ground. Leroy fired again and two more men dropped.
“Are we the only people left alive out here?” she yelled. The ground heaved and pieces of tundra and permafrost rained down on them. The tanks made deadly forward fire bases despite their inability to cross the river.
The Russian ground troops enfiladed the U.S. artillery positions and killed two crews. The last 105mm swiveled and put three rounds into the woods where the Russians had taken cover. One of the remaining Russian tanks zeroed in on the cannon and hit it with its second shot.
Wing searched the firing pit and found two more rockets. She tried to load and discovered the launcher had been smashed by a bullet.
“Damn!” She grabbed one of the heavy automatic weapons, leaned it on the edge of the firing pit. Wing squeezed the trigger and the stock slammed against her shoulder like a string of hard punches. Her teeth clenched as she concentrated on putting the rounds where she wanted them.
She hit four of the camouflaged attackers and the rest took cover.
“How many are there, Leroy?” When he didn’t answer, she glanced over to find him on his back with a surprised expression across his face, eyes turned up as if trying to see the bullet hole in his forehead.
Smolst pushed himself up and pulled Leroy’s weapon from his dead hands.
“Help me get this on the edge of the hole,” he said, breathing heavily.
She grabbed the tripod and lifted it to the rim as Smolst crawled up behind the weapon. He fired a long burst.
The ground lurched again and debris bounced around the firing pit. Smolst and his weapon fell heavily on top of a dead trooper. The major lay there, panting, and Wing realized he was going into shock.
A lassitude washed over her like a warm tide as she realized they would die alone out here. Her determination to take as many as possible of the Czar’s fools with her didn’t diminish—she just stopped being careful.
Bullets spattered around their position and she knew one or more flankers were trying to pin her down while others advanced. She popped up and squeezed the trigger while moving the muzzle from side to side. Three more men went down before the others, so many others, dropped from sight.
Gunfire chattered from her right and left and she spared quick peeks to see that some of her people were still in the fight. She and Smolst wouldn’t die alone. A round whined past her head and she involuntarily ducked as others followed.
Wing slammed in a fresh banana clip and popped up again, spraying the advancing enemy while cursing them in Athabascan.
76
As he lay on his cot trying to rest, Malagni heard the thunder of artillery. He was halfway out his door when Sergeant Major Tobias trotted up.
“The Russians are blowing the fortifications to pieces, Colonel. Colonel Demoski’s people will never hold them.”
“So much for Plan A!” Malagni hurried down the hall, calculating madly.
“Saddle up the reserve force. No sense in waiting for them to hit us here.”
“Very good, Colonel.” Tobias ran down the hall.
Malagni stopped in his office, grabbed a machine pistol, and put spare clips in his dungaree pockets. He looped a cord around his axe and tied it to his belt to keep it from flopping if he had to run.
Somewhere in this army his little brother, Nik, was preparing for this battle. Malagni had already lost one brother to the damned Russians and the spirits indicated the Russians would get him, too. He fervently hoped Nik would make it through.
Malagni felt the presence of Slayer-of-Men. “I’ll avenge their treachery, brother!” he said to the room. “It’s a good day to die.”
He looked at his U.S.-supplied helmet and grinned. Let the rest of the Dena Army use them, he wasn’t a soldier anyway—he was a warrior! He hurried out into the courtyard.
The artillery barrage overwhelmed all other sound.
A wave of elation swept over him. “Are you ready to fight?” he screamed at them.
“Yes!” they roared back.
“Then let’s kill Russians!” Malagni jumped into the command car. Sergeant Major Tobias grinned from behind the wheel.
“I thought you were a pencil pusher, Tobias.”
“I earned my stripes in the field, Colonel. I wouldn’t miss this donnybrook for love nor money.”
Malagni gave him a wide grin. “Then carry on, Sergeant Major, carry on.” He threw back his head and screamed his war cry.
They tore through the gate with the entire garrison following.
77
Bear Crepov cradled his Kalashnikov and trotted behind the ranger unit along the bank of the Chena. The Siberian Tigers had thrown a “hurry-up” bridge across the water a half kilometer upstream from the highway. These troopers seemed to know what they were doing. Not a Cossack among them.
They arrived at the bridge and a guard waved them across the three-tree bridge. No chatter vied with the brutal cacophony of the artillery.
Across the river without incident and into the trees, the rangers kept up the pace and Bear began to feel his years and habits weighing on him. He gritted his teeth and maintained speed.
He wasn’t going to let these kids show him up.
The barrage ceased. The silence felt unnatural. The ranger captain pumped his right arm twice and they increased speed.
Bear’s breath came in hard gasps now. He couldn’t do this much longer. Small-arms fire broke out ahead of them.
Bullets whined past, thwacked into trees. One punched into the man ahead of Bear. The ranger whuffed and fell to his knees.
Bear stopped beside him, not to help or out of concern, but because it gave him an excuse to rest for a moment.
The soldier turned his camouflage-painted face to Bear, tried to speak. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell on his face. More bullets ricocheted through the forest and Bear sat down next to the soldier and leaned against a tree.
The firefight heated up. Bear waited until his breathing returned to normal; then pushed himself to his feet.
He trotted toward the sound of battle.
