Alaska Republik-ARC Read online

“Prepare for takeoff.”

  They all glanced up at the speaker.

  The four engines revved and the plane abruptly jerked forward, sped down the runway and soared into the sky.

  “What’s our flying time, Anita?”

  “Depending on head winds, about six and a half hours, General.”

  “Please, call me Grisha.”

  “Thank you, Grisha. I am honored. Would you both like something to eat?”

  “The last time you asked me that—”

  “I ended up wearing your lunch,” Anita said and laughed. She sobered quickly. “I thought we were all going to die that day. You not only helped me physically, you helped me hang on mentally.”

  “Not everyone gets sucker-punched by an aircraft.”

  Anita laughed again. “That’s for damned sure!”

  “Can I help you prepare the food?” Wing asked.

  “Oh, no, but thank you, Colonel. I don’t do much on these VIP flights anyway.”

  “Please, Anita, I would like you to call me Wing. Vee-eye-pee?”

  “Very important persons. Like it or not, that’s how the crew regards you, including me.”

  “We’re just soldiers,” Grisha said. “You’re just as important as we are.”

  “Whatever you say. Now, what would you like to eat?”

  24

  Delta, near St. Anthony Redoubt

  Jerry’s feet hurt. “Can we take a break?” he asked.

  Magda glanced back at him. “Ten more minutes, okay? We’re really close.”

  He decided to go as far as the next bend in the trail and if it stretched on through the boreal forest with nothing else in sight, he was going to sit down for at least half an hour. The more he thought about sitting, the more he anticipated finding nothing but more trees.

  A dog barked as they entered the bend. Consort and Arrow answered in unison, and then fell silent. Two hundred meters away sat a cabin flanked by a massive woodpile and small outbuildings. Beyond the cabin sat more buildings of varying sizes.

  Two dogs raced toward them in total silence. Magda laughed and bent to greet them. “It’s Griz and Kodiak. Mom and Dad must be here already!”

  Wood smoke drifted in the air as well as the savory odor of frying meat. Birds flew past and their chirping filled his ears with comfort. He felt weight he hadn’t before noticed lift off his shoulders.

  Magda slowed so he could catch up with her.

  “Welcome to Delta, where the Delta River flows into the Tanana River. This is where I was born and have lived most of my life. Now follow me and stay close.”

  She led them down a small path skirting the edge of the village.

  “Why are we going this way?”

  “Because I don’t want to talk to the Russians who man the garrison here.”

  “Russians? Here?”

  “They think they still own the place, remember?”

  Jerry had registered it as a fact, but only mentally; he knew she felt it viscerally, and he must also or suffer greatly.

  They moved down a heavily shaded corridor in the closely woven willows, which nearly became a tunnel. Birds darted and flew in panic from the humans. He wondered what their chances would be if they encountered Russian soldiers in here. Slim, he decided, very slim.

  When he looked forward again, three men blocked their path. All four dogs wagged their tails. Magda didn’t slow her pace and for an instant he wondered if she saw them. One of the men opened his arms wide.

  “Little Magda, how good to see you!”

  She responded in kind, throwing her arms open and racing forward, “Uncle Frank!”

  They hugged and laughed. Jerry and the two men with Uncle Frank eyed each other warily. Magda spoke rapidly in what Jerry supposed was the local dialect of Athabascan.

  Uncle Frank became agitated, glanced up at Jerry and then focused again on Magda.

  “Your father is wounded?”

  Magda nodded.

  “When Kodiak and Griz came in, I thought you and your family would be here soon.”

  “The dogs are here but not my parents?”

  “Yes, and your father is wounded, so—”

  “The Russians must have captured them!”

  “We’ll figure it all out, don’t worry. And who is this?” he nodded toward Jerry.

  Before Magda could answer, Jerry snapped to attention and said, “I am First Lieutenant Gerald Yamato, Republic of California Air Force. My P-61 was shot down in a battle with a Russian armored column.”

