Magda aimed and fired, aimed and fired, aimed and fired…
68
Battle of Delta
“Send everyone up that mountain!” Colonel Janeki screamed. “Kill everyone you find, spare nobody!”
He turned to find General Myslosovich staring at him, still chewing on a piece of bread from breakfast.
“Janeki, this has turned into a tragedy.”
“Not at all, General. We will soon have this batch of rabble eliminated and then we can return to Chena and finish this once and for all.”
“That’s easy for you to say. I’ve been to Chena. This whole thing is coming undone. We do not have the Russian Army Air Force aiding us, nor do we have any allies willing to send troops. This has been political from the beginning and we, dear Janeki, are the damned pawns! The Czar has sacrificed us to move his bishops and knights elsewhere!”
“Are you finished with your histrionics, General?” Janeki snapped. “We are the avenging saber of the Czar! We will prevail here and in Chena! If you do not believe that, then you are a defeatist and you know what that will bring you!”
“Christ, Janeki, look about you. We have killed enough of our own troops and destroyed enough of our own equipment to be suspected as traitors. The Dená still resist even though we have pounded their positions with heavy artillery. Why haven’t we already won?”
Janeki turned to the old man, a man he loved, the man who had helped him through the Byzantine labyrinth of gaining rank in the Imperial Russian Army, the man he was now tired of placating and supporting. “Taras, you have to let me lead this army or—”
The left side of General Myslosovich’s head abruptly exploded out in a grisly eruption. Bullets snapped and whined around them. Janeki whipped around and, in total disbelief, saw troops charging his position.
“Corporal of the Guard!” he shrieked. “Corporal of the Guard!”
Myslosovich’s body thudded to the ground unnoticed.
A master sergeant and his squad of ten troopers surrounded Janeki and retuned fire. Janeki scurried away from the fighting, his heart in his mouth, wondering who these people were and how to deal with them.
69
Fort Yukon Aerodrome, Dená Republik
Upon landing the previous evening, Captain Jerry Yamato turned his P-61 toward the refueling station.
“Captain Yamato,” Lieutenant Colonel Shipley snapped over the comm channel. “Where do you think you are going?”
“We’ve got to refuel and get back there, Colonel,” he said in a plaintive voice. “They don’t have a chance without us!”
“Stand down, Captain. That’s an order. We have to reassess the situation and obtain further approval from high command.”
“Colonel Shipley, you saw what those people are facing out there! We’ve got to get back there and help them.”
“That’s not our call, Captain. We’re not running this war. Follow me to the line, sir.”
With a sinking feeling in his guts and pain in his heart, Jerry complied. He wondered whom he could pay off to rearm and refuel his bird.
“All pilots proceed to debriefing,” Shipley snapped over the radio.
Jerry turned the P-61 around and followed the rest of his squadron. His ground crew clustered around the plane and Master Sergeant Mike Marinig pushed the ladder close and climbed up to help Jerry.
“Did you kick their ass, Captain Yamato?” he said.
“Ran into a flight of Russian bombers and fighters headed north toward Chena. We lost Major Ellis and Captain Fowler, but we took out four bombers and a few Yaks.”
Master Sergeant Marinig sobered and went still. “Major Ellis is dead? His kids and mine play together back at Fremont Field.” The sergeant looked off into the distance for a long moment, his face working.
Jerry had almost forgotten what a close-knit family the ROC Air Force was. Everybody pretty much knew everybody else. The traditional military distance between commissioned and enlisted was for the most part minimal. Jerry thought that was one of the best things about the Air Force and exactly why he hadn’t joined the Navy.
“Would you tell me how he died?”
“He died attacking a bomber. Through his efforts and those of Captain Fowler, two bombers went down and Chena was spared.”
“Are you guys going to refuel and go back?”
“I don’t know. Colonel Shipley says we have to wait for approval.”
Master Sergeant Marinig frowned but didn’t comment. “C’mon, let’s get you out of there.”
With everyone exhausted, the debriefing had been short and they all ate a good meal. Darkness, such as it was, fell and everyone turned in. Jerry slept hard but had nightmares featuring Magda being surrounded by laughing Russians trying to kill her.
At 0700, Jerry walked into the ready room; Colonel Shipley was waiting for him. “Captain Yamato, a word please?”
Jerry followed him to his office. Shipley didn’t sit behind his desk; he sat on the front of it, facing Yamato. “Shut the door, Captain. What was that out there last night? You trying to be a general or something?”
“I told the Dená I’d be back with modern aircraft to help them fight the Russians. To my way of thinking three strafing runs didn’t quite fill the bill.”
“If we hadn’t run into that Russian bombing mission—”
“Excuse me, Colonel. I know why we didn’t stay over the battle, but I don’t understand why we didn’t immediately go back.”
“Interrupt me one more time and I’ll confine you to quarters, Captain. I understand that you have a very personal interest in the battle at Delta, but that does not preclude our mission nor does it give you military or moral authority to take over my command.”
Jerry felt his face grow warm and he held his tongue, realizing that at this point he was far too angry to speak. He stared at his commanding officer and remained at attention.
“Before you say something damaging to your career, allow me to enlighten you that we have orders to renew the attack as soon as possible. The Dená at Refuge made radio contact with their people late last night and gave them the lowdown.
“It seems the Russian military in Alaska is fighting their own private war. St. Petersburg ordered them to stand down three days ago. You are dismissed, Captain.”
Jerry executed the best salute of his career, and when it was returned, performed a perfect about-face and left the office. Master Sergeant Marinig was waiting outside the door and fell into step with Jerry.
“Is it true? Are we going back?”
“Yeah. Right now.”
“Your bird is warmed up and ready.”
70
Village of Kilsnoo, Russian Amerika
Grisha sat in his chair and quietly ground his teeth. For two days they had circled like feral dogs, seeking advantage where none existed. The atmosphere in the beautifully appointed chamber lay heavy with animosity and distrust.
All of the kwan leaders had said the same thing in as many different ways as possible: we want your help but we don’t want to change our culture in order to get it.
Colonel Gregory George finished his version and sat down in the ensuing silence. Grisha could feel them all staring at him.
“I apologize, gentlemen,” Wing said, rising to her feet. “This has all been a colossal waste of time. We came here thinking you were ready to negotiate, even pulled an active duty submarine out of the war we all are fighting in order to get here safely, and for what?”