Russian Amerika (29 page)

"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.

"What are you-"

"I asked you first," a voice said over the radio.

"Titov!" he screamed. "Go!"

Bright light flooded the cab. Bullets, shock, and darkness crowded it out.

Wing held her breath as the half-track stopped. Light blossomed in the night. Bullets shattered the stillness. The loading ramp at the back of the half-track crunched down and dark figures poured across it.

"Fire!" she screamed.

Gun fire from three directions poured across the figures and into the opening. In moments nine bodies lay smashed and twitching, their blood leaking silently to freeze in the snow.

"Cease fire!" Wing shouted. She walked over to the bodies.

"Blue?"

Something scraped in the cab. Five gun muzzles moved toward the sound, hunting dogs tracking quarry.

"Wait!" a muffled voice cried. "It's me." The door abruptly flew open and a bloody body tumbled to the ground.

"Okay," The voice called out from the cab, louder and clearer now. "I'm coming out. Don't shoot."

Blue clambered down out of the half-track and peered around owlishly. Blood covered her head and parka.

"Blue, are you hurt?" Wing cried.

"It ain't my blood." She glanced down at the body.

Wing dropped her weapon, ran over, and embraced the older woman. "How wonderful to see you."

"Oh, that was such a close thing," Blue said, hugging her in return.

"Thank goodness for code words."

"There's much I have to tell you," Wing said. "Very little of it is good."

"And I have much to tell you," Blue replied. "And most of it is good."

Jackson slapped Grisha on the back. "Good job, Captain. I'll take Jimmy and a couple others and drive the other half-track. Signal if you need me."

"I'm glad you're with us, Benny."

51

Russia-Canada Highway, Near the Yukon River

". . . and we know Yak fighters scrambled out of Siberia and Tetlin, but they never got to Tanana." Blue paused and stared at Grisha and Wing on the seat beside her. "Do either of you know why?"

Grisha concentrated on his driving, but managed one word, "Haimish."

"Yeah," Wing said absently. "His last act seems to have borne fruit."

"Hamish is dead?" Blue asked quietly. "What did he do to stop the fighters?"

"I think he arranged for help from the U.S.A., maybe got us a squadron of fighters. He worked for the Yanks, you know."

"No, I didn't know that, but I ain't surprised. You sure he's dead?"

"Yeah. And Chandalar, too."

"Ah, damn!" Blue's voice broke for the second time in twenty minutes.

"Losin' all these people I love, who helped me be the person I am, makes me die a little bit with each one. I don't know how much more I can take."

The death of her brother, Lynx, didn't seem to jar her as much as hearing about Malagni and Slayer-of-Men. "You weren't sure about Malagni?"

"I know he lost his arm and a lot of blood." It seemed like a million years ago to Grisha. "But I won't believe he's dead until I see his grave."

"Yet Nathan the mind-bender still lives," Blue said shortly.

"He's hurt," Wing said testily. "He might even lose an arm."

Blue turned and stared at her friend. "But no bullet touched him, right?"

"His arm was broken by a piece of falling roof." Wing sounded defensive. "No, he has no bullet wounds."

Blue fastened her gaze on Grisha.

"What do you think, little brother? Is our Nathan a witch or just damn lucky?"

"Who knows? I believe he's especially intuitive. But if he can read minds he has an affliction I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy," Grisha mumbled. "There's no way to turn off what others are thinking. Think how awfully boring that could become."

Both women laughed, muting the tension.

Blue sobered quickly. "It might be boring, but I think he can control people around him."

"How can you believe that?" Wing asked incredulously. "He's been unconscious for hours and I don't feel any different than when he's awake."

"I can believe it 'cause he's the strangest damn thing to come downriver in my lifetime," Blue said. "Grisha, how about you?"

He yawned hugely. "I feel more awake when he's around."

"I'm serious, Grisha."

Grisha glanced past Wing at the larger woman. "If he's controlling me, I don't know about it." He paused. "But I almost wish he was, I'd have someone else to blame for my screwups."

Nobody laughed.

"What was the situation at Tanana when you left?" Wing asked.

"Mopping up. Most of the garrison were Cossacks and knew they were dead even if they surrendered." Blue's tone grew bleak. "They didn't surrender, but we took the redoubt anyway."

"At what cost?"

"Fred Seetamoona and his assault team feinted to draw their fire, they all died. That's how we were able to take the place at all."

"Fred was on the council," Wing said slowly.

"We've lost five council members that I know of over the past few days," Blue said.

"How did you end up in this half-track with a bunch of desperate survivors?" Grisha asked.

"Pure, crazy chance. We captured three of these things and we only had two people who could drive them, so I volunteered to guard this one until somebody could come back for it." She grinned, showing the gap in her teeth.

"The Cossacks got there first and I just played dumb, which under the circumstances, wasn't too difficult."

"So what's next?" Grisha asked.

"What do you mean?" Wing said.

"We've got Tanana, Chena is in ruins and won't be of much use to them or us for a long time to come-"

"Not to mention Huslia, Koyuk, Fort Yukon, and Bridge," Wing said quickly.

"Where?" Grisha asked.

"Those are the other strongpoints on the highway now in our hands. We took Fort Yukon because we needed the airfield," Blue said. "Finish what you started to say."

"I already said it: what's next? Where do we go from here, attack south?"

"No," Blue said quickly. "We're fighting a revolution for independence, we have no legal reason to hold more than the land of the Dená."

"But Nathan and Chan mentioned attacks on St. Nicholas and Tetlin."

"Tetlin is inside the Dená Republik and is the strongest redoubt outside St. Nicholas. We hope to negotiate them out of there," Blue said with a trace of bitterness. "We planned an attack on the slave pens in each place, to gain more followers, but that didn't happen."

"Why not?"

"Too cold. The prisoners would have frozen to death before we could help them. As soon as the ice goes out on the Yukon, we'll hit Tetlin, if they haven't freed our people before then."

"Blue, you're pretty optimistic if you believe that," Wing said with a snort.

"Finish answering my question," Grisha said.

"We consolidate and negotiate," Blue said. "And, if we have to, we keep fighting."

"The Russians will definitely counterattack," Grisha said. "They won't give up this easily."

"We've hurt them badly here-" Blue began.

"Do you think this is the cream of the Czar's army?" Grisha said. "This is the frontier, a colony. This is where they send the people who are being punished or aren't worth the food they eat."

He licked his lips, hating himself for demeaning the sacrifice of others. "You were able to plant charges at the strongpoints before your initial attack, weren't you?"

"How'd you know what we did?" Blue asked.

"It's what I would have done. But the point is, the next Russian troops you see will be more aware, better trained, and possess few social skills. The real Russian Army will be a lot harder to beat than these trash-heap garrison troops."

Wing turned and stared at him. "We will fight until we die. I don't think the Russian Army cares that much about the Czar's holdings in Russian Amerika."

"The leaders do the thinking; all armies are paid to fight."

"If enough of them die, they will realize that to fight us is tantamount to death," Blue said with finality. "Their choices are to go home, join us, or die."

"Maybe you should tell them that," he said in a musing tone. "Perhaps they would come to their point of decision much faster."

"Propaganda's not a bad idea," Wing said. "Do we still have a printing press?"

"More than one," Blue said. "We'll print up small notices in Russian and English and distribute them in all the Russian-held redoubts."