“The Russian commander of St. Anthony Redoubt,” Magda said. “What’s he doing over there, William?”
“Making a deal that might save all our lives. Don’t worry, Lieutenant, he’s not selling you out, nor are you a bargaining chip. The Freekorps have more men than the Russians and us combined.”
“You’re joining the Russians?” Jerry suddenly realized that up here rules might change with the wind. The look on Magda’s face reflected his own turmoil, making him feel better.
“Think of it as them joining us,” William said. “Colonel Romanov is not your ordinary Russian officer; he has a heart.”
“I wish I could ask Rudi about this.”
“As soon as you’re ready to go, we’re going to go rescue your parents,” William said to Magda.
“Rescue? From what?”
“The Freekorps have them. We saw your mother going into their hospital tent, so we assume your father is in there too.”
“Are they what I think they are?” Jerry asked. “The Freekorps, I mean?”
“Mercenaries from what Yukon Cassidy says, and well-armed ones at that. They must have hired out to someone other than the Russians or are just out for conquest. Cassidy is after their leader for crap they pulled down in the Nation.”
Magda bounded out of her chair and grabbed her machine pistol. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Jerry drank up his tea and followed her out the door. Thirteen men stood near the cabin, all carrying weapons. Magda hesitated and then laughed.
“What is this, a class reunion?”
Birds chirped drowsily in the dark trees and the light breeze invigorated Jerry. He could smell wood smoke and leather. Twelve of them smiled, the thirteenth glowered at him. “Heard you could use some help, Magda,” one of the others said.
“That’s true, Alexi, and I appreciate every one of you being here.”
“Nothin’ else to do around here, y’know?” another said.
“Thanks, Eric. Guys, this is First Lieutenant Jerry Yamato of the Republic of California Air Force. His fighter was shot down in a fight with a Russian armored column that was on its way here. Jerry lost five of his friends in that fight.”
“Welcome to Delta, Lieutenant.”
“Glad you’re here, man.”
“Thanks for helpin’ us out.”
Every man except the thirteenth made him welcome and he felt emotion rising within him. They all went silent and everyone looked at him. Jerry hated public speaking.
“It’s a privilege to be here, thank you.”
“Here’s Frank,” Williams said. “Everyone listen up.”
Frank’s face looked grim and Jerry noticed the smiles of moments ago had all evaporated.
“Okay, what we have out there is a small army of mercenaries which outnumbers us about twelve to one. We are going to rescue Pelagian, Bodecia, and a Russian named Rudi.”
“A Russian. Why do we give a shit about a Russian?” Alexi asked.
“Ask Jerry, here, sometime. Rudi’s on our side; leave it at that. So we have to create a diversion without getting any of our people hurt while getting Magda’s folks out safely.”
“With just seventeen of us?” Eric asked.
“No, the Russian garrison here is going to give us some help, too.” Frank picked up a stick and began drawing a diagram in the dirt. “Okay, here’s the setup.”
38 miles south of Delta
Clutching his machine pistol in a sweaty right hand, Jerry Yamato carefully crawled through the brush surrounding the Freekorps’ motor pool. Like each of the five men with him, he carried two explosive charges that were not supposed to detonate without a radio signal on a specified wavelength. He fervently hoped the Freekorps didn’t have any radios on that wavelength.
He stopped and the men behind him melted into the brush. Jerry put his face down between his arms and waited while a silent perimeter guard of two men no more than fifteen meters away inched past in the long dusk of the subarctic evening. After a few minutes Jerry carefully peeked up, half expecting to see them standing over him and grinning while pointing their weapons at his head.
They were gone. He lifted up onto his elbows and began crawling again. He sensed his squad moving behind him.
Never before had other men depended on his leadership. That was one of the things he liked best about being a fighter pilot: if he screwed up he was the only casualty. Now five other lives depended on his ability and leadership acumen, so he was being cautious. He also didn’t like being dirty.
And he didn’t like Viktor Mitkov, “the thirteenth man” as Jerry thought of him. Not only had Viktor not welcomed Jerry, at his first opportunity he had shouldered Jerry away from the others and spoken quickly.
“Magda and me are gonna get married, so don’t get any ideas, Hero Fly Boy.”
Even though the man was much larger than him, Jerry wasn’t cowed. He had met bullies before, and they all had believed their sheer size would open doors for them.
“That’s odd,” Jerry said in a musing tone. “When I asked her about it a couple of days ago, she said there was no one special waiting for her back in Delta. Are you sure she knows about this engagement?”
As he goaded the bigger man, Jerry had carefully pivoted on his feet. Realizing Viktor lacked more than a modicum of intelligence he expected a physical attack. As if responding to a script, Viktor lunged at Jerry, arms wide to crush the wise-ass pilot.
But Jerry ducked under the man’s arms, placed his right leg in front of Viktor’s right shin, and as the man stumbled over the obstacle, Jerry kidney-punched him as hard as he could. Viktor landed on his face, gasping in agony. Receiving a kidney punch makes it difficult for one to breathe.
Jerry knelt down next to the man and spoke into his ear.
“You approach me again with malice and I’ll kill you. That’s not a threat; it’s a promise. And if you treat Magda with respect and regard her as a thinking person, she might actually end up liking you: but you do not—in any way, shape, or form—own her. Do you understand me?”
Then he leaned on the injured kidney and Viktor cried out.
“Yeah, I understand!”
“That’s good. Because we’re going to need your help.”
Then they had commenced this mission.
Jerry pushed through more brush and nearly collided with an armored personnel carrier. He thought his heart pounded loud enough to be heard fifty meters away. Following the drill they had agreed on, he touched the machine and waved his arm once.
This one would be the first target. His squad crept past him and infiltrated through the parked vehicles. Jerry crawled under the APC and carefully pushed the sticky explosive against the steel hull under the engine compartment.
After his long crawl through the brush and sphagnum moss, the underside of the machine reeked of cold steel, heavy engine oil, and petrol. All of his senses seemed hyperextended and even the earth and crushed foliage beneath his hands felt alien. He strained to see through the deep shadows.
Did they have alarms that could be tripped?
Something above him made a clink and he froze. When his heart slowed and the pulse thudding in his ears decreased, he could hear voices murmuring above him. He realized there were mechanics working on the engine.
Never before in his career had he been this close to people he knew would die because of his actions. For a moment he wavered, seeking a way around this fatal intimacy. But he knew if the tables were turned, they would not hesitate to kill him.
They are mercenaries, after all!
He slithered across to the other side of the machine and placed the second explosive on the fuel tank armor. After inserting a detonator in each deadly lump, he crawled back toward the fresh-smelling woods. A new confidence surged through him when he easily spied the wind-broken birch they had agreed on as a rendezvous point.