“How do you see it working now?” Hope hammered in Bachmann’s chest.
“Well, first we lay low for a while…”
123
Over the Alaska Republik
Magda tapped her foot on the aluminum deck as the helicopter racketed along below the clouds. Straps over her chest and lap kept her pinned firmly in the observer’s seat. At least she could watch the land beneath them.
The Captains Fedorov, as she called them in her mind, had maintained a running argument from the moment they took off over an hour ago.
“Georgi, we have ample fuel to reach Nowitna!”
“And if we spend too much time over target and run out of fuel, Ivan, who comes to search for us? Are we not in the only helicopter in this country?”
“Where is the wild beast brother I once had? The one who loved to tweak the nose of chance?”
“He nearly bled to death last year. Don’t you remember? You were there, right where you’re sitting.”
“Give me heading for Tanana Aerodrome; we will refuel there.”
Magda smiled grimly. Colonel Romanov had told her these men were the best helicopter pilots in the Alaska Republik. However he had neglected to mention they were the only helicopter pilots in the Republik.
“There, Georgi, must be Tanana; aerodrome is immediately behind village according to map.”
“Da, I see beacon. Oh look, they light up runway lights for us!”
“They have runway lights,” Ivan said in an awed whisper.
The radio crackled. “Delta helicopter, this is Tanana control. Follow the instructions of the landing officer with the wands.”
“Acknowledge, Tanana control. We see him.”
“Can you hear me, too?” a different voice said.
“Da, loud and clearly.”
“Set down between me and the hangar, there.”
Through the blowing snow Magda could see the man with glowing orange wands in each hand. The wands went from far apart to close together and pointed toward a series of buildings with snow-packed roofs.
“Affirmative!” Georgi said and landed the machine without a bump.
Magda considered that they just might be good pilots after all, as long as they weren’t talking to each other. The rotors swooshed to a stop. The door next to Magda suddenly opened and a cold blast of air sent snow through the aircraft. Colonel Wing Grigorievich looked up at her.
“How about some tea and a sandwich?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Magda said, looking down at the harness and belt assembly. She picked at it with gloved hands. “If I can just get this damn thing off!”
“Allow me.” Wing reached in and snapped a catch and the whole thing came apart in the front.
“Oh, I guess I should have paid more attention when they strapped me in.”
Wing offered a hand as Magda exited. “You were probably thinking about other things. This way, please.”
Magda followed her through the numbing wind into one of the buildings. The room temperature radiated about 75 degrees Fahrenheit. The walls boasted dark, polished wainscoting and photos of men and aircraft from the beginning of aviation history.
In the center of the room sat a large table with a steaming samovar and a tray holding a dozen or more sandwiches. General Grigorievich stood next to it. He stepped toward her, holding out his hand.
“Magda,” he took her hand in both of his, “I wish I could say I was happy to see you. I just wanted to tell you that if anyone can come through this, it is Jerry.”
She tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. “Yeah, but I’m not out there to help him this time.”
“He saved a lot of lives yesterday. And, as always, he didn’t hesitate to take the mission.”
“Jerry and I are going to talk about that quirk of his,” Magda said. “I want a husband, not a memory of a hero.”
“Grisha,” Wing said in a gentle voice. “Let her eat, she has a long day ahead of her.”
“Of course. May I get you some tea, ladies?”
“Thank you, yes,” Magda said. “With a bit of milk if you have it?”
“Black for me,” Wing said. “But you knew that.”
When they smiled at each other, Magda nearly burst into tears. Instead she looked down at the sandwiches.
“Is that real ham?”
“Yes,” Wing said. “One of the California pilots brought us two cases. Please help yourself. Take some for later; we have a lot.”
The Captains Fedorov came in, poured themselves huge mugs of tea and grabbed sandwiches. Georgi put two in his pockets before eating a third in four bites.
Magda wrapped four sandwiches in a cloth napkin and put them in the pocket of her parka. After eating two, she was still surprisingly hungry. She walked over to Wing.
“Tell me about Nowitna. I’ve never been there.”
“It’s a small village, up a large bank on the north side of the Yukon. There are two or three islands in the river, very close to the village, and the river is about three miles wide. Farther upriver the Yukon narrows to about a mile but there are islands all along there.
“From the reports we’ve received, Jerry went down in one of the open stretches of river between islands. The weather there is worse than it is here, so visibility is at a minimum.”
Wing chewed her lower lip for a moment. “Magda, if he crashed and burned, which is the current conjecture, it’s going to be hard to take.”
“Wing, his plane may have crashed, but he is still alive. I know it!”
“I hope you’re right, cousin. My prayers are with you both.”
An RCAF officer came through the door. “The Delta helicopter is ready to go.”
Magda followed the Captains Fedorov out into the wind and cold.
124
On the Yukon near Nowitna
Colonel Del Buhrman pulled himself out of the dogsled and looked back at the musher. “That was fun, Mr. Anderson. I wish we were out here under different circumstances.”
Lieutenant Colonel Smolst poked at metal shards and regarded Buhrman. “There isn’t enough here for a whole plane. Where are the wing parts and fuselage?”
Wind whistled down the ice-locked river and blowing snow whirled and capered around them in the bright day. Blue sky could be intermittently seen straight up, but at ground level, visibility was less than fifty meters.
Colonel Buhrman peered at his compass. “He was headed that way.” He pointed upriver and the wind suddenly stopped for a long moment and visibility stretched to a half mile. Metal reflected in the distance before the wind again ripped snow off the ice and swirled it over the searchers.
Buhrman climbed back on the sled, Smolst onto another. The dogs responded happily and tore across the frozen river. Less than five minutes later they all stopped at an ice ridge.
“This is just the wings,” Smolst shouted over the wind. “Did he actually fly through this cut?”
“If he did, he didn’t get far!” Buhrman responded through a grin. He realized that the explosion they had seen the night before was either armament or something else. The plane had landed on the icebound river in one piece.
“Let’s go through the cut and see what we find,” Buhrman shouted.
In moments they found the fuselage. They studied the ice-rimmed aluminum for a moment. The canopy was translucent with frost on the inside.
“It occurs to me,” Smolst said in a tone of conjecture, “that if there wasn’t something warm in there, there wouldn’t be any frost.”
“Excellent deduction, Doctor Watson!” Buhrman said in a bad parody of an English accent.