Russian Amerika (33 page)

"There were some left alive?"

"Some," Basil said with a slow grin. "But they didn't last long. As soon as we finished them off, we mined the roadsides and went back to our machine guns and antitank guns."

"You did well to bring in the colonel and the corporal. What's your rank, Basil?"

"Sergeant, why?"

"As of now you're a lieutenant and in charge of an infantry platoon."

"I'm not sure I want that, Grisha."

"It's Colonel Grisha and we need everyone working at the highest level they can achieve. When the rest of your team shows the initiative you did, I'll turn them into officers, too. We need them."

"Irena showed more initiative than I did, Colonel."

"That's why I've already made her a major and put her in command of Wolf Team."

"Oh. Okay, I'll take the platoon."

"You're getting some new people who haven't seen action. Teach them how to stay alive."

"Yes, sir." Basil grinned and left the room. The man sitting at the radio in the corner carefully kept his eyes on the gauges.

The door shut behind his old companion from slave days and Grisha sighed. Ever since the council pushed this command on him, he had expected his army to discover that he was only acting like a field officer, that too much time had passed since he last knew military life and battle. He felt what little he did know about cold-weather operations he had received from his conditioning with Nik, Malagni, and Haimish.

He felt the years as a charter captain had negated his long service to the Czar. Yet training completed over twenty-five years ago suddenly manifested when needed and helped him make desperate decisions.

The memory of his friends strengthened his determination to go on and finish this thing correctly. The Dená had saved him from certain death and he had vowed to help them any way he could. But he hadn't expected this.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Enter."

Wing stopped just inside the door. "Colonel, there's a contingent of forty recruits from upriver villages. It would be a good thing if you welcomed them personally."

"Forty," Grisha said. "We need so many more than that, but I had given up hope of getting more village people."

"Many of them thought the Russians would kill us all as soon as we attacked. The fact that we've held the highway from Bridge to Chena has made an impression. Now they know the Russians can be beaten."

"I wish I knew that," Grisha said as he moved around the desk toward her. "C'mon, let me at these people."

Wing led him over to a group eating from bowls. When they saw Wing they stopped eating and quietly watched her and Grisha.

"It's customary to show respect for the colonel by standing when he enters your area," Wing said in a low voice.

Everybody immediately began to rise.

"Thank you," Grisha said quickly. "I am honored. Please sit, you've all come a long way and I know you're tired."

They eased back down. One man remained standing. Grisha glanced over at him and had to force himself not to let his jaw hang open in astonishment. Slayer-of-Men stood there!

"How. You can't be standing there-I saw you die."

"You are Grisha, the boat captain?" the man asked.

Grisha felt relief. This wasn't Slayer-of-Men. The voice was different, higher than the steel bass of the dead warrior. "Yes, I'm Grisha. How are you related to my friend Slayer-of-Men?"

"I am Nikoli. Slayer-of-Men was my older brother, as is Malagni. They spoke highly of you and your dedication to the Dená Republik." Grisha was positive this is exactly how Slayer-of-Men sounded in his youth.

The words sank in. "Malagni is still alive?"

"Yes. He is healing. He said to tell you that he would be back soon."

"Thank you for the news. I thought both your brothers died that night."

"You're welcome." Nikoli nodded politely and sat down with the rest of the group.

For a moment Grisha felt as if he had regained a measure of his two dead friends in this person. Then he firmly suppressed the feeling. Nik wa-Nikoli was a whole new unknown and to give him that sort of measure to stand against wasn't fair. "Do you mind if I call you 'Nik'? "

The youth smiled. "That's okay. Everybody else does anyway."

They all smiled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Wing sniff and look off to the side.

"I thank you all for coming to help. So far we have more than held our own against the Czar. The price has been high."

Grisha felt awkward at this kind of thing, he would rather sit around and drink beer with them and tell lies about fishing and hunting. But the cashiered major/charter captain had changed somewhere between slave and new soldier. Now he had to be a colonel.

