Alaska Republik

by Stoney Compton

  He handed the radio back to Magda. She put it to her ear and turned away from her father and Private Hoyt.

  “Jerry?”

  “Yes, Magda?”

  “We’re so close to the end of this. Please be careful.”

  “I’m a hell of a lot safer than you are, my love. Please watch your step.”

  “I will. Dená Scout out.”

  “Yamato out.”

  She clicked off her radio and turned back to her father. “So what now?”

  79

  Battle of Delta

  “Where is the colonel?” Kubitski demanded.

  The corporal hunching behind a destroyed scout car jerked his head up when the lieutenant yelled. The tears running down the man’s face only steeled Kubitski’s resolve.

  The corporal swiped his face with a sleeve and pulled himself together. “Over there, sir. No more than thirty meters. They have a bunker of sorts—rocks and machines in a circle.”

  “This is nearly over, soldier.”

  The lieutenant peered across the space separating him from the colonel. Very little cover to be seen or utilized. Not good.

  The battle seemed to ebb, gunfire slackened to brief bursts here and there, but no mass movement. He allowed himself to think it all might be over. Perhaps Colonel Janeki had regained his senses.

  “I want a full assault on that damned mountain! We have traitors to execute!” Janeki’s voice rang across the space between them. Kubitski sprinted across the open area, moving his exhausted legs as fast as he could, feeling his heart bursting from his chest and nearly allowing himself to believe he had made it.

  The shock of the bullet spun him in a complete circle and knocked him to the ground. Another bullet buzzed past his head as he rolled over and scrambled to his feet. If he stopped here, he was a dead man.

  He knew he owed the absence of debilitating pain to shock, and that he couldn’t function much longer. Another bullet clipped his left arm as he hurled himself at the small opening between two tanks. He stumbled and fell between the two machines. His body didn’t want to move any farther; it demanded rest.

  “What! My God, it’s Lieutenant Kubitski!” Janeki shouted. “Help him! Get him a medic!”

  Kubitski felt he was peering out of a deep well. Darkness had closed in on his vision and in the cone of remaining clarity stood Colonel Janeki. He forced himself to raise his wounded left arm and beckon his commander closer.

  Janeki rushed to his side and bent over. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “Deliverance!” Kubitski grated in a sand-filled voice and, lifting the pistol in his right hand, he shot the colonel through the brain. All went dark, but it was a good dark.

  80

  Battle of Delta

  Major Smolst squirmed up beside Colonel Buhrman. “Just got word from Pelagian; blow a loud whistle twice and everybody charges the Russians.”

  “Thanks, Heinrich.” He pulled a whistle from his blouse and blew two long blasts, put it back in his pocket and bellowed, “Charge!”

  He was on his feet and running as fast as he could toward the Russians. Bullets whined past and he threw himself behind a medium-sized boulder. A quick glance around renewed his confidence; all of the California and Dená troops were advancing and firing like demons.

  Colonel Buhrman pushed himself up and continued his headlong charge. He saw people moving down the mountain toward the other Russian flank. The roar of gunfire rose to a crescendo and began to ebb as some units engaged in hand-to-hand fighting. Russians were retreating to the mass of vehicles, some of which were burning brightly.

  Smoke, cordite, feces, blood, sap, and diesel exhaust all assailed his nose. He couldn’t remember being in a fight more fierce than this one. He glanced around at his people again.

  He watched Lieutenant Colonel Coffey slam into an invisible wall, spin and drop.

  Aw damn, not Joe, not now!

  Russian fire picked up again: time for a reassessment. He blew the whistle again and bellowed, “Take cover!”

  The Californians and Dená went to ground in one fluid movement.

  Russian fire slackened and stopped for lack of targets.

  He made his way back to where Joe lay writhing on the rocky soil.

  “Medic!” Buhrman screamed. “Where you hit, Joe?”

  “In the side. What’s in the side right through here?” Lieutenant Colonel Coffey grimaced and let his head drop to the ground. “Shit, that hurts!”

