Alaska Republik

by Stoney Compton

  “Provide both, let them choose. Leave me be now; you make the decisions for ten minutes.”

  The driver grinned and slid the thick glass window shut, sealing off the passenger compartment from the driver. Two trucks screeched to a stop beside them and men boiled out with equipment and began chopping down trees and clearing ground.

  Lieutenant Colonel Janeki flipped through the sheaf of papers from his dispatch case.

  “There,” he muttered. His finger ran smoothly down the page and stopped near the bottom. “St. Anthony Redoubt is garrisoned by fifteen officers and ninety lower ranks. Minimal artillery, three tanks, and support vehicles.”

  He raised his face to the glass and peered through it. “But they have an aircraft.” His soft voice aided his train of thought. “So what else might they have which St. Nicholas Redoubt doesn’t know about?”

  His mind didn’t register the tent being erected by twelve silent, sweating men. Personnel swarmed around the car like crazed hornets, but none touched its polished metal sides.

  Lieutenant Colonel Janeki glanced at his watch, straightened his tie, and rapped on the window with his swagger stick.

  The driver immediately got out, came around the car, and opened the door closest to the now complete tent. Three enlisted men stood at attention behind the two tables laden with meat, cheese, vodka bottles, cups, and a samovar already emitting the aroma of steaming tea. Seven officers stood in a precise rank on the other side of the tent.

  The lieutenant colonel walked to the table and picked up a slice of ham but, before putting it into his mouth, said, “Gentlemen, please join me.”

  The officers crowded around the table filling plates, grabbing and filling cups. By the time they were ready to eat, the lieutenant colonel had strolled to the far end of the tent and rapped his swagger stick on a large-scale map of the area.

  “This is the situation. The garrison at St. Anthony has mutinied and gone over to the Dená rabble. According to the roster forwarded from St. Nicholas Redoubt, we are talking about a hundred men. They have three tanks and assorted support vehicles.”

  “Then the aircraft was not from the redoubt, Colonel?” Major Brodski asked.

  “It had to be, who else would attack us?”

  “Did the Third Armored have any aircraft, Colonel?” Major Chenkov asked.

  “No.”

  “So if they have an aircraft, no matter how antiquated, what else might they have that the high command does not know about?” Major Brodski’s tone edged into the rhetorical.

  “You’ve asked the same question I had earlier, Leonid,” Colonel Janeki said, slapping the crop against his thigh. “I think we should prepare to assault a heavily armed and well-entrenched foe. The Indians are probably under Russian command.”

  He stopped and thought for a moment. “Pyotr, request St. Nicholas to send me the personnel file on the commander of St. Anthony, soonest.”

  “Yes, Colonel,” a stocky major yelped. He saluted and left the tent at a run.

  “Leonid, leave one tank at the rear, move the others up to the front rank. Nothing makes the enemy piss his pants faster than seeing a wall of Russian armor advancing toward them, guns blazing.”

  “Yes, Colonel.” The major turned to a lieutenant and spoke quickly. The lieutenant left the tent at a run, stuffing a last bite of sausage into his mouth.

  “Did that damned plane do any damage?”

  “Twelve men dead, another eighteen wounded. One lorry totaled and bits and pieces shot off the tanks and APCs here and there.” Major Brodski took another sip of vodka.

  “So all they did was slap our face.” The lieutenant colonel’s facial muscles tightened and he stared at his officers through slitted eyes. “Before this is over, I want that pilot in front of me.”

  43

  3 miles south of Delta

  Major Timothy Riordan felt tense enough to shatter. His scouts had warned of a large Russian redoubt ahead of them, so they had taken the first northbound secondary road they found. After much twisting and turning, reconnoitering of other side roads and many dead ends, they had at last found the Russia-Canada Highway.

  Knowing they still were not beyond discovery by a Russian patrol, Riordan didn’t allow himself any elation over the successful evasion. Now one of the scouts was tearing back to the column on his motorcycle.