"We'll teach you what we know about fighting the Russians. And because we must teach you quickly, we might wound your pride. You'll have to accept this as part of being in the army, so we apologize now and hope you remember then."

Nods eddied through the group.

"We need you on the lines now and so we'll put small groups of you in every part of the organization. Even though we are all constantly in danger, I will only take volunteers for the rifle companies-"

Forty hands shot into the air.

"-and I'll only take eight," Grisha said with a smile.

They laughed and all hands stayed in the air.

"I knew this wouldn't be easy," he muttered to Wing.

"You did fine, Colonel," she said. "I'll take it from here."

"Thank you, Colonel." He turned, left the dining hall and walked briskly toward his office, his emotions churning.

"Colonel Grigorievich!" a voice shouted harshly. "I demand my rights as an officer and a gentleman."

Grisha veered over to where Colonel Kronov stood chained to the wall. The Russian had enough chain to lie on the cot if he wished but he stood with the extra lengths puddled over his boots. A number of Dená stood at a distance watching him as if he were a rare beast.

"You're a prisoner of war," Grisha said. "We've shown you more humanity than we would have received at your hands."

"Only because you plan to use me for some sort of propaganda," Kronov spat. "This is not how an officer of the Imperial Russian Army should be treated."

"Okay," Grisha said tiredly. "I'll tell you what. As soon as we're done using you for propaganda, I promise we'll shoot you."

The growing crowd laughed. Pure hatred shone in Kronov's eyes. "You'd better shoot me. I'll kill you if you don't."

"They're sending a helicopter for you as soon as it's dark. You better rest while you can." Grisha turned back toward his office.

"You're a dead man, peasant. I'll make sure of that."

"Get in line." Grisha shut the door behind him.

57

Chena Redoubt

The helicopter circled once while the ground crew switched on lights at each corner of the square landing pad. The machine dropped quickly through the dark sky to hunch in the light like a live thing wary of circumstances. The rotors continued revolving as soldiers hustled Kronov out of his cell and lifted him into the aircraft.

Moments later they flew through an impossibly dark night. Kronov glanced down at his manacled hands and became aware that someone sat beside him. He looked up into gray eyes over an aquiline nose and perfectly trimmed moustache.

"Sorry I can't take those off for you, Colonel. But we've decided you're a very dangerous man." The man's voice held familiarity.

"This is outrageous," Kronov said. "I demand-"

"Allow me to introduce myself. Major James Douglas, United States Army Reserve. Actually I'm a journalist and just do this soldier-boy bit one weekend a month, until Mario decided he needed my talents."

" 'Mario?' " Kronov said.

"President Cuomo. Think of him as an elected Czar."

"What do you intend to do with me?"

"Well, friend, I'm going to put you on the CBS radio network and ask how you came to be in the Dená Republik wrapped in chains when just a few days ago the Czar himself decorated you in St. Petersburg."

"This is Russian Amerika! There is no Dená Republik. I refuse to allow such a thing. I would rather die."

"That is the question, isn't it?" Douglas said. "Would you rather stay here in the Dená Republik-and it is a republic 'cause Mario told me so-or come down to the U.S. with me and cooperate enough to get furloughed back to the Czar?"

"This is possible?" Kronov said quickly in a low voice. "To be sent back to Russia, alive?"

"Of course." Douglas stroked his moustache. "We're not barbarians, y'know."

"If I went back to Russia alive, the Czar would have me shot."

"Your decision, of course. There are other alternatives available, and you can live quite handsomely in some of them."

Kronov thought furiously. He hadn't expected anything like this. Even if he escaped being used for propaganda, he couldn't go back to Russia. The Czar would have him executed for losing his elite command. The fact they shared a great-grandfather wouldn't make the slightest difference.

"Has the United States recognized this Dená Republik diplomatically?"

"This morning," Douglas said crisply. "There's been an incredible amount of military posturing on all borders, here and in Europe."

"Who else has joined you in this madness?" Kronov felt faint.

"Austria-Hungary, the Republic of California, and the First People's Nation so far. British Canada, New Spain, and our Confederate cousins seem to be siding with your Czar, but then they're like that."