  A medic slid in, keeping himself behind the jumble of boulders shielding the two officers from enemy fire. “What’s the situation, Colonel?” he asked Buhrman.

  “Joe took a hit in the side, Doc.”

  “Let’s have a look at you, Colonel Coffey …” He swiftly cut the uniform around the wound and gently tugged the ragged bits of uniform out of the wound.

  “Augh!” Coffey all but shouted. “Why don’t you just rip my whole gawddamned belly open?”

  Doc pulled a hypodermic from his bag, carefully loaded it from a small bottle, and then injected Joe with the contents.

  “You’ll feel a lot better, right about now.”

  “Oh, hey,” Joe said with discovery in his voice. “Where did the pain go?”

  “Lay still, Major.”

  “Doc, I’m a light colonel now, didn’t you get the word? I thought I told everybody.”

  Colonel Buhrman watched Doc explore the wound with his fingers, then feel around the torso to Joe’s back. His eyes widened for a second; then he was pulling something greenish-brown out of his bag and stuffing it into the wound.

  “Doc,” Buhrman said softly. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Packing the wound with sphagnum moss, Colonel. The Dená taught me about this stuff. It’s not only sterile, it’s also slightly acidic, and it keeps the wound cleaner longer than anything else we’ve got.”

  “Where do you get it?”

  “It, uh, grows on the ground. You’re standing on some right now.”

  Joe had grown quiet.

  “How is he, Doc?”

  “Classic bullet wound, but I think only fat and muscle were hit. It went straight through him. Give him a month and he’ll be good as new.”

  “How are we getting our wounded back to aid stations?”

  “Carrying them. Our only aid station is about half a mile behind us. We have Major Nacht and a captured mercenary by the name of Revere working on our wounded. I don’t know how they’re keeping up.”

  “I’ve been busy. What are our casualty numbers?”

  “Between our guys and the Dená, there’s about forty to fifty wounded back there.”

  “Damn, we’d better wrap this up soon. We’ve hooked up with the Delta Dená and we’re going to hit the Russians again as soon as everyone catches their breath.”

  “Colonel Coffey is going to make it, sir. You don’t have to hang around. I’ll take good care of him.”

  “Thanks, Doc. This guy means a lot to me.”

  Doc smiled. “Me, too, Colonel.”

  Colonel Del Buhrman, feeling strangely alone, hurried back to his men.

  81

  Battle of Delta

  The firing died down and Magda signaled to her people. Wait. She wanted to see what the Russians would do next.

  “Magda, they’re waving a white flag!” Sergi Eluska shouted.

  “Stay down, it might be a trick!” She peered around the boulder, knowing that if it were a trick, she would probably be dead within seconds. The Russians had proven to be excellent marksmen.

  A group of Russian soldiers holding both hands in the air followed a sergeant who carried what looked like a bed sheet attached to a pole. If this was a trick, they were going to lose a lot of people in a very short time.

  “They’re surrendering?” she whispered.

  “They’re giving up!” she shouted to her people. “Let’s take control before they change their minds!”

  The Dená rose as one, aiming their weapons at the Russians who
immediately stopped moving.

  “We surrender. Please don’t shoot.”

  Magda couldn’t tell who yelled but she could see that all agreed with the statement.

  “Sit down on the ground with your hands on your head, now!”

  They complied. The white flag fell onto the dusty road.

  “Who is in command of your force?”

  A heavily bandaged man raised his hand.

  “Two of you help him up and bring him over here.”

  She was not going to expose her people to possible subterfuge. From here forward the only people who would die in this place would be Russian.

  The bandaged man proved to be a senior lieutenant.

  “You are the senior officer?”

  “Yes,” he said crisply. “I am Lieutenant Leonid Kubitski. May I know your rank, please?”

  “I am a sergeant of scouts, Dená Army.”

  His eyes shifted away from her, staring over her shoulder. She turned and saw men she didn’t know completely surrounding her. She thought she had been deceived and felt a total dupe.

  A man with a large moustache raised his hand.