  “Stop the column!” Riordan snapped. He stepped out of the command car as the scout slid to a stop beside him.

  “Major, there’s a Russian column coming toward us. There’s something odd about them—they don’t have any scouts out. I damn near ran into them.”

  “From the north? How big of a column?”

  “Bigger’n we are, Major.”

  “Damn. Well, I guess we have to try diplomacy.” Riordan turned to his command sergeant major. “Rig me a white flag, John. We’re going to make some new friends.”

  Captain René Flérs, still sitting in the command car, said, “Do you think we shall ever arrive at Klahotsa, Majeur?”

  “René, if you can’t say something positive, just shut the hell up.”

  A white flag was tied to the radio aerial on the command car. Riordan swung into the seat next to the driver. “Let’s go meet some nice Russians. Oldre,” he said to the scout, “get up there and stop in the middle of the road when you see them. Wave a white flag. We’re right behind you.”

  “Somebody have a spare white flag?” Oldre asked in a petulant tone.

  “Here, Tom, just wave this.” Sergeant Major Douglas handed him a dirty pillowcase. “It’s close enough.”

  Oldre motored away.

  “Okay,” Riordan said to the driver. “Keep up with him. Sergeant Major, keep the column here; put out pickets.”

  The car accelerated after the motorcycle. Oldre stopped in the middle of the road less than half a mile from the Freekorps column. He parked the motorcycle in the middle of the crude road and waved the cloth over his head.

  The command car pulled up behind the motorcycle.

  “Do not show a weapon unless we’re fired on,” Riordan ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” the driver said, frowning at the advancing Russian scout car.

  Riordan slipped out and, holding both hands over his head, walked up the road toward the Russians. The scout car slowed and stopped fifty meters away. Two soldiers with rifles jumped out and aimed at Riordan.

  “Hold your fire,” he yelled. “I am not your enemy.”

  A lieutenant followed the soldiers. He kept his pistol holstered, but his right hand firmly rested on the butt. He hesitated for a moment, and then walked toward Riordan.

  “You wear a uniform I do not recognize. Who are you?”

  “I am Major Riordan, commanding officer of the International Freekorps.” He lowered his arms.

  “Mercenaries,” the lieutenant said flatly.

  “That’s one description,” Riordan said.

  “Have you just come from St. Anthony Redoubt, Major Riordan?”

  “No. We decided the times are too contentious to risk startling a garrison that could do us major harm. We went around it.”

  “Where, exactly, are you going?”

  “The village of Klahotsa, up on the Yukon.”

  The lieutenant’s pistol slid partway out of its holster. “You’re joining the Dená and you think we’re going to allow that?”

  Riordan quickly held both hands out in front of his chest.

  “No. In fact we’re on our way to fight the Dená. Could I please speak to your commanding officer? I would like to explain our situation only once.”

  Without taking his eyes off Riordan, the lieutenant lifted his left hand and cocked his index finger. One of the two soldiers ran to his side.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “My compliments to the general. Tell him we have encountered a group of mercenaries, strength unknown, whose leader wishes to speak to him.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant!” The soldier turned and ran back to the scout car. As so
on as he crawled in, the car turned in the middle of the road and raced toward an approaching dust cloud. The second soldier stood with his weapon ready, but no longer pointing at them.

  “I heard there was a big battle up north,” Riordan said. “How’d it go?”

  “How did you hear of any such battle?”

  “We had radios,” he jabbed a thumb toward the aerial on the command car. “We eavesdropped.”

  “You what?”

  “We listened in.”

  “Then you know what happened at Chena, don’t you?”

  “Not completely.”

  “Ask the general.”

  Riordan wished he had the lieutenant in his outfit. The man was a real hard-ass.

  “Where are you from, your home town, I mean?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Good enough.” Riordan realized the lieutenant would be hostile no matter what he did, so he just waited. The minutes seemed to stretch into hours but a quick glance at his Swiss watch showed it had only been ten minutes since the scout car left.

