"Let 'em go. We can make the redoubt and get the fuck out of here."
Finn's argument was unanswerable. To fight here was to die. If they stood aside, it was better than fifty-fifty that the Russians wouldn't provoke a firefight, and the gateway would carry them far from here. This bitter northern land with its freezing residue of the nuclear winter wasn't their concern. There surely wasn't any profit in trying to defend it.
Ryan hesitated only a moment.
"No," he said.
"Nyet?" asked Zimyanin in disbelief.
"No. This is our land. You get back to Russia and your party. Go."
"You fight?"
"Damned right we do." He drew the G-12 again, emphasizing his point.
The Russian thumbed through his book frantically. Eventually he seemed to find what he wanted. "You will die all. Why?"
"Friend of mine back in Deathlands once took off all his gear and jumped in a tar pit. I got him out, cleaned him down and asked him the same question asked him why. He said it seemed a fuckin' good idea at the time."
Zimyanin looked at Ryan, finding him utterly beyond comprehension. Behind Ryan, Henn and Finnegan laughed at his story.
"Ready," said Ryan. "Here it comes."
There was a sudden burst of automatic-weapons fire, faint and distant, high up the valley, toward the ghost town. Everyone looked around, seeing three figures grouped around something: a pointed object about as tall as a man.
"It's the fuckin' dummy missile," gasped Hennings.
"Shut up," snarled Ryan.
Zimyanin took his precious Zeiss binoculars from their leather case and raised them to his eyes, adjusting the focus. He held them there for a long time, finally lowering them.
Silently, ignoring the whispers from his troops, he swung off his horse and stood holding the reins. The book open in his gloved right hand, the Russian beckoned to Ryan, then gestured at the missile.
But he couldn't find what he wanted to ask. Shaking his head, clicking his fingers in irritation, finally sighing, he pointed again toward J.B. and the rocket.
"Boom?" he asked, hesitantly.
"Yeah, Boom! Fuckin' great boom! Boooooom!"
"Da," agreed the Russian, searching assiduously again for the phrase he wanted. Eventually he found it.
"To your good health, American, and to your land."
He offered a hand, and Ryan reached out and took it, shaking it firmly. He looked into the eyes of the Russian.
"And to your good health, brother, and to your country and party."
Zimyanin clicked his heels and bowed slightly. Remounting he called out an order to his patrol, then led them slowly across the valley toward the west.
Toward the icebound Bering Strait.
Toward Russia.
About a half-mile away he stood in the stirrups, and raised a clenched fist to the watching Americans. Ryan waved in acknowledgement.
Finally the last of the cavalry unit vanished over the ridge and the day was quiet again.
"That was close, lover," said Krysty, finally bolstering her pistol.
"Yeah," agreed Ryan. "It was close."
Epilogue
The code for the outer door of the redoubt, 108J, worked, and they trooped inside, leaving the two buggies out on the plateau for the local muties to find. Inside the cavernous building, the temperature had fallen since the time they left only a couple of days earlier. Many of the lights were either flickering or extinguished.
They spent an hour stocking up on food and ammunition, then using J.B.'s map, made their way to the gateway on the fourth level.
"Goin' to try a code, Doc?" asked J.B.
"I fear there would be little point. I think we must trust to the random element and hope we finish somewhere better than this wasteland."
"Somewhere warmer, Doc, if you don't mind," Henn put in, grinning.
Ryan was last into the chamber, with its now-familiar floor and ceiling patterns, and its strange glasslike walls. Everyone sat down, with Krysty pulling at Lori's arm to show her what to do. The girl had shown signs of great nervousness as they moved through the redoubt where she'd spent all her life, but her trust in the others carried her along. Now she sat with them on the floor.
"It's like a quick sleep and then a bad headache," said Finnegan to her. "We wake somewhere else."
"Somewhere good?" she asked.
"Who knows?" answered Ryan. "Everyone ready? Then here we go."
He closed the door firmly. The lights began to gleam and dance. He had just enough time to sit down before he felt the jump beginning.
The inside of his brain felt as if it had been chopped into a million splinters, then flushed down a dark, echoing drain.
Ryan Cawdor blinked open his eye and looked around. The first thing he noticed was that the chamber was uncomfortably hot.