“Shoot it down, Leonard.” Riordan returned to his tent.
27
39 miles south of Delta
Captain Ivan Fedorov pulled the stick back and the helicopter leveled out. It always took him a few minutes to get the feel of the craft after being away from it for more than two days.
“Like a woman!” he exclaimed.
“Who is?” Georgi said, continuing to stare out the side window.
“This sodding helicopter, you dolt. What did you think I was talking about?”
“I never know. What is that down there?”
“Where?”
“Over on the left there. See all those hummock thingies?”
“They’re probably hummocks, you idiot.”
“But some have barrels, big ones.”
“By the balls of St. Peter, you’re right. I’ll get a little closer.”
“If they are what I think they are and we get any closer, they will shoot hell out of us.”
“You’re right again, Georgi. So what should we do?”
“Well, if they’re Russian, they either won’t shoot at us, or miss us if they do.”
“True, Georgi. But what if they aren’t Russian?”
“Then we are already in very deep shit. We’ve been here too long.”
The helicopter abruptly leaned to one side and then leveled again. Georgi glared at his brother. “Wha—”
A high-velocity shell shrieked past them.
Georgi’s glare popped into surprise. “Get us out of here!”
Ivan already had the helicopter in a tight turn when two more shells burned past.
“Look at them, dammit, while I fly this stupid machine. How many hummocks are there? Do you see any troops, or insignia?”
“Shut up so I can think!” Georgi bellowed.
Ivan turned hard and flew directly at the encampment. Several large shells whistled past, aimed where the helicopter might have been had they not changed course. Ground fire, some of it larger than hand-held weapons, winked up from the camouflaged equipment.
Suddenly the canopy perspex starred in three places and small bits of the heavy plastic danced across the floor. Rounds buzzed past their heads and the helicopter jerked with the hammer blows.
“That’s what I wanted to know!” Ivan twisted the flight path into a “U” and pushed the throttle to maximum. “Took them by surprise, didn’t we?”
“Mostly,” Georgi said slowly, staring down at his feet. “We took a few hits.”
Ivan snapped his head around. “Are you injured?”
“Perhaps a little. A bullet went through my thigh.”
“St. Michael preserve us! Put a tourniquet on the damned thing, Georgi.”
Georgi fumbled around, peering around in the cockpit as if looking for his other dress glove. “What should I use, d’ya think?”
“Shit, you’re going into shock, damn you. Georgi, listen to me. Take off your belt and tighten it around your leg above the wound. Do it!”
Georgi pulled his belt off in one move and wrapped it around his leg and tightened it as hard as he could. “The thing is, my brother, every so often I require some direction. The amazing part is that you always seem to know when that moment arrives.”
Ivan banked and roared in a straight line for their aerodrome at St. Anthony Redoubt. “Are you still losing blood?”
“No, the flow has ceased. But I seem to have leaked a great deal.”
“It’s all that alcohol in our blood. We’ve thinned ourselves to a dangerous level.”
“My God, you’re right. We could bleed to death twice as fast as anyone else with the same wound.”
“Probably four times as fast,” Ivan said, glancing sympathetically at his brother.
“Get me home.”
“What did you see back there?”
“Four, maybe five tanks, six or seven trucks. Over a hundred soldiers in a position to shoot at us when you went insane back there.”
“You know as well as I do, if you don’t scare the game it won’t flush.”
“Or fight,” Georgi said agreeably.
“Exactly. And as reconnaissance pilots, we need to know how many will fight.”
“I think I remembered that part, Ivan. But I don’t remember discussing the part where we charge the enemy in a helicopter with only one gun which you didn’t see fit to use.”
“To tell the truth, I forgot we had it. It probably isn’t even loaded.” He thumbed the cover up and pressed the trigger mounted on the stick.
Rapid roars boomed in front of them and the helicopter slowed near stalling speed. Ahead of them the tops of several large trees blew into flinders.
“Stop shooting, give this thing some petrol!” Georgi screamed. “The goddamned cannon is loaded. Now get me home!”
28
38 miles south of Delta
Rudi peered through the mosquito-net-covered slats of the hospital wall. The Freekorps numbered about two hundred effectives. It reminded him of the Russian Troika Guard: multiple shades of skin, a variety of languages, and they all spoke English when on duty. Except in the Troika Guard, the language had been Russian.
But what are they doing here? Had the Czar hired mercenaries to bolster his odds against the Dená and their allies?
Somehow Rudi didn’t believe that. This outfit reminded him of the vultures in Afghanistan, except the Freekorps smelled both death and profit.
As near as he could tell, all of the effectives were cross-trained. He wouldn’t wager against any of them in a target-shooting contest. They would not be an easy foe to conquer.
His cot jiggled which meant someone had just walked up the steps of the hospital. Rudi sank back on his pillow and closed his eyes. He hoped they would not change the huge bandage they had wrapped around his torso; he had almost worked the stiffness out.
“Your hands and arms are torn and bruised, your whole body has been battered, and you have internal injuries which should have killed you,” the doctor had told him after a thorough examination. “Yet you seem to be healing at a much faster pace than if you were in a modern, well-equipped hospital. How do you account for that?”
Rudi had grinned at him. “Perhaps because I lead an exemplary life?”
The doctor laughed all the way to the door, where he called a nurse in to help him bandage Rudi. The nurse was a hulking man with surprisingly gentle hands. It still hurt when they tightened the bandage around him.
The floorboards creaked as someone approached. Rudi wondered if they were visiting him or Pelagian, or just checking on both.
“Sergeant, are you awake?” Bodecia asked.
“Awake.” His eyes flew open and surprise filled him to see her alone. “Have you evaded the guards?” he whispered.
She nodded. “It’s easy if you know how. Has Pelagian wakened yet?”
“No. They gave him an injection and he went into a deep sleep.”
“Good, he’ll heal quicker that way. How much have you observed?”
“I would put their number near two hundred, give or take twenty. They have six tanks and four armored personnel carriers, some with Russian Army markings, and a fleet of trucks.” He stopped, thinking hard. “Oh yes, and one motorcycle.”
“Very good, Rudi. Our numbers match. Now I am worried that since they have allowed us to see so much, what do they plan to do with us?”
“Ransom is the only thing I have heard. I do not believe they have a political stake in this war, only an interest in money.”
“But surely they realize our side has no money. We are all at the end of our possibilities. That’s one of the things that has precipitated this war.”
“My armored company was ordered here. If the Czar tells me to fight, I obey. If he tells me to stand down and relax, I obey. This”—he gestured at the hospital walls—“is all new to me.”