  Private Oldre eyed the lieutenant with an unmilitary scowl.

  So much for diplomacy, Riordan thought.

  A high-powered, luxury sedan approached at a high rate of speed.

  This would be the general.

  The limousine stopped within a foot behind the soldier and the driver jumped out and opened the back door. The general took his time, his lack of speed due more to his corpulent body than anything else. He squared his shoulders and then dropped back into a slouch as he moved forward, idly slapping his thigh with a riding crop.

  “What’s this all about, then?”

  Riordan snapped to attention and gave the general a perfect parade ground salute, rigidly holding it until the general returned with his own half-hearted wave. “Good afternoon, General. I am Major Riordan of the International Freekorps.”

  “Hmm, yes. I am General Myslosovich of the Imperial Russian Army. Exactly what are you doing here, Major?”

  “Attempting to get to my new place of employment: Klahotsa on the Yukon.”

  “That entire area is held by the Dená Separatist Movement, a terrorist group in rebellion against the Czar of Russia. Any aid to them is a crime against Russia.”

  “My employer, Mr. Bachmann, is loyal to the Czar and wishes to hold his part of the Yukon free of the Dená rebels. We have been hired to assist him.”

  “Bachmann? Never heard of him,” Myslosovich said with a shake of his head. “Until we can verify this person’s existence, let alone his political position, I’m afraid we’ll have to sequester you and your men.”

  “What if we don’t agree to that, General Myslosovich?” Riordan said in a hard voice.

  “You have no choice! We could annihilate you in moments—”

  “Begging the General’s pardon,” Riordan interrupted, “your people seem to be incredibly disorganized. My scouts tell me that your column is in disarray, which coincides with our interpretation of your radio messages of a few days ago. In short, General, you are in retreat and in no shape for a fight.”

  The lieutenant bristled, pulled his pistol from his holster but kept it pointed at the ground. “Say the word, General Myslosovich, and I’ll shoot this man myself.”

  The general held his hand up. “He has a point, Lieutenant Andreanoff, much as I hate admitting the fact.”

  “Perhaps we can assist our employer by assisting you, General?” He turned his head to the side and told Oldre, “Tell the column to advance.”

  Myslosovich turned to his driver. “Bring the column forward, now.”

  While Oldre spoke into a radio, the driver turned the heavy automobile and drove away.

  “I mean no threat,” Riordan said. “I just want you to see what we have to offer.”

  General Myslosovich gave him a thin smile. “I’m sure. And by the same token I would like you to see how much in disarray my column might be.”

  Behind him, Riordan could hear his people and machines moving up. Ahead, he could see the Russian column advancing with all the implacability of a glacier.

  A higher engine whine cut through the massed cacophony of the two armies.

  “Here comes that plane again, Major Riordan,” one of his men yelled. “Looks like it means business this time.”

  “Track it,” the General commanded. The two commanders stood next to Myslosovich’s command car. Riordan nodded to General Myslosovich. “I suggest you have your crews prepare for attack, General.”

  “From a venerable old bird like that? Besides, she has Imperial Air Corps markings.”

  “Are you in contact with the Tetlin column?”

  “No. We are traveling without communication at this point. ROC fighters destroyed our radio truck, and all of our field units have depleted their batteries. Even our tanks cannot communicate; many lost their antennae in the battle and the one that didn’t lose its antenna has a broken radio. It is all very vexing!”

  “So you have no idea if that plane is friend or foe.”

  Myslosovich grinned. “We’ll know soon, won’t we?”

  The shriek of bullets abruptly ripped past their ears, tearing up ground, the command car, and some hapless soldiers, all before the sound of the plane’s guns reached them.

  “Damn!” Myslosovich screamed, diving behind trees bordering the road.

  The column fired back and, from his position next to the general, Riordan saw pieces of the plane shred into the air. But it roared overhead without a single cylinder missing a beat and curved away to the north. The aircraft buzzed into the distance and the sound faded.

  Riordan turned to the fat old man hiding behind the trees.

