that most of the rebels there had been annihilated. This should be an easy campaign.
A heart-stopping blast shattered the truck directly in front of the car. A few screaming soldiers, bodies engulfed in flames, fell out of the back and thrashed on the ground.
Kronov grabbed his microphone and screamed, “Deploy, deploy, get out of line immediately!”
One tank turned and began grinding up over the rubble of the road. Suddenly an explosion went off under the lumbering giant, lifting it off the ground and blowing off one track—throwing the treads back into the trucks like shrapnel. Before the tank could fall completely to the ground ammunition stored inside exploded and the machine contorted like a living thing as it died.
“Mines!” Kronov screamed at his white-faced driver. “They’ve mined the roadside. Don’t move this car another inch until our men have had a chance to clear the area.”
The corporal pointed to the burning tank. “How did they mine something they already blew up?”
“What do you mean?” Kronov said in a shrill voice.
“Shouldn’t the explosion of the roadbed have set off any mines this close?”
“Yes.”
The tank behind them blew up. Ahead of them a streak of fire shot out of the forest and hit one of the two remaining advance tanks. Two men pulled themselves out of an escape hatch seconds before the inside of the tank exploded.
Gunfire cut the two soldiers down.
“It’s an ambush,” Kronov screamed into his microphone. “Take evasive action.” He switched radio channels. “Tetlin Command, this is Kronov. We need air support immediately.”
“What’s your location, colonel?” the distant radio operator asked.
“Where the fighters were shot down. I was told this area had been cleansed.” He broke off, suddenly conscious of the shrill panic in his voice.
“I’m sorry, colonel,” the radio voice said, “but we have no operational aircraft close enough to support you at this time.”
The last operational tank in front of him opened fire with its cannon and heavy machine gun. Two more streaks lanced out of the forest and hit the tank. The machine blew into bits, setting fire to the truck behind it.
Kronov expected soldiers to leap out of the truck and take defensive action but nothing of the sort happened.
He numbly dropped the microphone. “My God,” he said to the corporal.
“They all must be dead.”
The corporal abruptly put the car in reverse and backed close to the burning tank behind them before jamming the gearshift forward and stomping on the accelerator. The car slewed around in a tight arc and bounced back past burning tanks and the bodies of soldiers. Kronov beheld a scene from hell.
Every tank was burning and all but two of the trucks were also in flames. The bodies of his soldiers lay scattered like toys after a child’s game. The corporal grimly drove over a number of bodies in his haste.
None cried out.
For the first time in his life, Colonel Konstine Kronov felt true fear. He had never considered how helpless one might feel when afraid. Unbelievably, the command car roared up onto the undamaged portion of the highway.
Even here lay Russian bodies in attitudes of violent death.
Where was the enemy?
The car picked up speed as they passed the last bullet-riddled truck. The corporal jammed on the brakes and the car skidded sideways before stopping. A log barrier spanned the road, providing shelter for the heavily armed people behind it.
Kronov let his breath go and wondered how long he had been holding it. The sight of his enemies temporarily gave him something close to relief. At least now he knew they were fighting humans and not wraiths.
Someone shouted in perfect Russian, “Get out of the vehicle with your hands clasped to your head. Now!” The corporal kicked open his door, grabbed his head fiercely with both hands and stepped out of the car.
“Tell your officer that we will kill him if he does not get out of the vehicle.”
The corporal bent down and peered in at Kronov. “Colonel—”
“I hear them, you idiot.” He opened his door and stood full length before putting his hands on his head as insolently as possible. “I am Colonel Konstine Kronov of the Imperial Russian Army. Who are you and by what authority do you stop me from my duty?”
“You’ve got more balls than brains, Konstine,” a man said in Russian.
“But then, that’s what the Czar likes in his cannon fodder.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Basil, and not all that long ago, I was a slave of the Czar’s. Now I’m sergeant in the Dena Republik Army and under that authority I make you my prisoner.”
“Why do you not kill me as you have my troops?”
Basil gave him a gap-toothed smile. “You’ll see.”
56
“What happened to Heron and the rest of Wolf Team?” Grisha asked.
“The Russians sent in their own wolves,” Basil said in his deep voice.
“By the time any of us knew of their presence, they had already killed a third of our people. Irena was the first to see them and pass the word to the rest of us.”
“Why did you blow the road before anything was on it?”
“Heron did that. He must have thought we were all dead. The blast killed or maimed all the Russian Wolves.”
“There were some left alive?”
“Some,” Basil said with a slow grin. “But they didn’t last long. As soon as we finished them off, we mined the roadsides and went back to our machine guns and antitank guns.”
“You did well to bring in the colonel and the corporal. What’s your rank, Basil?”
“Sergeant, why?”
“As of now you’re a lieutenant and in charge of an infantry platoon.”
“I’m not sure I want that, Grisha.”
“It’s Colonel Grisha and we need everyone working at the highest level they can achieve. When the rest of your team shows the initiative you did, I’ll turn them into officers, too. We need them.”
“Irena showed more initiative than I did, Colonel.”
“That’s why I’ve already made her a major and put her in command of Wolf Team.”
“Oh. Okay, I’ll take the platoon.”
“You’re getting some new people who haven’t seen action. Teach them how to stay alive.”
“Yes, sir.” Basil grinned and left the room. The man sitting at the radio in the corner carefully kept his eyes on the gauges.
The door shut behind his old companion from slave days and Grisha sighed. Ever since the council pushed this command on him, he had expected his army to discover that he was only acting like a field officer, that too much time had passed since he last knew military life and battle. He felt what little he did know about cold-weather operations he had received from his conditioning with Nik, Malagni, and Haimish.
He felt the years as a charter captain had negated his long service to the Czar. Yet training completed over twenty-five years ago suddenly manifested when needed and helped him make desperate decisions.
The memory of his friends strengthened his determination to go on and finish this thing correctly. The Dena had saved him from certain death and he had vowed to help them any way he could. But he hadn’t expected this.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Enter.”