  “I am Franklin Isaac, the doyon for this area. This is my friend and associate, William Williams.” William smiled and nodded. “And this is my friend, Yukon Cassidy.”

  Cassidy, who was the shortest of the three, nodded and smiled.

  “We heard about that battle, Lieutenant,” Frank said. “Your squadron eliminated a threat we thought would have to be fought right here in Delta. In the name of the Dená people, I thank you.”

  “Uh, you’re welcome.” He felt embarrassed but couldn’t decide why. “Do you know how many of my people survived the fight?”

  “I am not sure, but I think I heard the number seven.”

  “Seven. We went into that fight with fifteen birds. Can you put me in touch with the airfield at Fort Yukon?”

  “No. The Russians still hold the small redoubt here, as well as all the communications.”

  “How did you hear about the battle?”

  We have people inside the redoubt, but they have no authority over the Russians.”

  “Jerry,” Magda said, “tell them about the Freekorps.”

  Jerry told them what he had heard and seen. “We don’t know where they went, but we heard engine noises off to our right. I’m not sure when that stopped.”

  “It faded about four hours ago,” Magda said. “I thought they might be following one of the tributaries back up into the hills. We didn’t see them on the highway.”

  “Do you have any idea how many there are?”

  Jerry and Magda shook their heads in unison.

  “Those are the people I’m looking for,” Cassidy said.

  “Any idea how many Russians were in this group?” William asked.

  “No idea at all. How many Russians are here?” Jerry asked.

  “Fifteen officers and ninety enlisted men. About half the enlisted are trained well enough to actually fight.” Frank grinned. “But the garrison has three tanks and a lot of heavy weapons.”

  “How many people do you have in your DSM cell?” Jerry asked.

  “What makes you think we have a cell?” Williams asked.

  “You’re Dená. I’d be more amazed if you didn’t have an organization here. You already mentioned spies in the Russian garrison.”

  “We slightly outnumber the Russians, but we can’t match their fire power,” Frank said. “But we’ve got to get out there and help your parents, Magda.”

  “Did the three fighters come by here?” she asked, gesturing at the sky.

  “Planes? No.”

  “I thought my mother had already picked up a vehicle. But, with the dogs here, I’m no longer sure.”

  Frank nodded down the path. “Tell me about it while we get ourselves organized.”

  Twenty minutes later they sat and talked over tea.

  “I sent out three men who know the country,” Frank said, draining his teacup. “Give them a day and they’ll know what’s going on and why.”

  “What about my parents and Rudi?” Magda asked.

  “William’s getting the supplies we need. As soon as you two get some rest, we’ll go after them.”

  “I’m not tired,” Magda said.

  “Yes, you are,” Frank said, his lips twitching toward a smile. “And look at the lieutenant, he’s almost asleep.”

  Jerry forced his eyes open in the cozy kitchen of Frank’s home. “I can keep up with you!”

  “I’m sure you could, Lieutenant Yamato. But you’d be of more use to us and yourself if you recharged your ba
tteries.”

  Jerry couldn’t argue with him. He wasn’t just tired; he was exhausted. He couldn’t remember ever being this tired before in his life. Magda had to be nearly out on her feet, too.

  “Four hours of sleep and we’ll start, okay?” Frank said glancing from one to the other.

  Jerry nodded.

  Magda sighed. “Okay. But just four hours.”

  Frank pointed to two doors. “You each have a room if you wish.”

  Jerry felt his cheeks grow warm. “Thanks, see you in four hours.” He entered a small, clean bedroom containing two single beds and a dresser. As he shut the door he heard Magda say, “It’s not like that, Uncle Frank.”

  “Whatever you say,” Frank said with a chuckle.

  ***

  Jerry’s eyes popped open and he wondered what it was that woke him. For a long moment he couldn’t fathom his location. Then it all flooded back.

  He sat up in the comfortable bed and looked across the room. Magda slept on the other bed, curled in a fetal position with the sheet pulled tight around her shoulders.

