“Maybe he understands that you believe you invented it?”
“And thou, Brutus!”
“Don’t throw your university education at me, Nathan. I’m too damned tired to give a shit. And don’t give me that old ‘you’re either with me or against me’ stuff, because it isn’t true.
“But I do want you to remember that I took an oath, one that you administered, to serve the Dená Republik to the best of my abilities. And I plan to do just that—serve the Republik, not you personally.”
“Thank you for being so candid, General Grigorievich. I appreciate it.”
Before Grisha could respond, Nathan hurried back into the Council Chamber.
“Lunchtime, folks!” he called out as he went through the front door without slowing or looking at anybody else.
89
6 miles east of Delta
Magda and Pelagian sat in the back of the scout car as Major Smolst drove them and Colonel Buhrman toward the three tanks blocking the road. She held a machine gun with the barrel pointed forward and up. They could easily see the Kiowa war shield displayed on the tank hulls, even though the paint was pitted and dusty.
They had already passed at least three squads of soldiers. Many of them wore feathers and other bird and animal parts in their hair. Considering that all of them also wore camouflage battle dress it made for an interesting ride.
From between the tanks three men walked toward the scout car.
“That’s Yukon Cassidy!” Pelagian said as he hopped over the side of the car and hurried toward them. He grabbed the shortest of the three and they hugged, slapped each other on the back and danced in a circle all at the same time. Pelagian towered over his friend by more than a foot.
“I take it they’ve met before,” Colonel Buhrman said with a grin.
“They’ve been friends for over twenty years,” Magda said. “Cassidy is one of those people you either hate or love. Our family loves him.”
Pelagian and Cassidy stopped and spoke with the other two men. Pelagian turned and motioned for the others to join them.
In moments they all stood face to face.
“This is Colonel Buhrman of the Republic of California Army 3rd Parachute Infantry Regiment, Major Smolst of the Dená Army, late of the Troika Guard, and my incredible daughter, Magda, who is also a sergeant of scouts in the Dená Army.”
Magda didn’t wait any longer; she rushed forward and hugged Cassidy. “It’s so good to see you again! You just disappeared after the first part of the battle.”
She pulled back while her father introduced the other two men.
“Gentlemen, this is General Lawrence Spotted Bird and Colonel Franklin Fires-Twice of the First People’s Nation Army, and my old, dear friend Yukon Cassidy.”
After hand-clasping all around, Colonel Buhrman immediately went to the crux of the matter.
“What are you people doing this far north, General Spotted Bird?”
“May I ask you the same question, Colonel Buhrman?” General Spotted Bird asked.
Buhrman didn’t lose his grin. “Touché! We were invited by the Dená Separatist Army to provide aid and assistance. We’ve been providing both for over six months.”
“Commendable,” General Spotted Bird said. “We followed a bandit and his cohorts north.”
“With an entire armored column?” Major Smolst blurted. “You must have really been pissed.”
“Well put, Major. The International Freekorps went through our country like a plague of locusts, killing, looting, burning and fleeing when met with equal force. Then the British Canadians had the temerity to attack us with the fiction that they were merely passing through to get to the United States.
“We defeated the British and chased them back into their own country and, just for the hell of it, took a big part of their territory and kept it. However, we didn’t find Major Riordan since he had gone north where he thought we wouldn’t follow. He was wrong.”
“We have a lot of IF prisoners of war, but I don’t know if he’s one of them,” Colonel Buhrman said.
“He isn’t. Cassidy brought him in yesterday. He’s back there in our jail lorry.” General Spotted Bird nodded toward the tanks behind him.
“What are your plans now, General?” Pelagian asked.
“First, to offer any help we can give. Second, to get home as soon as we can. My men are tired and they’ve fought well.”
“We offer you the hospitality of Delta, Dená Republik.” Pelagian grinned. “I think there’s going to be a celebration very soon now.”
90
Tanana, Dená Republik
While two of the new F-82 Swordmasters flew a combat air patrol overhead, the side of the Tanana Aerodrome was lined with aircraft. The remaining ten P-61 Eurekas, patched and tired, were flanked by thirteen of the new, gleaming jets.
Captain Jerry Yamato stood at parade rest in the front rank of the 117th Attack Squadron personnel. Both officers and enlisted men wore their dress uniforms, sent north specifically for this occasion. To their right were mustered the officers and enlisted of the 24th Attack Squadron.
Jerry noticed the 24th had three times as many officers as did the 117th. Over the next two hours that would change forever: the 117th was being disbanded as an active unit. He tried not to think about it.
The command sergeant major snapped tall.
“A-tenn-SHUN!”
Every man on the field went as ramrod straight as he could.
Five officers moved out of the shadowed hangar and into the bright Alaskan sunshine. Jerry couldn’t believe how damned hot it was. He was no stranger to heat and he calculated it had to be right at 90 degrees Fahrenheit.
One of the officers was Brigadier General George “Jud” Caldwell of the Republic of California Air Force. Every man in the RCAF revered him. Jud had gone from an enlisted sergeant-pilot to a battlefield commission of lieutenant. He then opted for four years at the Presidio where he graduated fifth in a class of 187.
Every airman in the RCAF knew that “General Jud” would never ask anything of them that he wouldn’t do himself. He was the best and they would follow him anywhere. He had come north on the same plane that carried their dress uniforms.
The general’s adjutant, Colonel Ust, carried a small stack of boxes: decorations to be presented. The other three officers with General Jud were unknown to Jerry. All were in the Dená Republik Army and wore a combination of ROC and USA army uniforms. The two men wore the rosettes depicting dentalium shells in a star pattern and executed in beads, gold on a field of blue: generals.
The woman wore the depiction of the sun resting in a moose rack. She was a colonel. Jerry gave her a closer look than he did the men. She was strikingly beautiful despite the scar on her cheek; he decided she had to be Athabascan.
The party halted in front of the 117th.
“Airmen of the 117th Attack Squadron,” General Jud said in a conversational voice, “you have brought honor and glory to your service, your country, and your flag. A grateful nation salutes you.”
All five of the officers saluted at the same time.
For a moment the 117th froze, and then returned the salute, officers and enlisted alike. None of them had ever seen that done before.
“It is my great honor and pleasure to award the following decorations,” General Jud said.
“To Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Hurley, late commander of the 117th Attack Squadron, for actions above and beyond the call of duty. In an action against an armored Russian column, he led by example and gave his life to bring about the destruction of most of the enemy column. A grateful nation awards Lieutenant Colonel Hurley the Republic of California Congressional Medal of Honor, posthumously. The award was presented to his widow three days ago in Sacramento.”