the man seemed uninterested, lethargic.
“Pass my request on to High Command before resuming your nap!” He slammed the microphone down. “Where are they?”
Sergeant Cermanivich, his gunner, pointed up the mountain. “I predict they will come from there, Colonel.”
“Another five minutes of attacking from below and we’d have killed them all.”
“I don’t know what kept that wounded plane in the air,” Cermanivich spat over the side of the tank and flexed his hands before again grabbing his machine gun. “I think I hit the son of a bitch a hundred times myself.”
“We’re in a bad spot here, Rudi, shoot straight—”
“There!” Sergeant Cermanivich’s twin thirties blasted up at the onrushing aircraft.
“Fire!” Lazarev bellowed. The 150mm cannon fired an antiaircraft shell, which passed the first planes completely before detonating. Bullets splanged off the side of the tank.
The three leading aircraft fired rockets.
“Take cover!” Lazarev shrieked, dropping into the hull.
The tank rocked with the multiple explosions but the terrified crew detected no breach in their armor. More explosions went off and a shower of debris from two directions rang against the tank.
“They keep missing us,” Cermanivich observed.
Lazarev peered through the periscope but could see nothing but scenery.
“To hell with this.” He stood and opened the hatch, cautiously peered over the rim.
The tank behind them burned like a bonfire in autumn. He turned and looked up the mountain, and his heart lurched. A boulder twice the size of his tank had been blasted from the mountainside and tumbled down, coming to rest against the side of the road, less than a meter from the left track.
Who knew how long it would stay there? But for the moment it was a perfect wall against the R.O.C fighters. Abruptly he scrambled out.
“Come on, Rudi, we have work to do. Ivanivich, reload the gun with another antiaircraft shell.”
“Yes, Colonel,” the burly Georgian bellowed, grabbing a shell.
“Rudi, I’ll tell you when they’re almost on top of us. Blow them out of the air when they go over.” Lazarev stood on the turret and peered over the top of the boulder. “Get ready, here they come.”
Major Hurley whipped his P-61 down to hug the mountainside again. Only eleven of them were still in the fight. Barton, in the second wave of fighters down the mountain, had run right into an anti-aircraft shell. He crashed into the mountain and his plane exploded, blowing a huge boulder down the steep slope. At first Hurley thought the lieutenant was going to score a posthumous kill, the boulder tumbled straight at the leading tank—and stopped at the slightly elevated edge of the road, creating a perfect barrier for the Russian.
The fight was not one-sided. Four of the tanks behind the leader had become incinerators for crew members who hadn’t moved quickly enough. Sixteen tanks still fought for their lives.
Seven of the fifteen armored personnel carriers would never operate again and all but one of the ten troop carriers burned brightly. The valley provided a natural draft, pulling the smoke away from the battle site, thereby awarding the fighters a clear view of their targets.
Two bullet holes in the Plexiglas of Hurley’s canopy and the absence of part of his left wing flap attested to the skill of the Russian gunners. He didn’t want to know what the rest of his bird looked like. Not that it mattered, he was still in the air.
“We have to stop these guys,” he grated over his radio, “or our Indian buddies are so much meat.”
Christenson now flew on his left wing and had accelerated to pull twenty feet ahead of Hurley. They both fired their cannons at the huge rock but it absorbed their efforts. They zoomed over the protected tank and fire laced the entire length of Christenson’s Eureka.
“Oh, shit, Ben! That son of a bitch got me!” Fire suddenly engulfed the aircraft and, as Hurley watched in horror, it exploded.
Tears abruptly pooled in his goggles and he tore them off to dry his eyes with his sleeve. They had flown together for seven years. Mike had been his best man when he married Jenny, and ended up bedding her best friend, the maid of honor, the same evening. You never knew what he was going to do next. He’d made captain twice and was busted back to lieutenant both times for crazy stunts, mostly involving women and alcohol.
He took a deep breath. No time for this now. They had a battle to win.
He went into a tight turn and came back at the road from the valley side. Two tank turrets turned and fired flak shells at him. Ten machine guns clawed after him and he thought this might be his last pass.
He wanted the leader, whose turret now swiveled to fire point blank. One of the flak rounds exploded directly under
Then he saw it; the mammoth boulder supporting the road with the lead tank right there on top of it. A scree field gave mute testimony that the roadbed wasn’t solid here, but built up. The plane dropped slightly, not his doing.
The lead tank fired and the shell burst ahead and above him, shredding his cockpit, and him, with burning bits of razor-sharp metal. His last act aimed the plane at the base of the mammoth boulder.
“Jenny, I’m so sorry.” She smiled at him and opened her arms.
“Beautiful shot, Ivanivich!” Lazarev screamed. “You got him, he’s going down. Save your ammo, Rudi, he’s going to hit the side of the mountain.” Lazarev stood to peer over the rock again and heard the enemy plane explode downslope behind him.
The turret suddenly dipped beneath him and he fell onto the machine gun. “What the hell—”
“The road is collapsing,” Rudi blurted.
Before they could react, the road dropped away under them. The tank fell, tumbling over, crushing Lazarev and throwing Rudi into the void before continuing its roll, crushing the three screaming crew members to death with their own ammunition. The huge protective boulder obligingly rolled after them.
Men and equipment filled two of the five switchbacks below them. The growing avalanche picked up speed and widened, taking out six operational tanks on the first switchback and everything on the second. Only on the tight curves were there still living Russians, and their machines would stay there until the road was rebuilt at some point in the future; the men would have to walk out—if they could.
Captain Shipley surveyed the devastation and took notes on his knee pad. Ben Hurley had been a personal friend and he wanted the recommendation for his Medal of Honor to be as complete as possible. Then he and the remaining seven fighters headed north.
79
Malagni viewed the battle through his binoculars as Tobias bounced them along in the command car. A young soldier hung onto the .30 caliber machine gun mounted in the back. They couldn’t go into battle without a man on the gun.
Malagni spoke into his headset. “Tanks, spread out and commence firing at the Russian side of the Chena. No short rounds or I’ll have your ass!”
He saw the Dena fire into the woods, peered through the binoculars at their targets. “Sweet baby Jesus, Tobias. They got Russian troops on their flank.” He spoke into his microphone, “We need infantry on the left flank up there. Now!”
Malagni watched the Russian troops, noted their expert deployment and discipline, much better than their regular army.
As he watched, more Russians emerged from the woods. New guys, different uniforms, maybe they were not as experienced. Many of them fell to Dena fire before the rest stopped their rush and took cover.
“That way, Sergeant Major!” Malagni pointed at the Russian-filled woods. He twisted around and shouted at the young Athabascan on the machine gun. “When you think you can reach them, knock the shit out of them!”