  So much for trust, he thought. But then he realized that her defensiveness might not have anything to do with him. There was a lot happening in her life just now that might induce something less than open, welcoming arms on her part.

  He turned, pulling his body free of the light sheet and blanket, and slipped into his boots. As he secured the lashings, he glanced around the cabin. He could live in a place like this, he decided.

  Varnished peeled logs fit tightly atop each other, creating a snug bedroom boasting one window. The yellow cedar window frame brought warmth from outside and spread it liberally throughout the room. The plank flooring felt cool and sturdy under his feet, and nowhere a sliver to be found.

  Jerry had spent months living in the Sierra Nevada Mountains every summer for five teen-aged years. As a counselor he had one of the better cabins in the camp. The difference between this house and those cabins was the difference between Satori, his P-61 Eureka fighter, and an AT-9 Sacramento trainer.

  They both fit the description, but in such different ways.

  He looked back at Magda again and found her staring at him.

  “Hi,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  She looked at him, her head still partially buried in the pillow, and smiled. “I’m fine, how are you?”

  “Quite rested, thanks.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “What time is it? How long have we been here? Why did they let us sleep so long?”

  Jerry peered at his watch.

  “It’s eighteen hundred?” He looked up at her. “Six in the evening. We’ve been here about six hours, if I remember right. What was the last thing?”

  She popped out of her bed as if spring-loaded. In a few seconds she had slipped into her hide boots and rushed out the door.

  “Good thing I had a head start,” Jerry muttered, following her.

  Magda didn’t hesitate, but hurried down a flagstone path to a larger house. She slammed the door open with the heel of her hand and disappeared inside.

  “Doesn’t anyone knock in this country?” Jerry said loudly, following on her heels. If someone took offense at her lack of manners, he might have to rescue her.

  “Frank, where are you?” she shouted.

  The house felt empty. Jerry wondered if she had gone to the wrong cabin. He started to suggest his question, but—

  “Damn him! They’ve gone without us. That lowdown, condescending, hubristic son of a bitch went without us!”

  Relief surged through Jerry and he silently thanked Frank and William and whoever else went with them. He focused on Magda, realizing he had to get her calmed down or end up following her through these woods carrying anything between an automatic weapon and a spear.

  Magda was certifiable, as his grandfather used to say. She didn’t hesitate to consider consequences, just acted. Or did she?

  In controlled circumstances, she was quite deliberate, such as their first meeting. He frowned, upset that he had jumped to conclusions.

  He had worked so long and hard on that one.

  “So what should we do?” he asked.

  “Nothing, damn it! I hate being treated like a-a…”

  “Well-loved young woman?”

  She started to answer, and then suddenly her eyes bored in to his. “By whom?”

  “Your parents and your uncle, dimwit!”

  “He knew I wanted to go along,” she said, close to a pout.

  “He also knew you were exhausted, ready to drop, and completely overwhelmed by circumstances.”

  She frowned at him but it faded into a moue. “You’re right, dammit, Lieutenant Yamato.”

  “But.”

  “But it’s my fight, too!”

  “He knows that, and he respects it. That’s why he had to trick you to get you to sleep long enough to do some good.”

  The moue solidified into a frown. “You’ll get nowhere with me by being right all the time!” She stomped into the next room.

  After four silent responses he elected to say nothing. He followed her into a kitchen and realized how hungry he had become.

  “Can you handle a moose steak?” Magda asked.

  “Better than it can handle me,” he quipped with a smile.

  “Good. That’s about all we got.” She stoked a wood range and tossed sticks into the firebox, opened the flue a quarter turn. “Rare, medium, or well done?”

  “Medium. I’m a medium kind of guy.”

  “No, you’re not. I wouldn’t like you if you were medium.” She burrowed into the refrigerator and pulled out a plate holding two large pieces of meat. “I don’t believe the Republic of California picks medium guys to fly their fighter planes.”

