Russian Amerika: Chapter Thirty Five

35 - On the Russia-Canada Highway

    Grisha pushed down harder on the accelerator. The increased speed caused the half track to bounce even more, so he slowed again.

    "We'll get there, Grisha, don't worry." Malagni peered out the side window. The man filled the cab, adding to Grisha's anxiety.

    "Why don't they send us a message?"

    "We agreed not to break radio silence until after all the attacks began. The other Russian bases might be monitoring every wavelength. The longer we can keep them out of this, the better."

    "Six more kilometers," Grisha said through clenched teeth. "At this speed I could outrun the whole column on foot."

    "We need every vehicle, every rifle, every bullet," Malagni said. "We need every break we can get."

    Driving a halftrack called for the same habits as piloting a boat. Grisha kept his eyes moving all the time, glancing from side to side, watching the rear-view mirror, minding the ditches and keeping a keen eye as far ahead as possible. Diesel stench wafted through the firewall but he couldn't roll down the window without subjecting his ears to frostbite. He noticed they were near the end of a long straight-away and then glanced in the mirror.

    As if waiting for his attention, the sound of a plane passed overhead. He glanced up in time to see a Yak fighter flash by in the fading light. The aircraft waggled its wings and flew in a wide circle around them.

    "Colonel Yuganin," a voice rasped from the radio. "This is Talon Six. Chena Redoubt is under attack. Tetlin has lost radio contact with them. Over."

    Malagni picked up the microphone. "We are advancing at top speed. Are there more aircraft to assist us?"

    "No. Only three other aircraft exist in this sector. Four other redoubts are also under attack. The other three Yaks have gone north to hit Tanana Redoubt. We believe our garrison there has been nullified."

    "And the other battles?" Malagni tried to put disbelief into his voice.

    "In question," the pilot said. "Are you going to attack now?"

    "Yes!" Malagni said. He dropped the microphone, pushed the roof hatch open and pulled on the mottled Russian parka next to him.

    "Do you want me to stop?" Grisha asked.

    "No, this won't take long." Malagni stood up behind the twin 9mm machine guns mounted above the cab roof.

    Grisha heard the plane coming back over them. The machine gun fired four quick bursts. Trailing fire and smoke, the fighter angled down ahead of them, veered to the right and dropped into the trees. The explosion lit the roadside forest for a blinding moment.

    Malagni slammed the hatch shut and dropped onto the bench seat. "How's that for nullify? By all that's holy," he said wonderingly, "we might actually pull this off."

    Complete darkness shrouded Chena when they roared down the street. The Aurora Borealis scrolled and winked overhead as the wood portions of the gates of the redoubt burned furiously.

    Bullets splanged across the hood of the half track. Grisha stomped on the brake, slewed the vehicle sideways, and roared off the street to crash through the wall of a house. The trucks behind them pulled to the sides of the road.

    "By the Raven!" Malagni shouted.

    "Are you hurt?" Grisha asked.

    "Why are they shooting at us?"

    "Perhaps they don't know who we are?"

    "Good point, Grisha," Malagni said with a grin. "We are in a Russian half track."

    Both men broke into maniacal laughter.

    Malagni crawled out of the cab and screamed into the night.

    "This is the Dena' Army! Who dares fire at us?"

    "Friend," someone shouted. A figure materialized out of the gloom. Claude stopped a few meters from them and smiled. "I think you're just in time to make a difference."

    "What do you want us to do?" Malagni asked, suddenly sane again.

    Claude told them, and then disappeared behind the walls. Malagni conferred with the other drivers, then jumped back in the cab with Grisha.

    "Temperature's dropping fast out there," he said absently. "You ready to go kill some more Russians?"

    "Do we have a choice?"

    "No," Malagni said with a humorless laugh, "I guess we don't. Drive right up to the gate."

    Grisha gunned the half track backward and spun it around on one track until he was straight on the road again. He roared up to the gate and blew the air horn. Gunfire slackened inside the walls.

