Russian Amerika

“They’ll be looking at everybody twice from now on, especially Indians and Creoles.”

“What’s the matter, Grisha, don’t you want the job?” Blue asked with a laugh.

“I think I’d be the wrong man for it,” he said wryly. “Give me something else to do.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Blue said. “But I need to talk to War Minister Nathan about it first.”

“If it helps the Dena Republik, I’ll do it.”

Blue glanced at Wing. “With Chan dead, how do we finance this war?”

“What do you mean?” Grisha asked. “What did Chan have to do with finances?”

“That’s right, you didn’t know,” Wing said. “Chan was the money behind the DSM and the revolution. His grandfather discovered gold up in the hills north of Chena way back in the ’30s, and had the presence of mind to keep quiet about it.”

“Yeah,” Blue said. “He kept the secret in his family. They operated that mine for years and years, hauled most of the gold down into British Canada to sell it.”

Wing nodded. “They were rich, the whole family. Then one of Chan’s uncles got drunk and told another Dena about it, and a Cossack heard him.”

“Oh, hell,” Grisha said in a reverent tone.

“Yeah,” Blue said. “Cossacks kidnapped the three brothers who had inherited. And their families were tortured to death in front of them. But no one told the location of the mine.”

“Because,” Wing said, hesitating for a beat, “the Cossacks had missed getting Chandalar. He had been over in Nenana visiting a girl and her family. So the rest of the family died at the hands of the Cossacks knowing Chan would revenge their deaths.”

“Chan told the girl he couldn’t marry, but would always love her, then went looking for other angry Athabascans,” Blue said. “And he found a lot of

’em!”

“He recruited the first ten Dena Separatists,” Wing said, “told them to find as many others as they could and he went down to the United States. He was arrested in a border town and turned over to the army. Within a week he was talking to someone on President Taft’s staff.”

“That’s when Haimish came north the first time,” Blue said. “I was just a little girl, but I remember him coming through our door and wonderin’ what he was, cause he looked like one of those Eskimo billikens.”

“But now they’re both dead,” Grisha said, sorry to pull them back to now.

“Yeah,” Wing said in a husky voice. “But to answer your question, Blue, Chan willed the whole operation to the Dena people. We have bank accounts in British Canada, French Canada, and the United States with a lot of money in them.”

52

A half hour later they came to a large tree lying across the road. Grisha started to drive into the ditch to go around it.

“No!” Blue shouted, her words nearly blurring in a staccato chatter.

“This is our roadblock. The ditches are mined!”

Grisha, hands suddenly shaking in an adrenaline rush, jumped on the brake, bringing them to a sudden stop. Cries of pain and anger could be heard from the back of the half-track. The vehicle stopped with the front wheels off the road, resting in the ditch.

Grisha looked over at the two women, wondering if his face was as pale as theirs.

“Did you know this was coming up?”

“Yes,” Blue said, panting, “I knew, I meant to mention it earlier. But we got to talking.”

“Anything else you forget to mention?”

“Yeah, get out of the cab unarmed, with your hands in the air.”

Grisha shook his head and grinned. “Remind me to talk to you about timing.” He pushed the door open and stepped out on the running board with his still-shaking hands in the air.

“We’re friends from Chena Redoubt,” he shouted into the dark, snowfilled forest. The scent of wood smoke hung in the air, cold burned in his nostrils, the fresh air felt clean and good. “Blue is with us.”

“Who are you?” a voice asked from the darkness.

“Grigoriy Grigorievich!”

“For what battle were you cashiered from the Troika Guard?” the voice demanded.

“Bou Saada, French Algeria.” Grisha frowned and peered into the trees.

A figure strode out of the dark, stunted, frozen forest.

“It really is you, Major, isn’t it?”

Grisha stared hard at the person but didn’t recognize him until Heinrich Smolst grinned and grabbed him a bear hug. The two pounded each other on the back, laughing. Other figures materialized and surrounded the two vehicles.

“My God, Heinrich,” Grisha gasped. “They told me you had come over to our side, but I thought you were among the dead at Chena Redoubt. It is so good to see you, my friend.”

“The Russians made me a captain, and I still hated them for what they did to you. I’ve waited ten years for the exact right moment to tell the Czar to go fuck himself, and it arrived out there in the woods, when I was surrounded by your Dena.”

The refugees climbed out of the half-tracks, adding their welcomes.

“Look me up tomorrow, Heinrich, please?”

“Of course, Major!”

“Not ‘Major.’ Grisha, just like when we were both private soldiers.”

“Looks like we’re in that category again anyway. I’ll find you tomorrow, Grisha.”

A cable and pulley easily swiveled the tree out of the road. The small convoy rolled across the frozen Yukon River to where Tanana slept under the scrolling northern lights.

The half-tracks pulled up onto the high riverbank and stopped in front of a large building bright with light. Shell holes in the walls and roof already boasted tarp bandages. Grisha realized he didn’t have to drive anymore. The exhaustion he had been denying swept over him. He stumbled into the warm room and collapsed in a corner, fast asleep.

“Major Grigorievich, wake up.”

The voice penetrated his dream of being on the water again. So vivid was the dream that when he blinked his eyes, he expected to see the interior of Pravda’s cabin. The crisp apparition staring down at him instantly brought him back. He moaned before his wits returned and he could stop himself.

“Heinrich, I’m not a major anymore,” he said roughly. He stretched and, when the scent of cooking food finally registered, realized he was famished.

“About time you woke up,” Smolst said. “You’ve been asleep for over a day.”

To his amazement Grisha found himself undressed and in a bunk. He glanced around wildly. Three-high stands of built-in bunks filled the room. All the others were empty.

“How long have I been in here?”

“Since about oh-two-hundred yesterday.”

“What time is it now?”

“Almost ten-hundred.”

Grisha took stock, decided he felt pretty good. Voices wafted in along with food aromas. His stomach growled and he sat up, searching for his clothes.

The barracks contained a dining hall where nearly thirty people sat, talking, drinking tea, and eating. He blinked as he came out of the sleeping area into the brightly lit room. Heinrich prodded him from behind.

“Over there, near the wall.”

Grisha blinked again and saw Wing, who saw him at the same time.

“Grisha. Over here.”