"This means war."

"That, Colonel, remains to be seen."

"The Czar has no choice. If he doesn't put an immediate stop to this Dená nonsense other regions will attempt to break away from the Russian empire. All would be chaos."

Major Douglas gave him another wry smile. "Welcome to the twentieth century, colonel. Colonialism is dead."

"Tell that to Britain, Spain, and France!" Kronov spat.

"Besides," Douglas' demeanor became icy, "where would the Czar find allies if a war started tomorrow? He's already spent what little goodwill he inherited from his father."

"What is it you plan to do with me?" Kronov asked in a small voice.

"Propaganda, partner. Propaganda of the likes you've never seen beforewe want you to tell the truth as you see it."

"About what?"

"Imperial Russia. Russian Amerika. How St. Petersburg views her North American holdings and what she plans for their future."

"I don't have all those answers. I'm a soldier, not a diplomat."

"That's what we're counting on."

58

Chena Redoubt

Major Heinrich Smolst worked his troops to their capacity. At his direction they dismantled the destroyed Chena Redoubt and sorted the material into orderly piles and rows. When they weren't working they drilled.

Soon Bear Team functioned as one. Smolst thought if he clenched his fist, every other fist in Bear Team would do likewise. Their military smartness warmed his Prussian-like soul.

After breaking their own record on the obstacle course for the fifth time, he threw them all a party. Finding enough beer had been his biggest challenge. But he persevered.

"This is a wonderful party, Major," First Lieutenant Sunnyboy exclaimed as he slapped his superior officer on the shoulder. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

Smolst grabbed the officer's wrist with a firm hand. "Lieutenants never slap the shoulder of anyone with higher rank, it works the other way around. Do you understand, Lieutenant?"

The lieutenant's eyes widened and he visibly wilted. "Oh, hell, I did it again, didn't I?"

Smolst released the wrist and smiled. "You're a good officer, Elijah. But you're a poor drunk."

"That's good, isn't it, Major?" Without waiting for an answer the lieutenant stumbled away.

"You're a good officer, sir."

Heinrich looked up into the lovely face of Karin Demientieff, one of their best medics. Just looking at her could heal a man, Heinrich thought.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. May I ask why you say that?"

"You know me too well to think I'm kissing your ass, sir. But I can see that you truly care about your people. Am I right in supposing you were once enlisted yourself?"

He narrowed his eyes and nearly lost his smile. "You already knew that, didn't you?"

Her expression snapped from knowing to surprise. "No!" she blurted.

"You really were an enlisted man?"

"Started as a sub-private in the Troika Guard about ten years before you were born."

She swallowed. "I didn't mean to get personal, sir."

"Not to worry, Lieutenant. I'm not a Russian, I'm an Austrian."

"You served with Colonel Grigorievich, didn't you?"

"For nearly eleven years in the Troika Guard."

"I heard he was kicked out." Karin licked her lower lip nervously, but Heinrich thought she looked delectable. "Is that true?"

His mood abruptly shifted. The party swirled around them, everyone tipsy or downright drunk. He felt the alcohol lift from his mind and he clapped his hands twice.

"Bear Team!" he shouted.

The entire room went silent and, over a thirty-second period, they all straightened to attention.

"You have all done an excellent job so far. I think you've conquered the civilian in each of you and have formed into a fighting team unequaled in Alaska." He raised his glass. "I salute all of you." He threw the vodka into his throat and swallowed.

The room burst into applause. He grinned and held up his hands. They went silent and waited.

"Lieutenant Demientieff," he nodded toward her, "just asked me a question I know many of you are wondering yourself. Would you please restate the question for everyone else, Lieutenant?"

Color rose into her cheeks and she frowned at him. "I merely asked the major if it was true Colonel Grigorievich had been kicked out of the Troika Guard."

Many heads nodded. The rumor had circulated among the troops since the Second Battle of Chena.

"It's a good question, and the short answer is: yes."

Startled gasps and murmuring voices suddenly filled the room.