Russian Amerika: Chapter Fifty Five

55 - Chena Redoubt, March 1988

    "What happened to Heron and the rest of Wolf Team?" Grisha asked.

    "The Russians sent in their own wolves," Basil said in his deep voice. "By the time any of us knew of their presence, they had already killed a third of our people. Irena was the first to see them and pass the word to the rest of us."

    "Why did you blow the road before anything was on it?"

    "Heron did that. He must have thought we were all dead. The blast killed or maimed all the Russian Wolves."

    "There were some left alive?"

    "Some," Basil said with a slow grin. "But they didn't last long. As soon as we finished them off, we mined the roadsides and went back to our machine guns and anti-tank guns."

    "You did well to bring in the colonel and the corporal. What's your rank, Basil?"

    "Sergeant, why?"

    "As of now you're a lieutenant and in charge of an infantry platoon."

    "I'm not sure I want that, Grisha."

    "It's Colonel Grisha and we need everyone working at the highest level they can achieve. When the rest of your team shows the initiative you did, I'll turn them into officers, too. We need them."

    "Irena showed more initiative than I did, Colonel."

    "That's why I've already made her a major and put her in command of Wolf Team."

    "Oh. Okay, I'll take the platoon."

    "You're getting some new people who haven't seen action. Teach them how to stay alive."

    "Yes, sir." Basil grinned and left the room. The man sitting at the radio in the corner carefully kept his eyes on the gauges.

    The door shut behind his old companion from slave days and Grisha sighed. Ever since the council pushed this command on him, he had expected his army to discover that he was only acting like a field officer, that too much time had passed since he last knew military life and battle. He felt what little he did know about cold weather operations he had received from his conditioning with Nik, Malagni, and Haimish.

    He felt the years as a charter captain had negated his long service to the Czar. Yet training completed over twenty-five years ago suddenly manifested when needed and helped him make desperate decisions.

    The memory of his friends strengthened his determination to go on and finish this thing correctly. The Dena' had saved him from certain death and he had vowed to help them any way he could. But he hadn't expected this.

    A knock sounded on the door.

    "Enter."

    Wing stopped just inside the door. "Colonel, there's a contingent of forty recruits from upriver villages. It would be a good thing if you welcomed them personally."

    "Forty," Grisha said. "We need so many more than that, but I had given up hope of getting more village people."

    "Many of them thought the Russians would kill us all as soon as we attacked. The fact that we've held the highway from Bridge to Chena has made an impression. Now they know the Russians can be beaten."

    "I wish I knew that," Grisha said as he moved around the desk toward her. "C'mon, let me at these people."

    Wing led him over to a group eating from bowls. When they saw Wing they stopped eating and quietly watched her and Grisha.

    "It's customary to show respect for the colonel by standing when he enters your area," Wing said in a low voice.

    Everybody immediately began to rise.

    "Thank you," Grisha said quickly. "I am honored. Please sit, you've all come a long way and I know you're tired."

    They eased back down. One man remained standing. Grisha glanced over at him and had to force himself not to let his jaw hang open in astonishment. Slayer-of-Men stood there!

    "How. You can't be standing there - I saw you die."

    "You are Grisha, the boat captain?" the man asked.

    Grisha felt relief. This wasn't Slayer-of-Men. The voice was different, higher than the steel bass of the dead warrior. "Yes, I'm Grisha. How are you related to my friend Slayer-of-Men?"

    "I am Nikoli. Slayer-of-Men was my older brother, as is Malagni. They spoke highly of you and your dedication to the Dena' Republik." Grisha was positive this is exactly how Slayer-of-Men sounded in his youth.

    The words sank in. "Malagni is still alive?"

    "Yes. He is healing. He said to tell you that he would be back soon."

    "Thank you for the news. I thought both your brothers died that night."

    "You're welcome." Nikoli nodded politely and sat down with the rest of the group.

    For a moment Grisha felt as if he had regained a measure of his two dead friends in this person. Then he firmly suppressed the feeling. Nik wa-, Nikoli was a whole new unknown and to give him that sort of measure to stand against wasn't fair. "Do you mind if I call you 'Nik?'"

    The youth smiled. "That's okay. Everybody else does anyway."

    They all smiled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Wing sniff and look off to the side.

    "I thank you all for coming to help. So far we have more than held our own against the Czar. The price has been high." Grisha felt awkward at this kind of thing, he would rather sit around and drink beer with them and tell lies about fishing and hunting. But the cashiered major/charter captain had changed somewhere between slave and new soldier. Now he had to be a colonel.

    "We'll teach you what we know about fighting the Russians. And because we must teach you quickly, we might wound your pride. You'll have to accept this as part of being in the army, so we apologize now and hope you remember then."

    Nods eddied through the group.

    "We need you on the lines now and so we'll put small groups of you in every part of the organization. Even though we are all constantly in danger, I will only take volunteers for the rifle companies-"

    Forty hands shot into the air.

    "-and I'll only take eight," Grisha said with a smile.

    They laughed and all hands stayed in the air.

    "I knew this wouldn't be easy," he muttered to Wing.

    "You did fine, colonel," she said. "I'll take it from here."

    "Thank you, colonel." He turned, left the dining hall and walked briskly toward his office, his emotions churning.

    "Colonel Grigorievich!" a voice shouted harshly. "I demand my rights as an officer and a gentleman."

    Grisha veered over to where Colonel Kronov stood chained to the wall. The Russian had enough chain to lie on the cot if he wished but he stood with the extra lengths puddled over his boots. A number of Dena' stood at a distance watching him as if he were a rare beast.

    "You're a prisoner of war," Grisha said. "We've shown you more humanity than we would have received at your hands."

    "Only because you plan to use me for some sort of propaganda," Kronov spat. "This is not how an officer of the Imperial Russian Army should be treated."

    "Okay," Grisha said tiredly. "I'll tell you what. As soon as we're done using you for propaganda, I promise we'll shoot you."

    The growing crowd laughed. Pure hatred shone in Kronov's eyes. "You'd better shoot me. I'll kill you if you don't."

    "They're sending a helicopter for you as soon as it's dark. You better rest while you can." Grisha turned back toward his office.

    "You're a dead man, peasant. I'll make sure of that."

    "Get in line." Grisha shut the door behind him.