    An iron shutter crashed open and a gun barrel poked out.

    "Who is there?" a voice demanded in Russian.

    "Colonel Yuganin and the remnants of the Troika Guard!" Grisha roared. "Open the gate, we're freezing out here!"

    "At once, colonel. There has been an attack. Rebels are inside the compound."

    The gates opened swiftly and Grisha sped inside. The five trucks followed close behind him. When the tanks entered, they separated and scattered around the courtyard, stopping next to Russian strong points.

    A sergeant with red flashes on his parka ran up to the half track and pulled the door open.

    "Colonel Yuganin. We must make an immediate assault. They have the operations complex."

    Malagni put the muzzle of his machine pistol between the man's eyes.

    "Cooperate and you'll live, sergeant."

    The man jerked to a stop and his breath puffed out in a cloud around his face.

    "Where - where's the colonel?"

    "Dead, along with the rest of his command," Malagni said flatly.

    The tanks swiveled their turrets around until they menaced the armory from three directions.

    "You can't win," the Indian said, "but you can live."

    The sergeant lost all animation and his shoulders slumped.

    "Very well, I'll signal my men to lay down their arms."

    Before the men in the cab could say anything, the sergeant put a whistle to his lips and blew three short blasts.

    A streak of fire shot out from the armory and exploded in the right front wheel well next to the sergeant, blowing him to pieces and fragmenting the cab door. The pressure and shrapnel blew Malagni against Grisha with such force that they both burst out through the driver's side of the cab into a heap on the frozen ground.

    Weapons crashed and shrieked around them. Each of the tanks fired at the armory three times before hitting explosives inside. Suddenly the doors and windows blew outward with stunning concussion. Everything fell silent.

    White sheets and towels appeared at the smashed windows of the barracks. Russian troopers crawled from their shelter with hands high in the biting air. Grisha sat up and held his hands over his ringing ears.

    "Jesus!" he said with a croak. "What happened, Malagni?"

    "Bad shit." Malagni sounded dazed. "Look what they did to my arm." Malagni's right arm hung shattered, connected only by a shred of bicep. Blood squirted in measured jets from the mangled flesh.

    "Oh, God. We gotta tie that off!" Grisha pulled his belt off and looped it under Malagni's shoulder, pulled it as tight as he could and knotted it. The jets of blood dropped to a steady trickle "Medic! We need a medic over here!"

    A woman ran over to them, glanced at the wound and blew a sharp blast on a whistle. Two men appeared with a collapsible litter and the three of them rolled Malagni onto the canvas and hauled him away.

    Hands pulled Grisha to his feet and led him into warmth and light. Equilibrium returned as he walked. He found himself in a large garage.

    Paul emerged from a corner. "You're a mess, what happened?"

    "I think they hit us with one of those anti-tank weapons," Grisha told him. He tried to shake off the numbness he felt, and forced himself to focus on events around him, swallowing repeatedly to ease the ringing in his ears. The place stank of gunpowder and he felt chilled to the bone.

    "What's happened here?"

    "Most of them have come over to our side. We got about eighty new recruits. About twenty possess a usable skill other than cleaning or killing."

    "Malagni's in a bad way," Grisha said. "Where are Nathan and Hamish?"

    "Operations complex, through those doors over there. Chan's there, too, along with a camera crew from California."

    "A what?" Wing asked, coming up behind them.

    Paul explained about the visitors from the Republic of California.

    "Casualties must have been light to have a bunch like that running around," she said.

    "We lost some good people," Paul responded.

    The door opened and Nik came out. One look at the Russian's streaming face told Grisha that he hadn't faced all the bad news yet.

    "Oh, Nik, it's Cora, isn't it?"

    Nik nodded dumbly, weeping uncontrollably. The sudden lump in Grisha's throat constricted his breathing.

    "I am so sorry. Was it quick?"

    "She said she wanted to marry me, then," he swallowed, "then she died."

    Grisha hugged his friend to him and Nik's head dropped to his shoulder and he sobbed.