“We are—were crack tank group. Four days ago we disembark from ship which picked us up near Chinese border week before. We did not anticipate aircraft nor any other opposition.”
“You’re in a war zone, it isn’t like ‘San Diego-Day of Infamy’ or anything like that.”
“We were surprised, but nothing on the scale of your 1931 defeat, no.” Rudi grinned, which hurt. “But I was not aware of your country’s role in this insurrection.”
“This is our third day at war, so don’t feel bad about not getting the word. Where are you hurt?”
“Shorter list if you ask where I am not hurt.”
“Can you stand?”
“I don’t know. Will try.”
He pushed himself up and the pain level rose with him. Rudi leaned against the rock he had fallen from and tried to breathe without hurting. Never before in his life had he endured this much pain.
Stars danced through his head and blurred his vision. Sensation deserted him as darkness charged.
“Just what I need, an injured prisoner.” Jerry Yamato spat on a rock and finished adjusting the sergeant’s comatose form on the litter he had fashioned from the plentiful willows along the river.
His stomach growled and, as if in response, so did the sergeant’s. Food needed to be found, and soon. Jerry worked his eyes slowly over the terrain, hoping to see movement.
They had been relatively quiet for some time now. Perhaps game might be available.
The sergeant’s rifle was junk. The .45 slug had smashed the receiver and trigger mechanism. At the time, he had been aiming for the Russian’s head.
The man was probably going to die long before he could get him any medical help. The temptation to just shoot him and put him out of his misery passed through Jerry’s mind. He shuddered in revulsion, disgusted with himself.
“I’ve got to at least try and help him.”
He figured he was about a half mile from his parachute and harness. Dragging the sergeant that far shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Then the harness and chute would be of immeasurable help.
Bouncing the litter over the rocks, Jerry was glad the Russian had passed out. He was also making far too much noise if he wished to find game within a mile. Doggedly, he continued dragging the litter.
After twenty minutes by his own watch, he stopped and sagged onto the nearest boulder. He felt completely done in, and had yet to spy his cache. With extreme care he lowered the litter to the ground.
Yamato pulled himself onto the largest rock within three yards and looked for his harness marker. A glance over his shoulder gave him the wisping smoke from the wrecked Eureka and farther away the tendrils from the tanks as a gauge. Unless his memory was playing games with him, he should be on top of the cache.
He faced forward again and caught motion out of the corner of his eye. A quick step and he was sliding off the rock, turning to face the unknown and unholstering his .45 all at the same time. He landed beside the boulder with both feet spread wide, his elbows resting on the rock and his weapon pointed at… a frightened young woman?
Dressed entirely in soft leather molding to her voluptous curves, abundant dark hair framing her porcelain-fine features, she held his parachute bunched in her arms and stared at him like a frightened fawn.
“Who are you?” he asked, not lowering the pistol.
“Sm-small English,” she said. “Ruski?”
Jerry shook his head. He found her beauty disturbing. What was she doing out here all al—
A stunning blow knocked him against the boulder, turning his legs to jelly and his mind to star-speckled mush.
“Good work, Magda,” God said just before Jerry’s wits slipped into the void.
88
“I think he’s coming around, now, Colonel.”
Wing grinned despite herself. Her unexpected promotion to colonel was still new enough to feel disproportionately grandiose. She watched Grisha’s face as his eyes fluttered and finally opened.
He frowned at the ceiling.
“You’re in the hospital, Grisha,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t try to move, they have your leg in traction. The longer you stay quiet, the quicker they’ll let you out of here.”
He looked down at the sling and pulley arrangement in which the doctor had trapped him. “Pretty fancy. Where are we?”
“Tanana. The U.S. fixed up the old Russian military hospital.” Wing glanced around and sniffed appreciatively. “It actually looks, and smells, like a hospital now.”
She smiled down at him, wondering if he remembered asking her to marry him. “How do you feel?”
“Weak, and I don’t like it.” He frowned, looked up at her, and the frown slid away into a smile. “And in love. Pretty strange situation all the way around.”
She bent over and kissed him.
Grisha took a deep breath. “What’s the military situation?”
“We have both the Diomedes. The bridge still stands but we can vaporize it if the Russians try to use it for military purposes. All Russian units between the town of Bridge and Chena Redoubt have been neutralized or eliminated.”
“We’ve won the war?”
“Not quite. From what we can gather, there’s a massive Russian retreat toward St. Anthony Redoubt. Those are the guys we fought outside Chena.”
She gave him a moment to appreciate the victory. “There was a second column advancing over the Alaska Range from St. Nicholas, but the RCAF hit them with a fighter squadron—”
“The 117th?”
“Yes. And they not only destroyed the majority of the tanks and other armor, but they cut the road. The only threat we have to worry about from St. Nicholas is aircraft.”
“How many birds did the 117th lose?”
“Almost half their strength. Their commanding officer has been recommended for a posthumous Medal of Honor.”
“How can we ever repay them?” Grisha whispered.
“We will, don’t worry. There is also a column moving north from Tetlin, no idea as to strength.”
“What about the F.P.N column?” Grisha’s eyes seemed normal again.
“What F.P.N. column?” Wing wondered how he could have military intelligence that she didn’t.
“How long have I been in here?” He waved at the room.
“Since late last night. The Battle of Chena happened yesterday.”
He told her what he had seen from the transport. “From the air their column looked to be about five miles long.”
“I wonder if they’re going to claim all territory they take?” Wing said. “This could be a whole new problem.”
“Is the U.S. or the R.O.C. claiming anything they’ve fought for up here?”
Grisha’s mind was clear as ever, she thought. “No. But the U.S. and the Californians established a liaison with us before committing troops. The F.P.N. is just attacking.”
Grisha surveyed his left leg and the cat’s cradle of wires hooked to it. “How long do I have to be in here?”
“Two weeks, minimum, if you ever want to walk normally again. It was a worse break that they thought,