  “Well, you certainly called that one. What’re your thoughts on the next tank or APC we encounter? Friend or foe?”

  Myslosovich pulled himself to his feet and presented a baleful look. “How dare you speak to me like that. I could have you shot!”

  Riordan glanced around. “No, I think not. What I do think, however, is that you need me a lot more than I need you.”

  “To what end?”

  “You’re running around here like you own the country, no scouts farther out than ten minutes, no attempt at discipline, stragglers from here to hell and gone. Have you mustered your people since the battle? Do you have any idea how many men you have left?”

  “That’s staff work! Do you think I am some sub-private with nothing better to do?”

  “No, I think you’re a politician in uniform. You have no concept of how much trouble you are facing and yet you’re sure of victory. You’re retreating, General, retreating!”

  “And there’s a superior Russian force headed this way at speed,” the general said. “And the officer in charge is my favorite subordinate, I made him what he is today.”

  “Well, I’m here and he’s not. Do you want my help or not?”

  “Only if you apologize instantly.”

  “I’m sorry if I hurt your pride, but it was imperative that you see the reality of this situation. They’re going to hit us again and we must be ready.”

  Myslosovich slapped his thigh with his riding crop and stared at the major through puffy eyes. “What do you suggest?”

  Riordan spun away, turning his back to the old man, primarily so his wide smile wouldn’t be seen. He waved and shouted, “I need the long-range radio, now!”

  He turned back to the general. “Why don’t you make contact with your people at St. Anthony Redoubt. We’ll take it from there.”

  General Myslosovich sucked in his gut momentarily and puffed out his chest. “Superb idea. I am grateful for the opportunity, Major Riordan.”

  A corporal hurried up to them. “Here’s the radio, Major.”

  “Thank you, Corporal Mader.”

  Riordan held the field radio out to General Myslosovich. “General?”

  Myslosovich glanced around and the lieutenant moved up and accepted the radio.

  “Thank you, Major,” the lieuten
ant said, then twisted dials and switched on the unit. “St. Anthony Redoubt, this is Third Armored, General Myslosovich commanding, over.”

  Static. They waited, all staring at the radio. Myslosovich opened his mouth and the radio crackled into life.

  “Third Armored, this is Sergeant Desonivich. Except for me, and a few others, the garrison has joined the Dená. They are in the process of abandoning the redoubt as I speak. If you act quickly, you might stop them.”

  “Who is the commander there?” the lieutenant snapped.

  “At this point, I am.”

  “Where is the rest of the command?”

  “All I know is they all left—our personnel, the Indians, everybody.”

  “You don’t know where they went?”

  “Lieutenant, I was told I’d be shot if I followed them. So I stayed in the radio shack with four troopers.”

  “Only five of you remained loyal?”

  “No, sir. A few men, seven I think, left this morning and headed south toward Tetlin.”

  The lieutenant stared at the general, shock and dismay radiating from his eyes. “Why did the five of you not go with the ones who joined the Indians?” The lieutenant’s voice held massive sarcasm.

  “We hate it here, sir. We are all from the Black Sea area and this place gets too cold to believe.”

  Myslosovich cleared his throat.

  The lieutenant immediately regained his professional mien. “General?”

  “Tell him to lead a reconnaissance party at once, or I’ll have him shot!”

  The lieutenant grinned ghoulishly and snapped into the microphone, “Did you hear what the general said?”

  “Yes, sir. We’re leaving as soon as you’re finished talking.”

  “Then go!”

  “Try to reach Fifth Armored,” the general said.

  “Fifth Armored, this is Third Armored, please come in.” The lieutenant stared down at the radio. “This damned thing just died on me!” He snapped off the radio.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d be a little easier on my equipment, Lieutenant,” Riordan said in his best command voice. “Our batteries were low and that was the last functioning set we had.”

  Riordan knew his tank radios still worked but he was damned if he was going to bring more Russians into this if he could help it. The odds were building in his favor.