  She dropped each steak into its own pan and began pawing through the spice shelf. “No, First Lieutenant Yamato, I think you’re more of an extreme guy”—she looked at him over her shoulder, nearly hiding her smile—“who isn’t afraid of risk and is always looking for an adventure. Right?”

  The steaks sizzled in the pans and the aroma of cooking meat touched his nose. His stomach growled. She filled his thoughts.

  “Never thought about it that way, but to a point you’re right. You have to want to fly more than anything else in the world to make it through flight school, not to mention put up with more military bullshit than you ever imagined.”

  “But you did it,” she said, still smiling and turning toward him. “Because you’re an extreme kind of guy.”

  She crossed the small space between them and kissed him; he wanted it to last forever. She finally pulled away and he saw something new in her eyes.

  “You get through this safely, Jerry. We have a lot to do together.” She turned back to the stove and flipped the meat.

  Jerry decided he was in love. He wasn’t sure exactly what that would mean to him in the future, but more than anything, he wanted to grow old with Magda and love her as much as possible every single day.

  “I’ll be careful,” he said. “I promise.”

  25

  St. Anthony Redoubt, Russian Amerika

  “Colonel Romanov, we have lost all communications with Taiga 10 command.”

  Colonel Stephan Romanov sighed and tore his gaze from the natural beauty outside his office window.

  “When did they last report in, Sergeant Severin?”

  “Yesterday at noon. Captain Kobelev said they were eager to advance whenever the order came.”

  “Nothing since noon yesterday?” Romanov chewed his lip and wondered at this turn of events. Until a year ago this had been pleasant, if boring, duty.

  “It’s either faulty equipment or the damned Dená,” Sergeant Severin said.

  “I hope you’re right about the first part.” Despite his aristocratic name, Romanov’s grandmother was a Yakut from Siberia and he held deep sympathies for the Dená. He tried to keep his attitudes to himself, but others had noticed.

  A visiting colonel once asked for an In
dian woman for the night.

  Stephan had frowned. “I’m not a whoremonger, Colonel. You’ll have to solicit for yourself.”

  “You do not know women who—”

  “No. You’ll have to ask one of the privates.”

  Thankfully, the colonel let the matter drop. Romanov would not allow his men to molest the local women nor mistreat any of the civilian population. He preached brotherhood to his troops and had a corporal lashed within inches of his life for drunkenly beating an old Athabascan man.

  Now this stupid war has made a hash of everything, he thought. Not that he blamed the Dená. In fact he felt they were right: St. Petersburg had abused the Alaskan peoples for over 200 years and it was time for a change.

  Colonel Romanov glanced up guiltily at his sergeant to see if the man had interpreted his silence correctly. The sergeant was staring out the window.

  “Are the pilots sober today?”

  Sergeant Severin snapped his head away from the window. “I don’t know, sir. Shall I send an orderly?”

  “Yes, do that. Have the orderly tell them that I require a reconnaissance mission. Now.”

  The sergeant grinned and pressed a button on his desk. A private walked in and snapped to attention.

  “Turgev, go to the officer’s quarters and tell the pilot-officers they are to report for a mission immediately.”

  “Even if they are drunk, Sergeant?”

  “Even if they are drunk, Private Turgev.”

  The colonel and the sergeant grinned at each other as soon as the door shut behind Private Turgev.

  “What if they wreck the helicopter?”

  “We’ll be rid of both of them. That’s worth a helicopter, don’t you think?”

  “As long as I don’t have to pay for it,” the sergeant said with a laugh.

  “If they’re not drunk, they will be suffering hangovers large enough to split rocks.” Colonel Romanov chuckled.

  “Perhaps Taiga 10 received orders from the front and we were not informed, Colonel?”

  “I thought of that already, but dismissed it for two reasons. First, I am in nominal command of the force since I am the district commander and would have been notified as a courtesy and for protocol if nothing else. You know how much the army loves protocol.

  “Second, we are between their last position and the front, unless there is a new front to their rear. But Alaska Command would have notified us of that also, no?”