“Tell her we’re hungry,” Grisha said tersely. “Ask her if she has anything to eat.”
“Jesus, but you’re paranoid,” Wing said with a growl. She picked up the microphone and repeated the question.
“Sure, we got food.” Blue’s voice all but chirped over the radio. “We got caribou, moose jerky, and even some squaw candy. I remember how much you like squaw candy, Wing.”
“Oh, no,” Wing said quietly. “She’s a prisoner. How are we going to get her out of there alive?”
“We might not,” Jackson said, now fully awake. “Depends on what the Russians have in mind.”
“They don’t know that we know they’re there,” Grisha said. “They expect us to be surprised.”
“And defeated,” Wing said with a ghastly smile. Abruptly she pulled the hood of her parka up, fastened the front, pushed open the hatch, and crawled into the back of the half-track. “Pull up and stop beside them, Grisha,” she said over her shoulder. “Take out the driver. We’ll handle the show from that point.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Warrior women.” The hatch slammed behind her.
Grisha glanced over at Jackson. The Californian stared steadily at the approaching lights.
“Y’know,” Jackson said absently, “if I’d met someone like that at the right point in my life, I might have developed a thing for women.”
“I don’t think I want to hear about it just now,” Grisha said. He picked up the microphone. “Hey, Blue. This is Grisha. Remember me?”
“Grisha?” Her voice sounded tentative. “The little skinny guy who blew the head off that pig of a Cossack sergeant?”
Grisha smiled. Blue knew her warning had been interpreted.
“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle, “I’ve even killed a couple more since then.”
Only fifty meters separated the two half-tracks. The other half-track suddenly stopped. Grisha braked and took his machine out of gear; the fight would be here.
“Jackson, get out on the running board. When I turn on my spotlight you shoot hell out of the driver.”
“But, what about this Blue person, won’t she get hit?”
“She knows what’s going to happen.” Grisha remembered the labor camp.
“Besides, she’s a survivor.”
“Okay, you’re the boss.” Jackson swung out of the cab, leaned across the hood, and took aim at the approaching half-track.
Grisha rolled down the window and picked up the machine pistol in his left hand. Glacial air bit at his exposed skin. The other half-track lurched forward and closed on them in an obscenely short amount of time.
“Put on your interior lights,” Blue said with an edge in her voice.
“I asked you first,” Grisha said lightheartedly. He gripped the handle and swung the spotlight around to bear on the other cab. He thumbed on the light.
50
Wing turned from the hatch and saw Karin behind the machine gun mounted over the cab. Even though they moved at a snail’s pace, the subarctic air knifing over the cab cut like cold steel. It won’t be long, she thought.
“They’re Russians!” she said clearly. “But they have some of our people.”
“Who?” Karin demanded as she braced her foot against the wall and cocked the heavy weapon.
“Blue Bostonman, the sister of Lynx.”
“Damn them,” Karin said through clenched teeth.
“Who’s able to fight down there?”
“Jimmy Scanlon, Heron, and that Eskimo guy, Simon.”
“Get ’em out here,” Wing said. “We need all the help we can get.”
Karin disappeared and Wing studied the machine gun. Moments later, the men followed Karin back though the hatch. Everybody carried a weapon.
“Here’s my idea,” she said, talking fast.
Master Sergeant Lupasiac clutched his thirty years of service to the Czar in a grip of grim patriotic fervor. A bandage gleamed whitely, despite its crusted brownish-red edges, over the burly Georgian’s dark face. His trademark vein of irascibility lay bare to the elements like an open pit mine.
“Keep them lulled,” he growled. “We’ll have this over in moments.”
His prisoner seemed mesmerized either by the vehicle they crept toward or the knowledge she had only minutes left to live, condemned by her own friends. Just the same, he found it impossible to believe this addled cow could direct a battle as devastating as Tanana. The sergeant mentally dismissed her and growled over his shoulder to the corporal.
“As soon as I stop, kick the ramp down and surround their vehicle. I want them alive if possible, but don’t take any chances.”
“Yes, Wulff,” the corporal said. “As you say.”
Master Sergeant Wulff Lupasiac ignored the familiarity. Corporal Titov had earned the right to call him by his Christian name many years ago. His mind dwelt on the eight troopers in the back of the half-track.
Do we have enough men? Is there any way this cow of a woman can discover their numbers without alerting them?
He felt confident of total surprise. His men would surround the enemy vehicle in moments. Then he’d have something to show Tetlin Redoubt for the loss of his command, besides this ignorant savage beside him.
Unbidden, the overland fighting retreat from a destroyed and burning Tanana Redoubt kaleidoscoped through his memory. Pain, fear, hate, and hunger all fought to dominate his mind, but discipline hammered them down and allowed him to focus on revenge and duty. These vermin would pay dearly for their rebellion.
But why hadn’t the Siberian fighter squadrons answered their call for help? The last he heard, all the Yak fighters in Alaska had been destroyed by the rebels. How could that be?
The point man apprehended this Blue person. At first she claimed the tea she brewed was intended for the Russian crew of the half-track in which she sat. His men searched for fifteen minutes but found no trace of a crew.
At no time had she offered any resistance to them, and even volunteered that she knew some of the rebels’ code words. This information condemned her mere hours later.
“The leaders of each battle are called by the name of the battle,” she said with a vacuous grin, following it up with a little giggle. “The battle leader at Tanana was called ‘Tanana One,’ and the leader at Chena was called ‘Chena One,’ you see?”
“How do you know this?” Wulff Lupasiac asked carefully.
“The sergeant who was boss in this half-track told his men about it. I overheard him.”
Could this gap-toothed cow be as stupid as she seemed? So many questions, so many answers to puzzle out, and he was so tired. But the person on the radio, a woman he thought, had identified her as the leader of the Tanana revolt.
Nearly unimaginable.
“You shall die for this,” he had told her. “But if you cooperate I promise you a quick, painless death.”
Thus far she had cooperated completely. His blood boiled upon hearing one of the rebels boast of killing Cossacks. He would personally torture that one until death ended his penance.
The only thing that bothered him now was that the rebel half-track had stopped moving. He peered into the dense night but could see no figures moving against the mottled forest background.
“Titov, stand by,” he barked over his shoulder.
“Yes, Wulff. We’re ready.”
“Remember that you’re Cossacks.”
He pulled up, nearly bumper to bumper with the other vehicle.
“Tell them to open their interior lights so we may see them,” he said with a growl.
“Put on your interior lights,” the woman said in a strange voice. Wulff glanced at her as she dropped the microphone and then rolled off the bench seat onto the floor of the cab. Alarm shot through him as all his instincts screamed.