Jerry felt the adrenaline singing in his veins while fear for Magda’s situation ate at his guts. We’ve gotta do this fast, he thought. I’ve still got to keep my word.
The Yaks grew in his gunsights and he flipped off the safety cap over the trigger button on his stick. Suddenly the Yaks dropped away from the bombers and turned toward Shipley’s flight. The ruse had worked.
As if on cue, the wing tanks dropped from beneath the wings of all five Eurekas. They roared up to meet the enemy.
55
Delta
“They’re hiding up there in the rocks,” Major Riordan reported to the general and lieutenant colonel. “It cost us two good men to get that intelligence. I’ve ordered a squad to engage the enemy and report their position. We’ll envelope the area with cannon fire and eliminate the possibility of an attack. Then we can arrest the surviving traitors from Chena Redoubt and hang them.”
General Myslosovich awarded him a wide smile.
Riordan wasn’t watching the general; his eyes were on the lieutenant colonel.
“Not bad,” Lieutenant Colonel Janeki said. “I would have done exactly the same thing. But how can you be sure they’re all in the open?”
“No matter what, they’ll be softened up after the barrage.”
“I approve.”
The radioman in Riordan’s command car called out, “Major, the transmission is breaking up, but they’re receiving fire.”
“Coordinates?”
“Range four, vector three, sir.”
Riordan snapped the numbers to the sergeant beside him and within thirty seconds every tank in the command fired at the ordered target. Explosions echoed back to them, one after another.
The shelling lasted five minutes, then abruptly ceased.
“Who’s going to go look?” Lieutenant Colonel Janeki asked, staring at Riordan.
“My men are already up there. They’ll report soon.”
56
Battle of Delta
First Squad, Company B, of the International Freekorps, crept up the mountain. A week ago they had mustered thirty effectives; since the midnight attack of a few days ago they were down to nineteen. Lieutenant Alex Strom felt electrified with every sense wide open for input.
His record listed battles in Afghanistan, China, the Belgian Congo, Portuguese East Africa, and all the way back to his first as a Royal Austrian Fusilier private at the Siege of Berlin. Over the years and wars, he had worked his way up the muster list.
This was his second command as a lieutenant. His elevation to commissioned status came in the French Foreign Legion while serving in Africa. If this current arrangement failed, he could always return to France, which he now considered as home.
But the money was so much better in his present situation. Major Riordan had been less than forthright when he told the battalion they had a new war and they would draw standard pay. He hadn’t mentioned the identity of the employer, nor when the next payday was scheduled.
He’s never screwed us over, Strom thought. Not yet. He had yet to decide if he believed that Riordan would do that. As a naturalized Frenchman serving under an Irishman, he held a quiet skepticism as to the commander’s grasp of reality.
He halted and waved his men down before thinking about it. There had been a noise, a very small thing, but yet something different than before. He waited, patience as much a part of him as his spleen, and just as hidden.
There! He heard the sound of a foot pushing at, or slipping on, gravel. Not with effort, he decided, but in eagerness. There were close to a firing line; someone waited for them.
He pointed to two troopers and motioned them forward. Both were well trained and veterans of at least three engagements. But in his heart of hearts, Strom didn’t care for either of them.
They moved up the slope, keeping low and maintaining vigilance. They passed Strom’s forward position. He watched them edge around boulders and slide down into what depressions the land offered.
They disappeared from sight. The lieutenant realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to continue breathing. He strained to hear anything, the least sound, or slightest suggestion of resistance, anything alive beyond their position.
The ground they traversed was torn and blasted, only splinters and pieces of leaves were left of the brush and trees which once grew here. Boulders held their positions but sat split and fractured; their shards had blasted through the area at high velocity. Strom took it all in silently.
Sergeant Verley, his immediate subordinate, motioned from the far side of their position.
Take cover? They were under cover! What did he mean by—?
He registered the rumble then and quickly screamed back at the men behind him, “Take cover. It’s an avalanche!”
The universe filled with hurling rock.
57
Refuge, Dená Republik
Magda watched the succession of broken men and women being carried into the Refuge and wondered how this could have happened, not realizing she was speaking aloud.
“We didn’t expect the artillery,” Gregori Andrew said, making a sling for his bloody left arm. “Them rock pieces were flying all over the place. The one that did this”—he lifted his left arm with his right hand—“flew right through one of them Russian soldiers like he was a thin sack of blood.”
“Go over to my mother, there; she’ll help you.” Magda felt angry, sick to her stomach, guilty, and relieved all at the same time. Her scout patrol was scheduled to begin five minutes after the attack started, therefore they were all still in the Refuge when the shells began falling.
Scout Two, returning from reconnoiter, had been wiped out.
“Magda,” Uncle Frank said as he approached. “I’ll bet I know what you’re thinking.” He put his hands on her shoulders and stared into her face. “It’s called the ‘fortunes of war’ and nobody knows what will happen. It just wasn’t your turn.”
Her eyes felt hot and she didn’t want to cry. “I hear your words but my heart still doesn’t understand. Maybe next week or next month I’ll finally get this all straight, but not yet. Right now I’ve got to get my squad moving. We don’t have any eyes out there watching. Thanks for the support, Major.” She saluted and he returned it.
Her squad consisted of a corporal and five privates. Even a week ago nobody had bothered with rank, but now everything needed to be exact and military.
Corporal Anna Demoski stood when Magda approached. “I’ve got the guys all ready to go, Sergeant.” She handed Magda her pack and weapon.
“Thanks for minding my gear, Corporal. Let’s move out.”
The five privates—four men and one woman—rose to their feet and followed without saying a word. All prior levity had vanished with the artillery barrage. It finally hit home: they were in a shooting, and killing, war.
They passed through the wide cave mouth, which was being closed up as quickly as the work crew could manage. The passage to the outside twisted back and forth. Large boulders were being levered into a wall complete with firing slits backed by yet more rock so a satchel charge or a grenade would only harm the defenders in that location.
Only the turrets on the two Russian tanks could be seen under the ceiling of rock. Nothing was built higher than their lowest firing elevation. Machine guns poked through the wall like spines on a rock porcupine.
Magda stopped her people at the very end of the passage. Two sentries peered out at the summer morning.