“Thanks, Del. I really appreciate it. It would have taken another two years to get this through normal channels.”
“Naw, we’re in a war again. Keep your shit together and you’ll be a bird colonel in three months.”
“You still haven’t said what you want us to do, Colonel.”
“I want a runner, preferably one of Major Smolst’s men, to go up that mountain, make contact, and have the Dená charge downhill in concert with our assault on the enemy flanks. Think that will work?”
“Hell yes! The Russians will have to surrender or die.”
75
5,000 feet over Russian Amerika
“This is Delta Refuge, do you read me? Over.”
Captain Gerald Yamato thought the transmission was a cruel prank at first.
“This is Delta Refuge, does anyone hear me?”
Jerry keyed his microphone. “This is Captain Yamato of the Republic of California Air Force. Who is in charge there?”
“Captain Yamato! This is Max Demientieff. We fought together when we hit them mercenaries, remember?”
“Max! I’m so happy to hear your voice and know you’re okay. We’re on our way to hit the Russians attacking you. Over.”
“We got people out there, Jerry, be careful you don’t get them too. Uh, over.”
“Is there anyone in your front lines with a radio? Over.”
“Yeah, hang on for a minute.”
The radio burst with static and he turned down his volume. The 117th was no more than five minutes from the battle; he needed coordinates.
“This is Sergeant Haroldsson of Dená Recon. What do you need?”
Jerry couldn’t believe his ears. “Magda? Is that you?”
“Jerry!” The catch in her voice tore at him. “Where are you?”
“Closing on the battle at five thousand feet! We’re going to hit the Russians, but Max said there were Dená elements close to the Russians. What’s the story?”
“The lines are all messed up and we’re probably within fifty meters of the Russians right now.”
His heart flew into his mouth. “You’re that close to the Russians?”
“It’s a war, my love. They damn near killed me yesterday with an artillery barrage. We do what we must.”
“Magda, get away from the front lines, please!”
Despite the poor connection, the starch in her voice came through loud and clear.
“Don’t ever ask me to let someone take risks in my name that I won’t take myself! Don’t you know me better than that, Jerry Yamato?”
“Of course I do. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you. I fear for you.”
“You would soldier on. But I promise to be careful.”
“Thanks. We can see the dust and smoke from the barrage. Where do we hit them?”
“At the bottom of the mountain, where all their armor is concentrated. We’ll take care of the rest.”
“Consider it done. I love you.”
“And I love you, over.”
Colonel Shipley’s voice sounded softer than it had at the beginning of the flight. “Captain Yamato, you have the lead on the first attack.”
“Thank you, sir, I sincerely appreciate that. Permission to reconnoiter the area, sir?”
“Permission granted, Captain.”
Jerry dove toward the base of the smoke cloud where it intersected with the RustyCan. He swept over the Russians so quickly they didn’t have time to direct any fire at his plane. Their column looked pretty well shot up to him.
He banked left and right, following the highway while digesting what he had seen, and flew over a second, much larger, column. He stared incredulously at the long line of tanks and armored troop carriers. Just as his heart was sinking into the pit of his stomach, he realized they were not displaying Russian insignia.
“First People’s Nation?” he blurted.
“What was that, Captain?” Shipley’s voice sounded taut. “Where the hell are you? We’ve completely lost visual on your craft.”
He pulled the P-61 up as sharply as he dared while machine gun fire erupted from dozens of locations in the column. Two rounds put holes in his left wing. Jerry took a deep breath.
That was too damn close!
“Colonel Shipley, there is a First People’s Nation armored column less than five miles from the Russian position. It outnumbers the Russians by four to one.”
“Who…” Shipley began and then faltered for a moment. “Whose side are they on?”
“Ours, I think. But they still put two holes in my left wing. They weren’t expecting friendly aircraft.”
“Friendly aircraft, hell,” Shipley said with a snort. “They weren’t expecting any aircraft at all! Tell me about the Russians.”
“They’re bunched up and hurting. But we have to make sure we don’t hit the sides of the road; they’re engaged in hand-to-hand combat there.”
“Roger that. Good work, Captain.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jerry knew there would be a citation for this in his service jacket, but he didn’t really care. His war had transcended nations; now it was completely personal.
“Gentlemen,” Shipley said, “you all heard the captain. Hit everything in the middle of the Russian parking lot but don’t shoot near the edges.”
A bevy of comm clicks answered him and the 117th dove to the attack.
76
Battle of Delta
Provost Marshal Senior Lieutenant Kubitski screamed at his men to take cover when the Californian aircraft went over. Private Ilyivich stood watching as the plane buzzed into the distance.
“Get your dumb ass under cover!” Kubitski screamed. “Did I tell you it was permitted to move?”
His bandaged head throbbed where the cannon fire from the earlier strafing run had clipped his scalp.
“But the plane didn’t fire, Lieutenant—”
“There will be more planes, you stupid bastard. Now get under cover!”
As his men went to ground he sprinted toward Colonel Janeki’s position. Ten minutes after the colonel shot his new adjutant, everyone in the column knew about it. This had to be ended.
Bullets skitted past him and took cover. They were being flanked and Colonel Janeki was still obsessed with going to the top of this damn mountain. Fifth Armored had been Kubitski’s life since he was sixteen and a sub-private.
The battlefield commission came as a surprise; he just thought he had been doing what they trained him for. The promotion to provost marshal was an even bigger surprise; he hadn’t thought he was hard-assed enough for the job.
He glanced about, seeking his men. Three feet behind him a bullet ricocheted off the fender of an armored car. He let his training take over and watched for the next shot.
Nothing happened. He wasn’t facing an inexperienced recruit; this fellow knew what it was all about. He waited.
A volley of automatic fire erupted from a dozen places and Mother Kubitski’s little boy Leonid dove for cover. His adversaries were just as professional as himself.
Perhaps more?
The fire drew attention from his troops and the enemy area received heavy machine gun and mortar fire. He utilized the lull in incoming fire by running toward Janeki’s last known position. Just as he was about to go to ground again, a bullet clipped the side of his steel helmet and knocked him sprawling.
He lay stunned. His head throbbed worse than the most massive hangover he had ever experienced. Between the earlier graze and this near miss, he felt marked for death.