Abruptly the belly of another Yak filled his sights and he squeezed off a long burst and veered to the right as the Yak exploded, filling the sky with debris. A burning tire streaked through the air and glanced off Satori’s nacelle. Jerry quickly thanked his ancestors that the thing had missed his prop.
“Colonel Shipley, Fowler here. I’m hit.” The words poured out in a rush.
“How bad, Dave?”
Jerry could hear the man’s rasping breath over the radio and twisted around trying to locate the others. His acrobatic flying had taken him over a mile away from the main fight. Unwittingly, he had moved close to the bombers, now fighting for their lives against Sucker Punch Two. One of the birds from Sucker Punch One flew toward him, trailing heavy smoke. Jerry realized it was Fowler.
“Ain’t gonna… make it. Chest wound. Losing lotsa blood, hard ta see.”
“Where you going, Dave?” Jerry asked.
“Wanna take… a bomber”—he coughed and his plane dipped and bobbed up again—“…with me.”
Jerry looked over at the four remaining bombers in time to see one of the Eurekas take a burst of fire from the leading bomber’s belly gun. The Eureka tumbled and burst into flame.
“Bail out!” he shouted. “Bail out!”
“Major Ellis just bought the farm.” Jerry thought it was Cassaro’s voice.
“Tell ’im to wait,” Fowler said. “I’ll go with…”
Jerry saw Fowler’s plane streak by. The cockpit was shot to pieces and part of the tail elevator ripped away as he watched. The plane arrowed directly into the leading bomber, colliding amidships.
A bright light filled the sky as the entire bomb load detonated, atomizing both aircraft. The shock wave knocked Satori out of level flight, rolling her violently to his left and into a spin. Jerry fought to pull her back into level flight. The second bomber took massive amounts of debris through the cockpit, nose gun, and top gun mount, killing those crew members. The bomber went into an earthward spiral.
“Jesus,” someone breathed over the radio.
“Got him!” Hafs shouted. Another Yak torched out of the sky.
The two remaining Russian bombers turned left 180 degrees and dropped to a lower altitude as they abruptly reversed course.
“They’re running away,” Captain Currie said. “Want us to pursue, Skipper?”
“Negative that. Let the Yaks go, too. We’ve stopped their mission. I want a status report from everyone. Currie?”
“Quarter tank of gas, about a third of my ammo left, no damage that I know of.”
“Cassaro?”
“Same on fuel, little bit less ammo, and I’ve got a piece shot out of my tail.”
“Can you still maneuver safely?”
“I shot down the bastard that did it, so I guess so.”
“Cooper?”
“Lead me to them!”
“Yamato?”
“Fuel at one quarter, ammo half gone, multiple hits including cockpit but no injuries and I’m still airworthy.”
“Kirby?”
“Good to go, Skipper.”
“Hafs?”
“I’m with everyone else on fuel and ammo, no hits and I scratched a Yak.”
“Good work, men. Captain Yamato, you nailed two of them, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Can we go after the armored column now?”
“We have enough fuel to hit them once and then we haul ass back to Fort Yukon, got it?”
Seven comm clicks answered.
“Yamato, lead the way.”
60
Battle of Delta
Magda and her scouts entered the front line of Refuge’s defense. Anyone farther out was an enemy or terribly lost. No matter how you cut it, they would be targets.
The line consisted of four .30 caliber machine gun emplacements joined by a well-protected trench feeding into the second line of defense, 100 yards to the rear.
“They’re on the other side of those boulders, Magda,” Tom Richards whispered out of the side of his mouth. “You’re better off here for the time being, okay?”
“Is that an order, Lieutenant?” She smiled when he glanced at her. She liked Tom. He had more Yup’ik blood than Athabascan, but he was a clever leader and the DSM could use a lot more just like him.
“For ten minutes, okay?”
Machine gun fire on the far right blotted out her response and everyone in the trench readied weapons.
“They’re probing, Tom,” one of his soldiers said.
“I know, Howard. Be ready for them.”
Magda eased to the left to fill in the wide space between the machine gun emplacement and the rest of the people in the trench. Anna Demoski automatically moved equidistant between Magda and the soldier on the other side of her. Magda studied the terrain with the eye of a hunter.
The left flank Dená gun emplacements were within 30 meters of each other. Both had incredible fields of fire across rocky ground and could be brought to bear on the boulders in the center of the line. Putting herself on the other side, Magda winced when she realized what the enemy faced coming up that steep slope.
“They should just go home,” she muttered, “and leave us alone.”
Two heartbeats later, Russian soldiers poured over and around the boulders, screaming, firing light machine guns ineffectually into the air and at rocks. The Dená line answered with immediate precision.
The machine gun emplacements cut the attackers down with surgical skill. The attack foundered in less than a minute and ebbed back into the rocks leaving at least thirty causalities.
“I want volunteers,” Lieutenant Richards snapped. “We need to pursue and harass.”
“My squad is on it,” Magda said, waving her people forward.
“Sergeant Laughlin,” Richards yelled, “you and your squad go with them.”
Athabascan warriors moved quickly and quietly among the boulders, intent on their mission.
61
Battle of Delta
“Majeur Riordan!”
Riordan turned to his executive officer. “René?”
The small man glanced around at the men working on machinery, cleaning weapons, laying about smoking and gabbing. He fixed his eyes on Riordan and harshly whispered, “The Russians are going to arrest you!”
“Say what? Why?” He put his hand on his holstered 9mm. “Or for that bloody matter, how?”
“They know about the mechanized scout incident.”
Riordan scowled, glanced around, looked back at his comrade. “And how the hell did they tumble to that?”
“Someone sent them a message. I don’t know who. The message said you shot a Russian officer in the head, at close quarters, from behind.”
Riordan felt a chill slide down his spine and freeze his scrotum. He opened his mouth twice before he could actually say anything. “God’s cod piece, René, you didn’t even know that, only I did!”
“How could this be known by anyone?” René asked.
“Someone had to be there; someone I obviously didn’t see. Jesus wept, we were out in the wilderness!”
“You must flee or they will have you on charges, Majeur.”
Riordan felt sweat beading on his forehead. He was acutely aware of the smell of diesel exhaust and cordite, and of the fear that suddenly slid over his mind. The old anger welled up, the absolute source of his driving energy, breaking through bonds perfected over the years, refusing to be internalized one moment longer.
“They need me, damn them! Nothing I’ve done in the past can stop my greatness, my future.”
“Majeur,” René said softly, as if soothing a frightened child, “I have for you the motorcycle, just here, non?” He pointed to their BMW. “I will tell them you have gone on reconnaissance, to find a way around the enemy defenses, non?”