“Major Grigorievich refused the order, said it was madness and he would not send his men to certain death. The colonel had lost control hours before and was now close to insane. When he started to pull the pistol trigger, the sergeant major shot him. Since they were all in the midst of battle, nobody knew where the shot originated, but they all saw it end in the colonel’s head.
“Major Grigorievich was now in command and ordered his men to commence a fighting retreat. He saved their lives,” Heinrich had to stop and swallow,
“and the Imperial Army court-martialed him for disobeying orders. The bastards should have given him the Alexander Cross.”
“You were there, Major?”
“Yes, Lieutenant, I was there. That was when I knew I would someday repay the Czar and his Imperial Army full price and when they least needed it. I have the Dena people to thank for the opportunity.”
They burst into applause. He knew a Dena appreciated a good story as well as the next person.
“Let me buy you a drink!” he shouted. The party resumed and a line formed at the two kegs of beer.
“If I may, Major?” Lieutenant Demientieff asked.
“May what?”
“Ask what your rank was at the Battle of Bou Saada?”
“Of course you may.” He winked at her. “I was a sergeant major.”
59
“The Dena Army has destroyed or captured two Russian tank groups, knocked down almost every Russian aircraft they’ve encountered, except for bombers, and more people are joining their side.” Georg Hepner leaned on the counter separating the two men.
“Where’s the Russian Army?” Kurt Bachmann demanded. “The real Russian Army?”
Hepner laughed. “I need something to drink, I’ve come a long way. Part of the army is massing on the Siberian side of Czar Nicholas Bridge, part is landing in St. Nicholas, and one wing of the Imperial Air Force and a tank battalion are staging out of Tetlin. The rest of the Russian military is beefing up their borders with other European and Asian countries.”
Bachmann sat a bottle of vodka and two glasses on the counter of his store and again sat on his stool. “So everything the Russians have in Alaska is around the edges of Dena country, nothing here in the center?”
Hepner filled his glass and drank half. “I haven’t been everywhere, so I can’t swear there aren’t Russian elements inside the country. But I’m good at asking the right questions and hearing what I need to know, and if the Russians have troops inside Alaska, they’re well hidden.”
“I didn’t think the damned Indians could get this far,” Bachmann said, sipping from his glass. “Did you find the Freekorps?”
“That’s what you paid me to do, that’s what I did.”
“Where are they?”
“Just across the BC border. But that’s only, what, a hundred and fifty men?”
Bachmann grinned. “A hundred and fifty accomplished, well trained soldiers right here could make a very large difference.” He smacked the bar top with his doubled fist.
Someone rattled the door.
“If the door’s locked it means we’re closed!” Bachmann bellowed. “Come back tomorrow.”
“Must be nice to own your own town,” Hepner said.
“There’s a lot of responsibility,” Bachmann said. “Keep the Cossacks paid off. Keep goods on the shelves. Make sure the damned Indians don’t go upriver to Tanana or down to Melosi to sell their game, furs, and crops.”
“But still, you’re like the king of Klahotsa. You got them all too scared to crap without your say-so.” Hepner grinned and tossed back the rest of his drink. He reached for the bottle but Bachmann had already returned it to the shelf behind him.
“I want you to get a good night’s rest. First thing in the morning you get back in your boat and go find Major Riordan and his Freekorps. Tell him I want to hire his boys for at least three months, and the sooner they can get here, the better.”
“They’re at least five days away, and they have vehicles, not boats.”
“That’s their problem. There is a road out there they can take, if they’re tough enough to get through the Dena.”
“I don’t think the Russians will be too keen on them using it, either.”
“Have them tell the Russian commanders that they’re working for me, the Russians will let them through.”
“This could take some time.”
Bachmann smiled. “As long as they arrive in time.”
60
Three weeks inched by unattended by conflict. The sudden absence of the enemy proved more worrisome than coping with solitary fighters or squadrons of gunships. Grisha sent out more and more scouts, posted double sentries, constantly anticipating the sudden appearance of another Russian armored column or more camouflaged ground troops.
Where were the Russians? Grisha wondered, reading the pamphlets the Dena propaganda department printed by the bale.
The Dena Army constantly worked on rebuilding Chena Redoubt. More recruits drifted in to be turned into soldiers and the bitter truth of February softened into the false promises of March.
Bodies recovered from the broken redoubt were placed in an unheated building to wait for thawed ground later in the year. For three weeks, four men worked from dawn to dusk building coffins. Unless hers was one of the unidentifiable charred bodies, Valari Kominskiya did not number among the dead.
Grisha chafed and worried at the interminable waiting. “Anything from the diplomatic front?” he asked Wing for the third time that morning.
“Same as yesterday—the Czar’s representative insists this is an internal matter for Russia to settle, and the NATO countries are saying it’s a revolution. We should be thankful that the Yanks, the First People’s Nation, and the Californians have such an independence-minded history.”
“There’s more to it than their history,” Grisha said, “I’ll give you odds on that.”
A truck roared up next to the building and labored in unmuffled cacophony for a long moment before shutting down. Doors slammed and Wing smiled over at Grisha. “I think we’ve got company.”
The door to the outer office slammed and a loud indistinct voice could be heard through the wall. Knuckles rapped briskly on the office door and Sergeant Major Tobias appeared.
“There’s a woman here to see you, colonel. She says to tell you she’s blue.” His eyebrows arched for a moment in disbelief and he whispered, “But she’s no more blue than I am, sir. Should I call the guard?”
Grisha and Wing burst into laughter and the sergeant frowned. Describing himself as a “clerical mercenary,” Sergeant Major Nelson Tobias had appeared at the front gate of Chena Redoubt a week before. With his expert assistance they put order to the command structure and the sergeant major became gatekeeper for both Wing and Grisha. The man was a military treasure but knew nothing about the Dena Republik or the Council.
“Her name is Blue Bostonman,” Grisha said once he could speak again.
“Do show her in, and treat her as if she were a general.”
With a muttered, “Very good, sir,” he disappeared and moments later Blue hurried through the door.
