Russian Amerika: Chapter Forty Eight

48 - West of Chena on the Russia-Canada Highway

    The halftrack rumbled through the night as the glow in the sky dimmed behind them. The radio ordered Captain Romanov to report to base immediately. Five minutes later the order repeated.

    "Shut that damn thing off," Jackson said drowsily.

    "Go to sleep," Grisha replied as he steered the 'track carefully down the RustyCan. Between them on the bench seat Wing snored lightly, her head thrown back and her cheek resting on Jackson's shoulder.

    "I want to know as much about their intentions as possible." From the heavier snores at his side, Grisha knew he was talking to himself again. He had done a lot of that through this endless night.

    He glanced at the compass again to see if the road had yet swung due west. Their decision to make a dash for Tanana had been greatly weighted by a surprising statement from Jackson.

    "You get us there, I can get us out of Russian Amerika, if need be."

    Wing argued that their objective was not escape but independence. Jackson pointed out that anyone who wished could stay in Tanana. So they tied down the wounded in the back, secured the heavy machine gun and smashed through five kilometers of birch and spruce forest before angling over and finding the road itself.

    The two in the cab with Grisha supposedly served as guards in the event they came across Russian troops. After ten miles in the cab's warm confines Wing and Jackson fell asleep. Grisha felt thankful for his three-hour nap in the redoubt.

    The sub-arctic night lay stiff and brittle on a land cloaked with snow meters deep. The northern lights capered unappreciated above them.

    As he drove he thought about Nik and wondered if his family would ever know how bravely he died. Not that it made any difference. He also wondered if the lump in his throat would ever go away.

    So many good people had died in such a short time that Grisha had trouble believing he would never see them again. Chandalar Roy had not come out of the redoubt. The loss of Slayer-of-Men would be felt throughout the Dena' nation. He wondered if Malagni still lived.

    The halftrack bounced as it went into the ditch and Grisha groggily steered it back into the middle of the road. He had almost gone to sleep himself. He pulled his foot off the accelerator and glanced at the other two. They snored on.

    The track came to a stop and he put it in neutral, stepped out of the cab and urinated on the ground. The hatch to the troop compartment popped open and Karin stuck her head out.

    "Is there time for me to do that, too?"

    "Of course. How's Nathan?"

    "Still in the land of morphia." She jumped down to the road. "Look the other way, please."

    He grinned and looked up the road as she made water. The grin evaporated as lights bobbed toward them.

    "Company," he barked. "Unlimber the machine gun."

    "Yes, sir," she said and clambered back into the halftrack.

    Grisha jumped in the cab, turned off the headlights, and pushed Wing's leg.

    "Wake up you two, we have visitors."

    "Visitors?" Jackson said, rubbing his eyes.

    Wing sat up straight, eyes searching quietly ahead as if she had been wide awake the entire time.

    "They have to be Russians," she said.

 

---

 

    "Why?" Grisha asked. "Couldn't it be a relief column from Tanana?"

    "It's only one halftrack, not a column," Wing said. "But it could still be our people."

    "What's the DSM frequency?" Jackson asked.

    "104 kilocycles," Wing said.

    Jackson turned the dial on the radio. Static popped and crackled on a discernible carrier wave. He picked up the microphone.

    "Chena Two to approaching vehicle. Identify yourself or suffer the consequences."

    Grisha put the halftrack in gear and steered for the edge of the road. They all waited as the static grew in volume.

    "Maybe it is Russians," Grisha muttered.

    "Chena Two, who's in charge there?" The voice from the radio spoke English with a Yukon River accent.

    "Identify yourself," Jackson snapped.

    The lights slowed and came to a halt. Grisha estimated the other vehicle to be about 300 meters from them. He twisted around and opened the hatch behind his head.

    "Karin, you ready with the machine gun?"

    "Yes, but I'm freezing my butt off. Let's shoot the bastards and get it over with."

    "Not yet. I'll tell you when to shoot."

    "Okay," she said resignedly.

    "What does 'Tanana One' mean to you, Chena Two?" the voice asked hesitantly.

    Wing grabbed the microphone out of Jackson's hand.

    "It means Blue is in charge. Please put her on."

    "Blue Bostonman?" Grisha said. "From the labor camp?"

    She nodded her head and grinned, bending the scar nearly double.

    "Wing!" a new voice issued from the speaker. "I would recognize your voice anywhere, even over a crappy Russian radio."

    "Where are you going, Blue?"

    "To join you. Before I say anything more, blink your headlamps for the number of brothers Malagni has."

    "All right." Wing stared through the windshield at the distant lights. "Flash the headlights twice," she said in a tight voice.

    Grisha complied.

    "I see you, Wing!" Blue said. "Meet you half way."

    Wing hung up the microphone. "Do it."

    Grisha let the clutch out and the halftrack moved forward slowly, clanking along in low gear. "You're sure this is okay?" he asked out of the side of his mouth.

    "Didn't that sound like Blue to you?" she asked.

    "Yeah, but I couldn't see if anyone was holding a gun to her head or not."

    "If somebody had been holding a gun to her head, she would have used the term 'squaw candy' when she spoke to me."

    "Tell her we're hungry," Grisha said tersely. "Ask her if she has anything to eat."

    "Jesus, but you're paranoid," Wing said with a growl. She picked up the microphone and repeated the question.

    "Sure, we got food." Blue's voice all but chirped over the radio. "We got caribou, moose jerky, and even some squaw candy. I remember how much you like squaw candy, Wing."

    "Oh, no," Wing said quietly. "She's a prisoner. How are we going to get her out of there alive?"

    "We might not," Jackson said, now fully awake. "Depends on what the Russians have in mind."

    "They don't know that we know they're there," Grisha said. "They expect us to be surprised."

    "And defeated," Wing said with a ghastly smile. Abruptly she pulled the hood of her parka up, fastened the front, pushed open the hatch and crawled into the back of the halftrack. "Pull up and stop beside them, Grisha," she said over her shoulder. "Take out the driver. We'll handle the show from that point."

    "Who's 'we?'"

    "Warrior women." The hatch slammed behind her.

    Grisha glanced over at Jackson. The Californian stared steadily at the approaching lights.

    "Y'know," Jackson said absently, "if I'd met someone like that at the right point in my life, I might have developed a thing for women."

    "I don't think I want to hear about it just now," Grisha said. He picked up the microphone. "Hey, Blue. This is Grisha. Remember me?"

    "Grisha?" Her voice sounded tentative. "The little skinny guy who blew the head off that pig of a cossack sergeant?"

    Grisha smiled. Blue knew her warning had been interpreted.

    "Yeah," he said with a chuckle, "I've even killed a couple more since then."

    Only fifty meters separated the two halftracks. The other halftrack suddenly stopped. Grisha braked and took his machine out of gear, the fight would be here.

    "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 halftrack.

    Grisha rolled down the window and picked up the machine pistol in his left hand. Glacial air bit at his exposed skin. The other halftrack 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.