Less than an hour ago he realized he no longer had the troop strength or equipment to strike at Chena. He couldn’t obey his orders. But perhaps he could prevail here.
His troops were taking light weapons’ fire from his left and rear flanks. So far the Indians and traitors on the mountain hadn’t realized the distraction and acted upon it.
“Who is my adjutant?” he shrieked over his shoulder.
A thin, pale lieutenant hurried to his side and saluted. “Co-Colonel Janeki, I am your new adjutant.”
“Who in God’s name are you? I’ve never laid eyes on you before.”
“Lieutenant Petrovski, I… I was the assistant supply officer, Colonel. We did meet once, it was back in—”
“What is happening on that mountain? Are we facing new people or did the savages and deserters on that mountain flank us? That is all I want to know. I don’t care who the hell you are or if I’ve ever seen your witless face before this moment!”
“I think we’re losing more men than we can afford, Colonel.” The lieutenant’s voice was suddenly crisp and professional. “Please explain if and how I can help you change that situation.”
Janeki felt another chill course through him. This would all be on his head if he failed. Taras Myslosovich had had the good sense to stop a bullet, but he would have been even more worthless now than he had already proven.
“Get me the provost marshal, quickly! I must rescind an order.”
“Colonel, the provost marshal is at the aid station. He was wounded when the Republic of California Air Force strafed our column. The Freekorps executive officer was killed outright. They were in the same car.”
“No! I didn’t know that. Thank you, Lieutenant Petrovski…”
Good, he was going to need those mercenaries. They could die for Mother Russia here rather than at some worthless village on the Yukon.
“Colonel, we’re losing our ass here. We need to pull back and regroup.”
“They told me to stand down, you know,” Janeki said in an absent manner, trying desperately to make sense of the situation without screaming.
“Who told you to stand down, Colonel?”
“St. Nicholas Redoubt, of course. Who else has that sort of authority?”
Petrovski stared at him for the longest time before bellowing, “Cease fire! Cease fire!”
“No!” Janeki screamed, feeling the wrath pour out of him. “Not yet!”
“We are no better than bandits without the full backing of St. Petersburg!” Petrovski looked around, seeking allies. Soldiers stared back at him curiously but none ventured closer than they already stood.
“He is ordering us to wage illegal warfare! Don’t you see? We can quit, we can go hom—”
Janeki’s bullet hit the lieutenant in the chest, a perfect heart shot at two paces. Petrovski fell backwards onto the rocks, already dead.
“Do we have any more traitors who wish to join him?” Janeki bellowed. The rage cleared from his mind and he assessed his situation clearly. “Sergeant, count off every other man here. Send half to the left and the other half to the right. We have a mission to accomplish.”
The headache was back.
73
9 miles east of Delta
Riordan saw the twin flashes of light that told him the occupants of the truck had just surveyed him with binoculars and now knew more about him than he did about them. He hoped they were not enlightened, but if they were… He loosened his carbine in its scabbard and unsnapped the flap over his pistol as nonchalantly as possible.
He hadn’t felt this alone since shipping out of Boston at the age of fifteen—a long time ago. He allowed himself to wonder if N’go had survived the fighting before concentrating on the threat at hand.
The battered truck with a homemade dwelling bolted to its back came to a complete stop. He would have to go to it in order to parley or pass, or both. If this were a real highway made of macadam and smooth as a baby’s butt, he would simply accelerate past them without a nod.
But this was the RustyCan and consisted of a plethora of small boulders that would dump a motorcycle quicker than it would ever lend support.
I, Riordan decided, am thoroughly screwed.
He gently twisted the throttle and moved slowly up to the truck… and saw the pistol pointed at him.
“Good evening, Major Riordan,” the man behind the gun said.
Riordan glanced up at the bright sky. “How can you tell it’s evening?”
“The trees are dark and the bird calls are less strident. One can almost hear the Earth exhale as the Sun nods at it to pass on.”
“Poetry has always eluded me,” Riordan said, becoming nervous under the man’s measured tones. “Perhaps we can discuss the situation?”
“Of the evening, or yours?”
“My situation, if I am to see other evenings.”
The man laughed and the gun did not waver.
“You really don’t remember me, do you?”
Damn, Riordan thought. There is no way I could be this man’s father and nothing else bears such gravity.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Should I?”
“Less than ninety days ago, you and your men roared into a small town in the First People’s Nation, stole everything my friends had from animals to wheat, beat me senseless and left me for dead.”
“You were the man in the grocery store who called us pirates, thieves and desperados, aren’t you?”
“You do remember!”
“I remember your spirited defense, but not your face.”
“Did you hear what I screamed when you rode off in your command car?”
“No. I wasn’t aware you spoke.”
“Because you didn’t care what I, or any of your other peaceful victims, had to say.”
“Trust me, I’m listening now.”
“I’ll never trust you, Riordan. I screamed ‘I’ll find you!’ at the top of my voice.”
Riordan glanced at the horizon where the road rose to a ridgetop. Beyond lay mountains dark with trees and snow-capped peaks. Then he stared down at the irregular pieces of rock constituting the Russia-Canada Highway, and sighed.
“Well, sir, it seems you have. What now?”
74
Battle of Refuge
“Del, we got ’em pinned down,” Major Joe Coffey said, breathing hard. Gunpowder streaked his face and a slice had been taken from the sleeve of his combat blouse.
Both men crouched in a semicircle of rocks that offered excellent protection.
Colonel Buhrman nodded at his arm. “Did that hit flesh?”
“Nothing more than a nick, Del. Thanks for asking. They can’t charge up the mountain for fear we’ll flank their position. So we’ve got them cornered. Whattya want to do?”
“Where’s Major Smolst?”
“Leading his men. They’re trying to cut the Russians off on the east.”
“Brilliant, then we have them boxed with nowhere to go.”
“That’s what Heinrich and I decided about twenty minutes ago.”
Buhrman grinned. “The best part of this situation is that I get to make battlefield promotions and the army has to go along with it, Lieutenant Colonel Coffey.”
Coffey grinned. “You are the biggest asshole I have ever known. You will use every ploy at hand to realize your objective. Have I ever not gone above and beyond for you?”
Buhrman sobered. “Of course not. And you’ve never been able to say ‘thank you’ the first time around in your whole life. You’ve earned this, Joe. It isn’t just manipulation.”