed emotions. He was in a combat situation among people he didn’t know, and had no idea of their viewpoint on anything other than killing Russians.

  He felt an increasing attraction to Magda. Sure, he had always appreciated a good-looking woman and would vie with his buddies for their favors. Even the engagement to Andrea had been more lark than not and the sex had been awesome at first.

  Somehow this was different. But was that due to the fact that she knew more about the current situation than he did, and he needed to prove dominance or something? This sudden change in the situation didn’t give him pause but it certainly put a new twist on things.

  She was a very strong-willed person, physically brave, obviously intelligent, and would probably kill him if she thought it necessary.

  “This is the kind of girl my mother would like,” Jerry muttered, remembering how much his traditional mother had disliked Andrea.

  Ahead of him, Magda stopped and peered back over her shoulder. “Shut up,” she hissed. “This is Russian territory.”

  Jerry gave her a crisp salute and forgot Andrea. Watching Magda’s body move under the moosehide was much more interesting.

  All of his gear had been returned and he kept a weather eye on the compass embedded in the hilt of his survival knife. Even though she weaved around rock fields and brush too dense to penetrate, Magda maintained a bearing of NNW. Without the compass, Jerry knew he would have been lost within a half hour, even if he knew where he was going.

  Bodecia had been generous with her three-hour guess. The two dogs fanned out on either side of the trail, never barking nor chasing the small animals spooked by their proximity.

  They crossed a crude road indented with the passing of tracked vehicles. Tanks or armored personnel carriers, Jerry decided, or both. After moving out of sight of the road he reached out
and touched her arm.

  She wheeled and the muzzle of her machine pistol pointed at his stomach. “What?”

  “Aim that somewhere else, if you don’t mind. I’m on your side, remember?”

  The muzzle dropped to her side. “Why did you stop me?”

  “How long has it been since it rained here?”

  “You want to talk about the weather?”

  “I want to know how old those tracks are back there. They were well defined but dry. They could be a day or a month old, but they haven’t been rained on.”

  She had the courtesy to blush. “I’m sorry. I keep underestimating you, don’t I?”

  He shrugged. “You don’t know me from Adam, as my mother likes to say. All you know is that I can fly a plane.”

  “Thank you.” She awarded him a quick, dazzling smile. “It rained here four days ago. We had a downpour. Is there any way to determine their direction?”

  “Not that I can tell. But tracking wasn’t my easiest merit badge.”

  “Let’s go back and take a quick look,” she said. “Maybe I can see something you didn’t.”

  With a gesture he offered her the lead. She declined. He carefully retraced their path.

  The ground had been churned many times in the past. The willows were broken off or worn away for a full ten meters. The vehicle hadn’t been alone. Jerry could count three different sets and thought there might have been four.

  After pointing this out to Magda, he hesitated and then said, “So what else do you see?”

  “Nothing. But perhaps there are things we should look for and ponder their significance.”

  “You have an extensive vocabulary for a girl who was raised in the middle of Russian Amerika.”

  “We call it Alaska. Both of my parents are well read and like to discuss what they read. One can learn much just listening, let alone reading. We should look for things they dropped or dragged.”

  “Equipment?”

  “I was thinking more in the order of oil drops.”

  “Oil drops. How can that tell us their direction?”

  “If they were moving at speed, the drops will point in the direction they were going.”

  “Okay, let’s look for oil drops.”

  “Won’t take long,” she murmured, walking past him while searching the ground along the road. “They don’t take care of their equipment.”

  “That could get them in a lot of trouble out here in the middle of—”

  “There!” she said, somewhat more excited than he thought she would be.

  They weren’t oil drops. Someone riding in the vehicle had emptied dark liquid, quite a lot of it. The largest splash mark lay southernmost, the constantly diminishing smaller marks pointed north.

  “Damn,” Jerry muttered. “They’re going the same direction we are.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  He looked up at her. “Thank you for teaching me that.”

  “You’re welcome. Let’s go, we’re almost to the Czar Nicholas Highway.”

  He followed Magda and her dogs into the brush. For an hour he silently followed, trying to keep his mind on the situation and destination rather than where her presence led him.

  “Let’s stop for a while,” Magda said. She sat on a large rock, which now seemed rare. “Would you like some squaw candy?”

  “The kind your father gave me?”

  While opening her pack she gave him a smirk. “And what other kind would there be?”

  He barked an embarrassed laugh, feeling more vulnerable than he would ever admit. “I meant the smoked fish. Don’t be silly.”

  Her face went solemn and she handed him a strand of salmon. “Why would you call me silly? That’s something one says to a child.”

  “My God, Magda, you are most definitely not a child!”

  Her face softened and he felt his body relax. This didn’t seem to be the place to explain how attractive he found her. But it did seem like the right time.

  “I think you’re amazing, beautiful, and dangerous, in that order. I would happily accept any sort of sweet you offered me.”

  She grinned. “That was pretty good. Let’s go now.”