  “I don’t know who is in charge here. I’m Colonel Buhrman, of the 3rd California Parachute Infantry Regiment.” He nodded to the man at his side. “And this is Major Heinrich Smolst of the Dená Army. How can we help?”

  Magda smiled. “You can wait for my father, Pelagian, who has been overseeing the evacuation of our wounded. He’ll be here in—”

  “I’m here, Magda.”

  He stood off to her side with a squad of six heavily armed Dená soldiers.

  “Wow,” Colonel Buhrman said. “I thought our guys were the only ones who could just pop up like that.”

  Pelagian smiled. “We live here, Colonel Buhrman, that helps a lot.”

  “You have more at stake here than we do. Please, sir, take the surrender of these people.” Buhrman stood at attention and saluted.

  82

  Old Crow, Dená Republik

  Gennady Ustinov watched the tall Athabascan slowly go around the crowded council meeting room and speak to every person, except Gennady.

  He carefully scanned the group and decided that Hannah Weirmaker was the best person to approach; she owed him money.

  “Hannah, what did that man ask you?”

  “Gennady, every time I talk to you I owe you more money. Go away.”

  “We can be even if you wish.”

  “Even? Are you saying that if I answer your question I will owe you nothing; all my bills will vanish like my worthless husband?”

  Gennady sighed. “Yes, that is my proposition.”

  “If you try to back out of this later, I will cut your balls off myself!”

  “My word is my bond! Your debts will be dissolved.”

  She gave him a long, level look. “He wanted to know who I planned to vote for as delegate to that constitution thing. I don’t even know who wants the job in the first place.”

  “You must vote for people you trust,” Gennady exclaimed. “What they write and is agreed to will frame your life forever.”

  “How do I know what people really think? They just tell you whatever they think you want to hear and then go and do whatever they want.”

  “Did he ask you to vote for someone?”

  “Of course he did!”

  Gennady stared at her and raised his left eyebrow.

  “He wanted me to vote for some guy called Nathan …”

  “… Roubitaux,” Gennady finished for her. “Does he think you are in his district?”

  “I guess so, why else would he ask?”

  “Has anyone else asked you to vote for them?”

  “No. Everyone else is busy fighting somewheres, except you.”

  “He’s not in your district.”

  “He thinks I am.”

  “What? Where is he from?”

  “He says he’s from Eagle, but nobody there remembers ever seeing him before.”

  “Thanks, Hannah. You have fifty rubles credit in my store as of now.”

  She grinned. “I won’t forget that!”

  He knew she wouldn’t; neither would he. Gennady might drive a hard bargain but he never forgot his word. He moved purposefully up to the tall Athabascan, reached out and touched his arm.

  “Excuse me. Might I have a few words with you?”

  The man turned with a grin that faded as soon as he saw Gennady. “What do you want?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Alexi Popovich, who’s asking?”

  “You know who I am. You’re campaigning against me.”

  “I am campaigning for Nathan Roubitaux. There’s a difference.”

  “Not from where I stand. Since when is Nathan from Eagle? Nobody in the village knows him.”

  “He was born there. His parents moved to Tanana when he was a baby.”

  “And he hasn’t lived there since. He doesn’t live there now. How can he claim to live where he doesn’t?”

  “He was born there, Gennady!”

  “Can he prove that? Was his birth recorded by the priest? Does Eagle even have a priest?”

  “The church in Eagle burned a few years ago,” Alexi said. “All records were destroyed.”

  “That was very convenient, wasn’t it?”

  “What are you insinuating, Gennady Ustinov?”

  “Insinuating!” Gennady shouted. Every head in the room turned toward them. “I insinuate nothing! I accuse you of spreading false information about your candidate. And I accuse him of lying about where he was born. Nobody in Eagle or the rest of this district has ever heard of his family or any of their relatives.”

  Alexi’s face darkened with blood and his composure slipped into a glare at the shorter man. “You accuse me of lying?”

  “Da, unless you can come up with a better word!”

