Myslosovich peered through the windscreen and visually verified the sergeant’s words. “Why has he stopped?”
The lieutenant jogged up to the general’s side window, stopped and saluted.
The general rolled his window down. “What is it, man?”
“The road had been blocked, General. Our men are clearing the obstruction as fast as they can.”
“Tell them that Lieutenant Colonel Bodanovich is dying and we need to find medical aid immediately!”
“Yes, General Myslosovich!” The lieutenant saluted and ran forward.
Myslosovich turned to his adjutant. “There! They will have us down the road in mere moments. Sergei?”
The lieutenant colonel was slumped in the seat, staring at the floor but seeing nothing.
“Oh, Christ!” Taras felt tears well up. The overwhelming feeling of grief nearly unhinged him. He angrily rubbed at his eyes.
A rap on the window brought him up short: the lieutenant again.
“There’s an aircraft, General. Perhaps you should have a look?”
Glad for the diversion, the general climbed out of his command car and accepted the proffered binoculars, peered through them.
“My God, that’s an old Grigorovich IP-1, and in splendid condition, too. I haven’t seen one of those for thirty years.”
He shoved the glasses back to the lieutenant. “Take a hard look at that. It’s something you can tell your grandchildren about—you’ll sure as hell never see another one!”
He burst into tears.
39
2,000 meters above St. Anthony Redoubt
The Grigorovich roared into a wide descending turn and First Lieutenant Jerry Yamato couldn’t suppress his grin. Satori, his destroyed P-61, could have outrun this old bird; even flown rings around it. All the same, this plane had heart and soul, and Jerry had fallen in love with her.
He forced his mind back to the mission. The retreating column was mere miles from Delta but inching along.
He twisted the supple craft eastward and flew over Delta again, glancing down to see if he could spot Magda. No such luck.
Approximately three miles down the road he spied the remaining Freekorps. Jerry easily recognized the scorched hulls on the tanks and APCs as his handiwork.
The retreating Russians and the Freekorps were about to meet. Remembering his first encounter with the Freekorps, he figured the Dená didn’t have to worry about the retreating Russians; they probably wouldn’t survive the introduction. Then he flew in a wide circle around Delta, admiring the braided Tanana River and the smaller Delta River feeding into it. Earlier he had flown north and saw what had to be the Salcha River also joining the Tanana.
Magda told him that the Tanana finally flowed into the Yukon some 200 miles northwest of here near the small village of Nuchalawoya, which in the local dialect meant “place where two rivers meet.” Tanana was just a few miles downriver from there.
Jerry spied the road again and flew east-southeast. After ten minutes he saw dust on the horizon and flew wide of the disturbance. He dropped down to 300 feet and aimed straight for the center of the dust cloud. At full speed he crossed the Russia-Canada Highway and saw it was packed with military equipment from tanks to troop carriers.
He waggled his wings and soldiers waved. If they had all fired at him, he would have been riddled. Pulling back on the stick, he rapidly gained altitude and looked down the road as far as he could see.
His blood went cold when he saw the second column, no more than five kilometers behind the first one. It was as large as the leading element if not bigger.
Delta doesn’t have a chance!
He turned and flew a straight line back to St. Anthony. With all of these visitors, people had to be warned.
40
Delta, Russian Amerika
“Is the hospital all packed?” Bodecia’s voice sounded tight as a fiddle string, Magda thought.
“Yes, Mother. And all the medical personnel have already moved everything up to the Refuge. Do you have everything from the house that you can’t live without?”
Bodecia stopped and looked at her with an expression of surprise. “Of course not! How can I save the afternoon light coming through my kitchen window, or the doorjamb where we measured your growth for fourteen years?
“I have a lifetime of memories in that house, and most of them are good. How can I save them”—she tapped the side of her head—“except up here?”
Magda wondered if her mother knew she was crying. Her own tears startled her and they hugged each other and wept. While she stood there holding her mother, she wondered when the older woman had become so small and thin. Magda suddenly felt fiercely protective and angry at the circumstances causing so much upheaval and turmoil.
“We’ll get through this, Mother. We both have years of memories ahead of us. What’s happening right now will be a strong one.”
“Don’t forget your sewing machine,” Bodecia said with a sniff. “A girl who’s looking to get married needs a sewing machine.”
“I’m not ‘looking to get married,’ Mother.”
“Oh, save it for later; just make sure you don’t forget it.”
“I won’t.” She watched her mother hurry off to direct someone to do something, and she smiled. Her sewing machine was one of the first items she had put in the cart for the trip up the mountain.
She saw Jerry on the far side of the square, just leaving the Russian compound. He peered around at the people rushing about. When he finally looked in her direction, she waved, and was rewarded with his smile and instant motion toward her.
When he reached her, he took her in his arms and kissed her. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to her, and she kissed him back. He held her tightly to him for a long moment.
“Okay,” he said, dropping his hands to his side and staring at her with his puzzled-boy expression. “What’s the Refuge?”
“I’ll tell you while we’re driving our truck there. We’re completely loaded and ready to go.”
They moved swiftly through the village to the house where she had spent her entire life. The Russian truck Bodecia had liberated sat waiting.
“You said loaded; that thing is overloaded! If we hit a good sized bump, we’ll break an axle.”
“You’ll have to drive slow, Lieutenant Yamato,” she said sweetly, “and try to remember you’re not in California any longer.”
“Haven’t had trouble keeping that one straight,” he said.
Jerry pulled the driver’s door open and found Rudi sitting in the seat, a pistol in his hand.
“What do you—oh, is you, Lieutenant. Are we to leave now?”
“How are you feeling, Rudi?” Jerry asked.
“Not good as unused, but nearly there, I am told.”
“Are you riding up to the Refuge with us?” Magda asked.
“Yes, if I may.”
“Great. Scoot over to the window; three of us will fit in here.”
Jerry eased the truck forward. The chassis groaned with the load but the engine didn’t falter. He pulled in behind a Russian Army lorry and maintained a thirty-foot distance.
“So where is it we’re going?” he asked.
“The Dená Separatist Movement has been around for about twenty years, but didn’t really have any muscle until about five years ago.” She noticed both men listened carefully. “That’s when my mother, father, and I, joined.”
“You are revolutionary, Magda?” Rudi asked with a trace of amazement in his voice.
“Yeah, I am, okay?”
“Of course, but you are young, and to be five-year veteran already gives me astonishment.”
“Yeah,” Jerry said. “I’ll drink to that.”