Russian Amerika: Chapter Thirty

30 800 meters over the Tanana River

    The helicopter beat northward. That the Russians brought him with them gave him no surprise, but he hadn't anticipated flying. He nervously remembered the gunfire knocking down helicopters during the attack on Toklat.

    "You're worried," the colonel said.

    Grisha glanced at the man sitting next to him and nodded.

    "I would rather be walking."

    "We'll join the ground forces as soon as we ascertain there is indeed a battle under way. I don't want to send my motorized battalion into an ambush, do I?"

    "No. Of course not," Grisha said, rubbing sweaty hands on his trouser legs.

    "I thought all promyshlenniks relished a good fight, what's wrong with you?"

    "How can I fight from this?" Grisha thumped the metal wall with his knuckles. "I do my fighting on my feet." He slid the razor-edged knife from his sleeve. "With this."

    The colonel's eyes narrowed as he studied him.

    "What did you say your name was?"

    "Sasha. Sasha Dublinnik, free trader and expert hunter, what’s yours?"

    The colonel gave him a frosty grin and looked away to study the ground beneath them. Grisha did the same. Anxiety swirled through him.

    He wasn't sure what they would encounter once they reached the battle site. A lot of people besides him had invested their lives in this complex operation. He would be the first to die if the Dena' subterfuge did not work. Cora and many of the Chena assault force would also die.

    "There's smoke ahead, Colonel," the pilot said over his shoulder.

    "Circle the area first."

    The gun ship canted to the side as it turned. The left door gunner tightened his straps, slid open a Plexiglas hatch and, gripping his weapon, braced against the wall with one foot. Wind whipped in from the opening, displacing all warmth with withering cold. Their eyes followed the black column of smoke downward.

    A Russian halftrack burned furiously in the center of a snowy meadow. A figure in mottled white and dark camouflage ran out of the trees and waved at the helicopter, motioning it to land in the open space next to the burning vehicle. The gunship continued to circle.

    Other figures in winter camouflage waved up at the craft, and then went back to firing into the forest. Many men lay on the ground in various attitudes of death. Blood pimpled the snowy meadow.

    "Drop the radio," the colonel said.

    The right door gunner unhooked a parcel from the bulkhead. The pilot rapidly gained altitude in a tight spiral. The ground dropped away at such dizzying speed that Grisha nearly vomited.

    "We're at a thousand meters," the pilot shouted.

    "Send it down," the colonel said.

    The gunner pulled an o-ring clear of the bulky pack and snapped it over a hook welded inside the aircraft. As he threw the pack from the helicopter a cord attached to the ring trailed out. Parachutes blossomed, dropping quickly toward the burning vehicle.

    "Make sure our people get it!" the colonel shouted.

    The gun ship dropped, circling down around the course of the parachute cluster. Grisha forced himself to swallow his gorge before it could pass his lips. His throat burned, his ears ached and stung from the cold and constantly changing air pressure, he swallowed repeatedly to get his ears to pop.

    "The package is down, colonel," the gunner said. "Our men have it."

    "Establish contact."

    The pilot spoke into his microphone.

    "We have contact."

    The colonel pulled out a headset and held one earphone to his head. "This is Colonel Yuganin. Whom am I speaking with?"

    "Sergeant Malinski, Troika Guard," a tinny voice said. "We are surrounded."

    "Let me speak to your captain."

    "Captain Romanov is dead, colonel. All of the officers are dead except the major, and he's wounded. I am in command of fifteen effectives, sir."

    A bullet punched through the side of the cabin, whirred over their heads and dented the overhead before falling at their feet.

    "Jesus!" the gunner said with a gasp, watching the spent bullet slide across the deck and fall out the door. "We're drawing fire."

    Colonel Yuganin raised one eyebrow at the ashen soldier. "What did you expect, flowers?" He spoke into the headset, "Where are your enemies concentrated, sergeant?"

    "Between us and the road."

    "Hold your position. We'll be back within the hour, sergeant. And in force."

    "Thank you, colonel."

    "Find our column, major."

    "Yes, colonel," the pilot shouted.

    The gun ship swiveled and sped south.