Russian Amerika: Chapter Forty Nine

49

    Wing turned from the hatch and saw Karin behind the machine gun mounted over the cab. Even though they moved at a snail's pace, the subarctic air knifing over the cab cut like cold steel. It won't be long, she thought.

    "They're Russians!" she said clearly. "But they have some of our people."

    "Who?" Karin demanded as she braced her foot against the wall and cocked the heavy weapon.

    "Blue Bostonman, the sister of Lynx."

    "Damn them," Karin said through clenched teeth.

    "Who's able to fight down there?"

    "Jimmy Scanlon, Heron, and that Eskimo guy, Simon."

    "Get 'em out here," Wing said. "We need all the help we can get."

    Karin disappeared and Wing studied the machine gun. Moments later, the men followed Karin back though the hatch. Everybody carried a weapon.

    "Here's my idea," she said, talking fast.

    Master Sergeant Lupasiac clutched his thirty years of service to the Czar in a grip of grim patriotic fervor. A bandage gleamed whitely, despite its crusted brownish-red edges, over the burly Georgian's dark face. His trademark vein of irascibility lay bare to the elements like an open pit mine.

    "Keep them lulled," he growled. "We'll have this over in moments."

    His prisoner seemed mesmerized either by the vehicle they crept toward or the knowledge she had only minutes left to live, condemned by her own friends. Just the same, he found it impossible to believe this addled cow could direct a battle as devastating as Tanana. The sergeant mentally dismissed her and growled over his shoulder to the corporal.

    "As soon as I stop, kick the ramp down and surround their vehicle. I want them alive if possible, but don't take any chances."

    "Yes, Wulff," the corporal said. "As you say."

    Master Sergeant Wulff Lupasiac ignored the familiarity. Corporal Titov had earned the right to call him by his Christian name many years ago. His mind dwelt on the eight troopers in the back of the halftrack.

    Do we have enough men? Is there any way this cow of a woman can discover their numbers without alerting them?

    He felt confident of total surprise. His men would surround the enemy vehicle in moments. Then he'd have something to show Tetlin Redoubt for the loss of his command, besides this ignorant savage beside him.

    Unbidden, the overland fighting retreat from a destroyed and burning Tanana Redoubt kaleidoscoped through his memory. Pain, fear, hate, and hunger all fought to dominate his mind, but discipline hammered them down and allowed him to focus on revenge and duty. These vermin would pay dearly for their rebellion.

    But why hadn't the Siberian fighter squadrons answered their call for help? The last he heard, all the Yak fighters in Alaska had been destroyed by the rebels. How could that be?

    The point man apprehended this Blue person. At first she claimed the tea she brewed was intended for the Russian crew of the halftrack in which she sat. His men searched for fifteen minutes but found no trace of a crew.

    At no time had she offered any resistance to them, and even volunteered that she knew some of the rebel's code words. This information condemned her mere hours later.

    "The leaders of each battle are called by the name of the battle," she said with a vacuous grin, following it up with a little giggle. "The battle leader at Tanana was called 'Tanana One,' and the leader at Chena was called 'Chena One,' you see?"

    "How do you know this?" Wulff Lupasiac asked carefully.

    "The sergeant who was boss in this halftrack told his men about it. I overheard him."

    Could this gap-toothed cow be as stupid as she seemed? So many questions, so many answers to puzzle out. and he was so tired. But the person on the radio, a woman he thought, had identified her as the leader of the Tanana revolt.

    Nearly unimaginable.

    "You shall die for this," he had told her. "But if you cooperate I promise you a quick, painless death."

    Thus far she had cooperated completely. His blood boiled upon hearing one of the rebels boast of killing cossacks. He would personally torture that one until death ended his penance.

    The only thing that bothered him now was that the rebel halftrack had stopped moving. He peered into the dense night but could see no figures moving against the mottled forest background.

    "Titov, stand by," he barked over his shoulder.

    "Yes, Wulff. We're ready."

    "Remember that you're cossacks."

    He pulled up, nearly bumper to bumper with the other vehicle.

    "Tell them to open their interior lights so we may see them," he said with a growl.

    "Put on your interior lights," the woman said in a strange voice. Wulff glanced at her as she dropped the microphone and then rolled off the bench seat onto the floor of the cab. Alarm shot through him as all his instincts screamed.

    "What are you-"

    "I asked you first," a voice said over the radio.

    "Titov!" he screamed. "Go!"

    Bright light flooded the cab. Bullets, shock and darkness crowded it out.

    Wing held her breath as the halftrack stopped. Light blossomed in the night. Bullets shattered the stillness. The loading ramp at the back of the halftrack crunched down and dark figures poured across it.

    "Fire!" she screamed.

    Gun fire from three directions poured across the figures and into the opening. In moments nine bodies lay smashed and twitching, their blood leaking silently to freeze in the snow.

    "Cease fire!" Wing shouted. She walked over to the bodies.

    "Blue?"

    Something scraped in the cab. Five gun muzzles moved toward the sound, hunting dogs tracking quarry.

    "Wait!" a muffled voice cried. "It's me." The door abruptly flew open and a bloody body tumbled to the ground.

    "Okay," The voice called out from the cab, louder and clearer now. "I'm coming out. Don't shoot."

    Blue clambered down out of the halftrack and peered around owlishly. Blood covered her head and parka.

    "Blue, are you hurt?" Wing cried.

    "It ain't my blood." She glanced down at the body.

    Wing dropped her weapon, ran over and embraced the older woman. "How wonderful to see you."

    "Oh, that was such a close thing," Blue said, hugging her in return. "Thank goodness for code words."

    "There's much I have to tell you," Wing said. "Very little of it is good."

    "And I have much to tell you," Blue replied. "And most of it is good."

    Jackson slapped Grisha on the back. "Good job, Captain. I'll take Jimmy and a couple others and drive the other halftrack. Signal if you need me."

    "I'm glad you're with us, Benny."