“Thank you, General. But Colonel Grigorievich was correct, I should have just shot the bitch rather than sink to her level. Not to mention that Grisha also wouldn’t be our de facto prisoner when he is urgently needed at home.”
“He’s not a prisoner,” Admiral Ramona Clyde snapped. “He is a guest of the Republic of California. We’re going to give him military aid, for crissake.”
Benny perked up. This was new.
“Indeed, Admiral, when?”
“That’s why you’re here, Colonel Jackson,” General Davidson said. “You know the situation up there, what should we send?”
“Fighter wings, airborne troops, artillery, and armor, all with lots of ammunition, that should do it, General.”
“You are aware that New Spain is moving troops and warships up from the south and British Canada is doing the same from the north, yes?” Admiral Clyde’s voice could quick-freeze a tree, Benny thought. “Not to mention that when we dispatch military personnel to Russian America we will be at war with them, too.”
“Russia has a small but modern navy with which to threaten our shores. So what would you have us do, what should we keep here at home for defense?”
“The fleet and the fleet air wings, Admiral. You could deploy the marines against the enemy land forces. I have heard many times from their very lips that one marine is worth five soldiers.” He shrugged and kept his smile hidden. “I should think that would do it nicely.”
Color rose in the admiral’s cheeks. Marine General Louis Cole broke his silence with a near growl. “Is that a challenge, Colonel? Or are you making a joke?”
“Only repeating what I’ve heard, General.”
“Okay, enough of this screwing around,” General Burgett, the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said. “We’re sending the Third Airborne and the 117th Fighter Squadron. Do you want to head up a Special Forces unit and go with?”
“Thank you, General.” Benny’s heart seemed about to burst through his dress jacket. “I’d love to do just that!”
“Then get your ass out of here and have at, you’ve got eighteen hours.”
67
Major Riordan of the International Freekorps spotted movement ahead and slapped the driver’s arm. The scout car stopped and Riordan peered through his binoculars.
“It’s our motorcycle scout coming like there’s something chewing his ass. Alert the column.”
The driver reached out and hand-cranked a siren for five seconds. Behind the scout car, the men in the two armored personnel carriers and the five trucks didn’t change in their aspect, but most of them woke up.
The camouflaged motorcycle purred up to the car and the rider stopped and saluted.
“Major, there’s a Russian unit bivouacked about a mile up the road.”
“"How big a unit?”
“Three medium tanks, three APCs, five trucks, and a scout car.”
“Could you tell if they were special forces or regular army?”
“Looked like regular army to me, but I don’t know for sure.”
“What the hell are they doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“I didn’t ask, Major,” the man said with a laugh. “And they didn’t say.”
“They see you?”
“No. I smelled the smoke from their fires and hid the bike before reconnoitering on foot. They must not be expecting trouble, their sentries were playing cards.”
“Good work, Sergeant Percy. Let your radio antenna free and put a white flag on it. But first take a break, I need to talk to the men.”
“Yes, sir!” Sergeant. Percy saluted and rode back down the small column.
“Duty Sergeant!” Riordan bellowed.
A large man swung down out of the first truck. His face bore scars and a nose broken many times over. “Yes, Major Riordan?” he said and saluted the smaller man.
“I want two pickets forward about two hundred yards. They are not to fire at anything until ordered.”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Flars dropped out of the lead APC. He saluted in the French manner and narrowed his eyes. “What have we, Major Riordan? Perhaps an engagement?”
“Pass the word for assembly, Ren. We’re going to play nice and be friendly, until we see the lay of the land. At least until I whistle.”
“We are going to engage the Russian Army?”
“Now, Ren , don’t go all Gallic on me. We’re not going to do anything stupid, okay?”
“Oui, mon Majeur!” He turned and shouted for assembly.
68
Wing picked at her food and wondered what had happened to Grisha. For a week the Southern Army had heard nothing of its commander. Malagni stiffened the patrols, drilled the troops mercilessly, and stepped up training for the new recruits.
If asked, she wouldn’t have been able to explain the feeling in her gut, or the nervous twitch that ruled her left eyebrow. She felt a wrongness that magnified in proportion to the length of his absence.
In addition, two days ago Malagni went to Tanana to confer with the War Council and left her in charge. She shook her head and eased down on her cot. Maybe a nap would help.
Quick steps paused at her door long enough for someone to rap once before pushing it open. Sergeant Major Tobias poked his head in, eyes on the floor.
“Colonel Demoski, things are heating up.”
“Come in, Sergeant Major,” she said, sitting up. “What’s the situation?”
He closed the door and stood with his back to it.
“What are the Russians doing?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“There’s heavy fighting at Bridge and our scouts report a mechanized force moving toward us from St. Anthony.”
“How large a force?” Here was the genesis of her anxiety, why her thusfar infallible intuition nagged at her. She pulled on her boots and grabbed her jacket—April could be capricious.
“Big, at least twenty tanks and twice that many troop carriers, last I heard.”
“Sound the alarm. I want everybody into their bunkers. I’m amazed we haven’t been hit by aircraft already.”
“They’re afraid of our antiaircraft batteries,” Tobias said with a quick grin. “I’ll sound the alarm. By the way, we’ve intercepted radio transmissions from the south. The Canadians are building up their troops on the California border and we think they have launched a major offensive through the First People’s Nation into Minnesota in the United States.”
“They must be madmen. Anything about California?”
“Yes, ma’am. They have broken off diplomatic relations with Russia and said if the Czar’s forces attack the Dená, they’ll declare war.”
“Let’s hope they aren’t just posturing.” She followed Tobias into the situation room. “I want an officers’ meeting in five minutes. Radio Colonel Malagni of our actions.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
From the roof a klaxon broke the arboreal silence.
She paused at the radio room. Two women and a man sat at consoles with earphones clamped on their heads. All three scribbled madly on pads of paper. As they tore off the information-covered sheets a corporal collected them and hurried into the next room where a knot of people huddled around a map table.
Wing followed the corporal, a second cousin from downriver, and asked the room at large, “So what’re they doing out there?”
A large man Wing didn’t recognize straightened to attention.
“We were just going to send for you, colonel. I’m Captain Lauesen, U.S. Army Intelligence. I’ve been seconded to your command and am honored to be here. I also brought two enlisted men who should arrive momentarily.”