Russian Amerika: Chapter Sixty Two

62 - On the Yukon River between Old Crow and Tetlin

    "Who goes there?" The voice held menace.

    "Friend! I am Georg Hepner, from Klahotsa, sent by Kurt Bachmann. I need to talk to Major Riordan."

    "Keep your hands where I can see them and come forward."

    Hepner put his hands on his head and moved forward in his customary loose, rangy amble. "I was here two weeks ago," he said in a friendly way.

    "Yet you returned?" the mercenary said, motioning him to move down the trail. "If I could get out of this miserable mosquito factory there's no bloody way I would come back. I thought Scotland was a waste of dirt until I beheld this great sponge."

    "Some of us like it here."

    "Aye, you'll find the daft nae matter where ye travel. Stand tall, this is as far as I go." The mercenary was a raw-skinned man with a head of burnt orange hair and muscles that rippled under his shirt. He seemed sure of himself.

    "Corporal of the Guard! Visitor at post three!"

    Two men stepped out of the brush as if they had been waiting for their cue. "Who is this, now? Corporal Harris, Timothy me boy?"

    "I'm not your bloody boy, O'Hara. This man says he was here last week, yet he came back for another visit. I'd say he was daft, wouldn't you?"

    O'Hara looked Hepner up and down. O'Hara stood a foot shorter than the sentry, yet looked far more dangerous.

    "Who are you and what's your business?"

    "Name's Hepner. Work with Kurt Bachmann up at Klahotsa. Kurt's got an offer for your boss."

    "If it's more than five California dollars, we'll take it," O'Hara said with a laugh. Harris and the large black man behind O'Hara laughed with him.

    "What?" Hepner said.

    "What do you expect?" Harris said, "he already told me he likes it here."

    "I got 'im, Timothy, you go back to your post."

    Harris nodded and disappeared in the brush.

    "You visited us about two weeks ago, am I wrong?"

    "Yes, I mean no!" Hepner didn't like people playing with his mind. "Yes, I was here two weeks ago. You're probably wrong in some very fundamental ways but I haven't the time to really help, or care."

    O'Hara grinned. "Yer not as dumb as you look, that's good. You follow me and Private N'go will take up the rear."

    The Black man smiled, revealing brilliant white teeth filed to points. Hepner shuddered despite himself. He followed O'Hara through the mercenary camp, which consisted of dozens of tents, and stopped at a tent three times the size of any other in sight.

    A small man emerged. French captaine boards rode his shoulders and he stopped at the sight of O'Hara. "I have explained already there is no whiskey to be had, Corporal O'Hara."

    "I hadn't forgotten, Captain Flers. It seems this gentleman has an offer for the major, and I hope to sweet baby Jesus that he takes it, 'cause there's no tellin' what a another missed payday might bring, sir." With an exaggerated salute, the corporal turned and marched away. N'go followed him, chuckling and glancing back over his shoulder.

    "I know you, yes?" Captain Flers said.

    "I was here two weeks ago. I need to see the major, my boss wants to hire you fellows."

    "Excited I am to hear this. Please enter in."

    "Well, if it isn't our old friend, Georg!" Major Riordan stood and offered his hand.

    He measured a few inches shorter than Hepner, but Georg thought none the less of him for that; Napoleon had been a lot shorter than either of them.

    "What brings you out here beyond the pale?" He grinned and moved his lean body about as if he were on euphorics. "Missed my brilliant conversation and insights, did you?"

    "Not as much as you would imagine. I bring you an offer from Kurt Bachmann. He wants to hire you and your men."

    "For how long?" Riordan stood very still and stared at Hepner with the aspect of a very hungry lion.

    "He said three months."

    "Did he send money with you, to seal the bargain?"

    "Do you want his offer in rubles or dollars?"

    "Dollars, preferably California or Texas dollars."

    "He offers $345 California per day, for three months."

    "Shit on my grave, why don't you? That's less than five dollars an hour for each of us!"

    "Take it or leave it."

    "What does he want us to do?"

    "Fight Indians, the Dena', I think. But he wants you and your men at Klahotsa."

    "That's bloody days away!"

    "You start getting paid today if you agree."

    "I need an advance to show the men we're not getting rogered yet again."

    "Then you you agree?"

    "Yes, I bloody well agree!"

    "Then sign this," Hepner pulled a folded page from his pocket and handed it to the major, "and I'll give you a thousand California on the spot."

    "If you have that much on you, why would I not just kill you and take the money?"

    "Because you would forfeit so much more for very little effort."

    "How do we get to Klahotsa?"

    "There's a road they call the RustyCan-"

    "Don't be impertinent! You know there are Russians everywhere, you can't just glide through them like it's some bloody dance with an 'excuse me' here and an 'excuse me' there."

    "You're an ally. You're fighting the Dena' just as they are. Bachmann said you'd figure out something. Are you going to sign or do I need to look for professional soldiers elsewhere?"

    Riordan glared at him, then down at the contract.

    "Where do I sign?"