  “I demand satisfaction! Either apologize at once or meet me outside.”

  Gennady grinned. “You are challenging me to a duel?”

  Alexi maintained his glare and suppressed a smirk. “Yes. If you’re man enough to face me.”

  Gennady’s eyes seemed to glint. “I accept. Since you challenged me, I get to choose the weapon.”

  Alexi suddenly looked wary. “What do you choose?”

  “Skinning knives at thirty paces.”

  “Skinning knives? What can you do with a skinning knife at that distance?”

  “Do you accept my choice of weapons?”

  Alexi smirked. “Of course.” He straightened to his full height, a full head above Gennady, and shook his long arms as if to make them more limber. “But I think you’d better keep your distance.”

  Somebody shouted, “Duel! Clear the building!”

  Everyone trooped out into the sunshine. Gennady thought it might be close to 70 degrees Fahrenheit, and no breeze to alleviate the oppressive heat. Temperatures in Interior Alaska during the summer could reach incredibly high numbers.

  Waterman Stoddard stepped off thirty paces. He gave Alexi a skinning knife, and then approached Gennady, holding out a second blade.

  “No thanks, Waterman. I have my own.” He pulled his knife from its sheath and stared at his opponent, holding the knife in his right hand at his side.

  “So what do we do now?” Alexi said with a grin, glancing at the crowd for approval. “Stare at each oth—”

  Gennady snapped his arm up and his knife flew straight into Alexi’s throat.

  Alexi dropped his knife and grabbed his throat as he thudded to his knees. Staring at Gennady with wide, beseeching eyes, he pulled the blade out and dropped it, and grabbed his throat again. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking his hands, arms and the ground around him.

  While his mouth opened and shut like that of a beached fish, Alexi Popovich fell over on his side and died.

  The crowd stared in silence. Alexi looked around, staring into the eyes of every person there.

  “I am an honest man. I pay my debts and I honor my cont
racts. I ask for your vote as delegate.”

  He walked over to the still-twitching body and picked his knife off the ground, wiped it on Alexi’s trouser leg, and walked back into the meeting house.

  83

  Aboard the RCNS Mako, SS-45 Chatham Strait

  The rumbling thunder of a Japanese destroyer rolled over them and Grisha felt his heart rise into his mouth. The submarine lay quiet on a shelf off Admiralty Island. Grisha had no idea how Captain Vandenberg knew the location of the shelf or how he could set his boat on it safely.

  Clangs like hammers on steel suddenly rang through the boat.

  “They’ve found us!” Captain Vandenberg bellowed. “All ahead full.”

  The rumble and hammer strikes vanished. Grisha looked at the men around him, slowly, carefully. He wanted to remember their faces for as long as he lived, and pay them honor.

  As one, they sweated and strained, eyes upward. No, some stared at meters and dials as if watching the turn of a card or die that would render them rich or busted. Or dead.

  “Sonar?” Vandenberg intoned.

  “They’re coming back around, Skipper. This would be a good time to jink.”

  “Thanks, Pete. Helm! Hard to port.”

  “Hard to port, aye!”

  The submarine rolled to the right and Grisha was glad he had not released his hold on the framework. Something crashed to the deck behind him.

  “Sorry, Skipper,” Chief Fisher muttered. “I thought I had that secured. Give me a minute.” He swished away and Grisha turned his attention back to Sonorman First Class Lawson.

  “Skipper, they crossed our wake, fading to starboard.”

  “Anything else out there, Pete?”

  “Not that I can hear, Skipper.”

  “Chief of the Boat, bring us up to periscope depth.”

  “Periscope depth, aye,” Chief Busch said. “You heard the captain, guys, now get us there.”

  Grisha watched as wheels were turned and levers brought back a few notches in their arc. But he understood none of it. He couldn’t remember ever being this frightened before in his life.

  “Grisha!”

  He turned and saw Wing’s outstretched hand, grabbed it immediately. He hadn’t thought of her for over five minutes and his cheeks flamed. He felt gratitude that the battle lanterns all had red lenses.