  He followed her as she moved lithely down the trail, watching the land ahead of her and her feet never stumbling or stepping in the wrong place. Yamato decided her toes had eyes. With a start he realized his complete trust in her.

  “Where did you attend university?” she asked in a normal voice.

  “University of California at Bakersfield. Majored in history.”

  “California history?”

  “North American history, I think it’s fascinating.”

  “From what I’ve heard and read, it seems very jumbled up, all those nations at each other’s throats, alliances against alliances yet often on the same side in a larger war.”

  “Where did you attend university?” he said with a laugh.

  “Two years at Metropolitan College in St. Nicholas and I took my bachelor’s from Simon Frasier in British Canada with double majors in philosophy and biology.”

  “Why are you living like this if you don’t have to?” he blurted.

  “Because I want to, maybe?” She gave him a long, level look over her shoulder before continuing on down the trail. “I’ve been teaching Dená children at Delta. There is no higher calling than teacher.”

  “How old are you?”

  She chuckled softly without looking back. “One never asks a lady her age. Didn’t they teach you that in school?”

  “No.” He laughed. “But my mother tried.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight last August. I’ve been in the RCAF for almost four years.”

  “How much longer are you obligated to serve?”

  “Two more years and a few weeks, if I decide to get out.”

  “Why would you stay in the military? Do you like being told what to do?”

  “I like the feeling that I’m contributing to my country and getting to fly planes at the same time.” He felt nettled but tried not to show it. “I think we all owe our country something.”

  “So why not teach?”

  He laughed again. “Not even the military tells you what to do as completely as do public school administrators. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

  “Good riposte. I give you points. I left my position in January.”

  “Why?”

  “Bloody administrators, that’s why. Let’s just say we didn’t agree on curriculum.”

  Jerry remained silent for a few hundred yards. The more he learned of her, the more attraction he felt. He decided she had to be at least twenty-four.

  “So, is there a boyfriend or fiancé waiting for you back in Delta?”

  “Not really.”

  He nearly asked what that meant before deciding he didn’t want to know. Not yet, anyway. The next four questions that popped into his head were instantly rejected.

  Throughout their trek he watched everything they passed, trying to remember landmarks in the event he had to retrace the route alone.

  Well, if I can just find the trail.

  Magda suddenly stopped and hunkered down into a crouch. The dogs vanished into the trees. Jerry instantly moved off the trail and into the brush before stopping.

  “What?” he said in a hiss.

  She held her hand up for silence and then moved. And disappeared. Try as he might, he could not see where she went. He heard a voice.

  “But we have an armored column advancing from St. Nicholas, Major. How can you insist we need your Freekorps, especially at such an exorbitant price?”

  Educated Russian, Jerry decided. Freekorps?

  “We’re all veterans of armed conflict, Captain. We know what we’re doing and how to do it as expediently as possible. You tell us what objective you want taken and we have it for you in three days or give you fifteen percent off.”

  Jerry couldn’t place the accent—Europe, maybe. He had heard the term “Freekorps” before,
in OCS; the major was a mercenary.

  “What would be the price of taking Chena Redoubt?”

  Major Mercenary’s laugh lacked humor. “We are a company, not a brigade. But we could do it in a month for five thousand British pounds.”

  The Russian captain laughed with great amusement. “Hell, for that much I would conquer it!”

  “No discretionary funds, I take it?”

  “Nothing like that. Besides, the Californians have deployed troops and antiaircraft batteries throughout the area. Is suddenly whole new war.”

  “Yes, I know. And you’re losing.”

  “We have suffered setbacks, yes. But not losing, no.”

  “As you wish. It really doesn’t matter to me.”

  Jerry edged forward; he wanted to see these men.

  “I find your attitude offensive, Major Riordan.”

  “I don’t mean to be personally offensive; tactically offensive, yes. I like to think I am a realist.”

  Through the screening branches of three willows, Jerry saw them. The Russian’s field garb gave off small puffs of dust as he walked. Major Riordan wore mottled camouflage and an incongruous red beret.

  “As you wish. If you don’t mind, I must return to my command. There is great battle raging near Chena and my armored scout company has been ordered to the front.”

  “Very heroic, I’m sure you and your men will acquit yourselves honorably.” Riordan lagged behind the captain and put a whistle to his lips. Abruptly he pulled his pistol from its holster, and blew twice on the whistle before shooting the captain three times in the back of the head.

  Jerry nearly cried out. He knew war was brutal, but this was—

  A fusillade of weapons fire blazed from a near distance.

  Riordan grinned down at the captain’s body. “Now it becomes clear, does it not? You either let me in the game or risk losing everything. Now I’ve got your money and your armour.” He marched off down the dry wash toward the sound of motors revving and men cheering.

  Jerry could clearly see the dead captain’s ruined head. His stomach lurched and he lowered his head close to the moss and years’ worth of ancient leaves before he let himself vomit. Taking a pull from his canteen, he rinsed his mouth as best he could.