Russian Amerika: Chapter Thirty Four

34 - Chena

    Nathan, Nik, and Hamish, surrounded by a squad of eight nervous, heavily armed soldiers, trotted down the deserted highway toward Chena Redoubt. Shops and homes stood quiet and still in the pale noon brightness. The civilian Russian and Creole population never knew what the Cossacks might do next. When gunfire filled the air they went to ground.

    Three men carrying equipment abruptly stepped from between two buildings. The Dena' squad leader crouched and aimed at them. The squad followed her example.

    "Wait!" one of the men shouted. "We're friends."

    The squad leader glanced over at Nathan.

    "What do you think?" she asked.

    "Keep them covered, Eleanor," Nathan said in a low voice. Then he shouted. "What is that you have there, friend?"

    The heavily clothed men walked toward them slowly with their hands in the air. One held a bulky object over his head. A thick, short barrel pointed from the front of the thing.

    The second man carried a short tube with a knob on one end with wires running from the opposite end to a backpack carried by the third man. The man with the smallest load did all the talking.

    "We're from RepCal Productions!" he said eagerly. "You've heard of RepCal, haven't you?" The three men closed to five meters.

    "Stop or you're dead," Eleanor said in a flat voice, peering through the sights of her 9mm rifle.

    They stopped.

    "Look, we're just up here getting some footage for movie commercials," the man said quickly, pushing back his parka hood. "We just want to know what's going on around here. Is this a war or something?"

    "Who are you?" Hamish asked.

    "Benny Jackson. I'm a producer." He grinned quickly. "And this is Alf Rosario, my cameraman, and over here," he patted the man carrying the knapsack on the shoulder, "is Jimmy Scanlon, our sound tech."

    "That's a camera?" Nathan asked.

    "Yeah, top-of-the-line 35mm camera."

    "I saw one of those in St. Nicholas," Nik said. "They make movies with them."

    "Yeah!" Jackson agreed. "Like the man says, we make movies."

    "Why are you here?" Hamish asked.

    "We've been traveling all through Russian America getting footage for commercials and maybe a documentary." Jackson paused and stared hard at Hamish. "You sure don't sound like the rest of these guys, where you from?"

    "That doesn't matter. What does matter is that I'm here and helping birth a nation."

    "Yeah? Who's gonna know about it if it isn't covered?"

    "Covered - you mean observed?" Nathan asked.

    "Filmed, baby, and shown to the public." Jackson patted the camera.

    "You would do that for us?"

    "Look, no offense, but you people are still in the stone age or something up here. Down south we got radio networks that span the continent and even go into New France, New Spain, and Brit Canada. We have a network of theater chains even more extensive, and the public is hungry for news and the unusual.

    "The Russkies told us we could go anywhere we wanted in Russian America to shoot footage to entice people up here and spend money. But we didn't know nothin' about you people, or about any wars being fought."

    "Actually it's just begun," Nathan said with a smile. "You can make money somehow from all this, can't you?"

    Jackson grinned and spoke to Alf out of the corner of his mouth. "Start shooting Alf. Jimmy, make sure you get sound levels on everything." He stuck the wire mesh knob in front of Nathan's face.

    "This is a microphone, we can record your words with it."

    "Answer my question," Nathan said.

    "You must be a mind reader, mister. Yeah, we can make plenty off the rights to this stuff, even the Japanese will buy it."

    "Perhaps we should talk before you begin."

    Jackson's eyes narrowed and he reached down and snapped a switch on the machine in the backpack.

    "So talk."

    "We are not a rich people. It would be a good thing if you contributed a percentage of your profits to the Dena' Separatist Movement. Sharing can open many doors."

    Jackson smiled. "Ain't no moss growing on you, is there? Okay, how about fifteen percent?"

    "Very generous, but twenty five is the number I had in mind."

    "Done."

    "Make sure it tells the story we want people to hear."

    "No sweat, baby. Roll it, Jimmy. You focused there, Alf? Okay." He held the microphone up again. "Just who are you people?"

    "We are the Dena' Army. For centuries our people have been exploited and oppressed by the Russians. As far as they are concerned, we are at the bottom of the social strata-"

    "'Scuse me, but we got a war to fight," Hamish said waspishly.

    "Let's go!" Jackson seemed delighted at the idea. "We can move and interview at the same time."

    Nik and Hamish, surrounded by half of Eleanor's squad, ranged out ahead of the camera crew. The sun sank toward the early afternoon horizon and the temperature dropped with it. A few random gunshots echoed through the crisp air, shattering the crystalline stillness.

    Two men holding Kalashnikovs emerged from the shadows at the main gate.

    "We need the others, Hamish," the smaller man said. "We've got the operations bunker and the prison. They have everything else, including the armory."

    "How many 'ave we lost?"

    "I don't know the exact number. Heron's over in the operations complex, I think he has numbers and names. Who are those guys?" He pointed to the camera crew, which busily recorded their conversation.

    "They're harmless. Just pretend they're not there."

    As they passed through the cellblocks, prisoners were being freed and herded into a large room where they could be briefed and offered positions in the DA. The camera crew slowed considerably in order to get shots of everything, including pools of blood and shattered buildings.

    Nik hurried into the radio room where a war of deception could still be won or lost. Six people crowded the room, removing bodies on litters. Half of the radio equipment lay in shards. Pock marks from bullets cratered the walls and ceiling.

    Two medics worked feverishly on someone whose face Nik couldn't see. He walked around them to get a better view. Cora lay on the litter, blinking up at the ceiling, her lower lip trembling.

    "Cora! Oh my God, Cora!" Nik knelt down beside her and caught the eye of a medic. The medic shook his head slightly and went back to work stanching the flow of blood from her wounds. "Oh my darling, what have you done?" he said gently.

    "I'm, so, sorry." she coughed up a large gobbet of red froth. Nik realized her lungs were destroyed and she was drowning in her own blood. "…I wanted, to be your, wife, but."

    The animation in her eyes froze into a glassy stare. The tears running down his cheeks surprised him for a moment before he began to sob.

    Behind Nik, Benny Jackson tapped Alf Rosario on the shoulder. "That's enough, Alf, it's a wrap." They left Nik to his grief.