“I’m a sergeant of scouts, for what it’s worth. Anyway, we knew the day would come, that this day would come, and we’d have to leave the village or be destroyed. So we built the Refuge.”
“How long did it take before you finished?” Jerry asked, easing the truck through a series of potholes.
“Who said we finished? There is still much to be done before it’s comfortable, but it’s serviceable right now.”
“Is like a redoubt?” Rudi asked.
“The village council knew about this large cave and kept it a secret from outsiders, like the Russian Army or any promyshlenniks who might be passing through.”
“Any what?” Jerry blurted.
“Ah, promyshlenniks,” Rudi said. “They are hunters and woodsmen, very brave and adventure-seeking. Russian children read tales about them.”
“Which are all lies,” Magda said, putting daggers into her words. “They’re a bunch of filthy, drunken rapists who think they own Alaska and everything in it. They lie, steal, cheat, and would sell their mothers to the Spanish if it meant they wouldn’t have to do honest labor for a week. They’re lazy cowards who will kill you for your shoes and you must never trust one of them.”
“Whew,” Jerry said.
“I was approaching that part,” Rudi said in a hurt tone. “But she is affirmative. Worse than Russian Army I think.”
Magda patted his knee. “Much worse, and not as good in a fight.”
Rudi preened and looked around. “We climb into mountains?”
Magda stared through the windscreen, trying to see the land as if it were the first time. Spruce and birch covered the hillside at this elevation, although the largest spruce were no more than four meters in height and were probably 200 years old.
Within another hundred meters of elevation, the trees thinned to solitary stalwarts claw-rooted into the rocky soil and bent away from the prevailing wind. Brush and lichen grew thick between the increasing number of rocks and boulders. The constant breeze grew stronger.
“We worked hard on this redoubt. There’s probably something like this near all the Dená villages.”
“You will win this war.” Rudi spoke with the conviction of a man who has just comprehended universal truth.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“Russian high command believes you are all wastrel rabble, to use as basic labor but for nothing complicated. They have no idea what they fight.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Cermanivich. That is the finest compliment I have ever received.”
Rudi shrugged. “You are welcome. Is true.”
The truck slowed as it climbed up the increasing slope. Jerry pushed the accelerator against the firewall and held it there.
“This crate won’t last much longer,” Jerry said.
“It doesn’t have to—look.” She pointed ahead to where the lorry had suddenly found level ground and turned between two large boulders. Their truck gained power when it leveled out and Jerry had to hit the brakes to keep from rear-ending the lorry. Magda watched Jerry’s mouth drop open when the lorry drove into the mountain.
“Holy Shasta, that’s one hell of a cave!” Jerry said.
“It’ll hold the whole village comfortably.”
“What about the Russians?” Rudi asked.
“They’ll fit, too, but it will be a bit of a squeeze.”
“This is all well and good, but how could you defend it?” Jerry asked.
Magda smiled and looked at Rudi. “Did you see them?”
“The gun emplacements? Da. I made count of four.”
“You missed two. I didn’t expect Mr. Flyboy here”—she bumped her head on Jerry’s shoulder—“to spot them. But you’ve had a lifetime in armored divisions. I’m glad you missed two of them; that means we did it right.”
Jerry looked dour.
“Hey, did I hurt your feelings?”
“There’s no place to land a plane.”
“You mean the Grigorovich?”
“Yeah. They’ll destroy it or steal it.”
A man with a hand torch waved them to a parking spot near the cave wall. Jerry parked the truck and switched off the engine. The area thundered as other vehicles followed them into the cavern. Sound bounced off the rock walls to collide with itself.
“Jeez, I don’t know how much of this I can take.” Jerry put his hands over his ears.
“You flew an open cockpit aircraft this morning. I’ve been up in those things—they’re deafening.”
He grinned at her. “Well, next time wear a helmet. The one I used was great.”
“Pardon for my asking,” Rudi said, “but what now?”
“Now we set the trap,” she said with as much authority as she could muster.
41
Delta, Russian Amerika
“Something about this bothers me,” Jerry said.
“What would that be?” Doyon Isaac asked.
“I’m flying under false colors; what if they shoot me down?”
“You probably wouldn’t survive the crash, but I don’t think that’s your point, is it?”
“They could hang me as a spy.”
“Lieutenant,” Colonel Romanov said, rising from the couch in the corner. “You are still wearing your uniform. If you are ordered up in a craft with the wrong insignia, that’s merely the fortunes of war—we use what we can get. You couldn’t be mistaken for a spy.”
“I sure hope you’re right, Colonel.” He faced Doyon Isaac again. “I’m ready to go.”
“Remember,” Colonel Romanov said, “don’t engage them, just piss on their boots.”
“Yes, sir.” Jerry zipped up his flight suit and, carrying his helmet under his arm, walked out to the command car waiting for him. They drove out onto the airfield where Sergeant Suslov and his mechanics waited next to the Grigorovich.
As soon as he had climbed out of the truck at Refuge, a Russian lieutenant had given him orders to return to the redoubt: he had a mission to fly. It had taken him twenty minutes to walk back down the mountain, waving at people and vehicles streaming up from Delta. He still only counted three gun emplacements.
Jerry thanked the driver and got out of the command car. When he turned to the sergeant and the ground crew, they all stiffened to attention and saluted. Jerry returned the salute.
“Is she ready?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Yamato,” Suslov said. “Where did they tell you to land after the mission?”
“Chena, if I can. Fort Yukon, if I can’t.”
“They will think you are the enemy. They might shoot you down.”
“I’ll lower my landing gear when they approach; that’s the sign of surrender.”
The crew frowned together as they considered his words.
“Then I’ll be back with modern warplanes to help defeat the enemy.”
“Not all are enemy, Lieutenant Yamato,” one of the corporals said. “My brother is a conscripted gunner with the Fifth Armored en route from Tetlin. I would hate to bury him.”
“Tell him how good you have it. He might join us.”
“I hope he is offered the opportunity.”
Jerry climbed up into the cockpit and went through his brief preflight. In moments they had the engine turning at full revolutions. Two minutes later he soared into the sky.
After climbing to a thousand meters, he surveyed the ribbon of road. In the distance to the northwest, he saw the dust cloud of the retreating army headed toward Delta. To the south he saw the lead column no more than ten kilometers from St. Anthony Redoubt.
He angled over and caught the approaching armored column from Tetlin in his sights; in moments, he tore down through the sky at the leading elements. Somewhere in his head he knew this was a sucker punch, but when you’re outnumbered, you try to even up the fight.