Russian Amerika ra-1

by Stoney Compton

  “I want to get back to my command, as soon as possible.”

  Claude smiled. “Spoken like a true soldier.” He flopped in his chair.

  “I wish I could go home.”

  “You can arrange to have me flown north?”

  “I’ll try.” Claude picked up a telephone. “This is Ambassador Adams. I wish to arrange transport for Colonel Grigorievich back to the Dená Republik as soon as possible. Yes, thank you.” He replaced the phone.

  “Day after tomorrow.” Claude seemed pleased.

  “Why so long? It didn’t take them that long to pull me out of Alaska. Are they using all their aircraft for something else?”

  “Grisha, we are their guests. Two days is nothing in the greater scheme of things.”

  “Diplomatically perhaps, but a battle can be lost in a hell of a lot less time than that,” Grisha snapped.

  The door flew open and Andreivich rushed in. “Quick, turn on the radio,” the old scholar said, panting.

  Claude picked up a button-covered device and clicked it. The large speaker built into the wall immediately broadcast a voice, no static, no distortion; Grisha thought it sounded like the person speaking was in the room with them. The man seemed intoxicated.

  “…and I know that’s why your government is willing to help the Athabascans.” The man spoke with a Russian accent.

  “There’s more than minerals involved, Konni,” a Yankee voice said.

  “There is a people yearning to be free.”

  “What crap, James!” The Russian swallowed something and the smack of a glass being set on a table with undue force came though clearly.

  “We’re both adults here. Don’t give me grandmother tales. You couldn’t even deal with your own aboriginals; they ended up with enough land to double the size of your country. You’re after the gold, and the oil, and the silver, and the coal, and the lead, and the fish, and the whales—all of it—just like all the other NATO nations. And the Czar won’t give it up without a fight.”

  An entirely different voice broke in. “To repeat, this tape was obtained this morning. We have just learned that the Russian government pulled out of NATO negotiations on Russian America this afternoon and continues mobilizing on the disputed Dená border.”

  The announcer’s stentorious voice continued, “British Canada declared it will back the Russian government and has placed its military on red alert. Great Britain dispatched air and naval elements to North America within an hour of the Canadian announcement. Military forces in the United States have gone to red alert as a precaution.”

  “My God,” Claude whispered. “This is going to escalate into a continentwide war.”

  “This just in.” The man’s voice became even more somber. “The Confederate States has withdrawn its ambassadors from the U.S. and California, and has announced it will treat any foreign military craft violating its air space as hostile. The U.S. announced the departure of the 77th Airborne Division to aid the beleaguered Dená Republic.”

  “But what are the Russians doing?” Grisha screamed at the speaker. He turned to Claude. “You’ve got to get me back right now!”

  “I don’t know if I can, but I’ll try.” Claude picked up the phone, held it to his ear for a long moment, and then set it down. “It’s dead,” he said listlessly, “and I’ll bet the doors are locked from the outside.”

  Andreivich walked over and tugged on the knob, shrugged. Grisha felt despair wash over him. Claude glanced at both of them and then turned back to the radio.

  “We’ve been in worse prisons,” Andreivich said with a shrug, “and we have no Cossacks to deal with.”

  Despite himself, Grisha gave the old man a smile. “When we were at the prison camp, I thought you were stiff and sullen. Yet you can find something in this situation to feel good about. I wish I could.”

  “We still live,” Andreivich said crisply.

  Grisha nodded and turned to Claude, who sat transfixed by the radio.

  “Claude, you’ve been talking to all these people. Why did we go with the Californians if the United States is that interested in us? Haimish even gave his life in an attempt to help.”

  The ambassador didn’t take his eyes off the speaker. “Haimish was trying to tie us to the U.S. and the Californians beat him to the punch. They brought instant communications and a lot of weapons. Haimish only brought a few weapons and a lot of philosophy. We already had philosophy.”

  “But now the Yankees are sending paratroopers,” Grisha said softly,

  “and what are the Californians doing?”

  “I wish I knew, Grisha. I wish I knew.”

  66

  The Presidio, San Francisco, Republic of California

  “I don’t care if we’re with them or against them!” Colonel Bernard Jackson said to the officers around the mahogany table. “But we pulled Colonel Grigorievich out of his command and we have to get him back, now!”

  “May I remind the colonel,” a frosty-faced admiral said, “that he is the junior officer in the room and here only at our invitation and sufferance.”

  Benny forced himself to remain quiet. Telling this old windbag where to put it would only exacerbate the situation.

  “Be careful, Admiral Clyde,” a three-star R.O.C. Air Force general said, “…or he might throw you outside in the dead of winter.”

  Benny felt his face grow warm as the all the men and one woman present laughed. He realized there was nothing further to be gained here and stiffened to attention.

  “Colonel Jackson requests permission to leave, sir.”

  General of the Army Davidson waved him toward a chair. “Take a seat, Benny, we’re just getting started. In my opinion it took a lot of balls to do what you did, then admit it in front of a tribunal, and still walk away with your head and rank intact.”

  “Thank you, General. But Colonel Grigorievich was correct, I should have just shot the bitch rather than sink to her level. Not to mention that Grisha also wouldn’t be our de facto prisoner when he is urgently needed at home.”

  “He’s not a prisoner,” Admiral Ramona Clyde snapped. “He is a guest of the Republic of California. We’re going to give him military aid, for crissake.”

  Benny perked up. This was new.

  “Indeed, Admiral, when?”

  “That’s why you’re here, Colonel Jackson,” General Davidson said. “You know the situation up there, what should we send?”

  “Fighter wings, airborne troops, artillery, and armor, all with lots of ammunition, that should do it, General.”

  “You are aware that New Spain is moving troops and warships up from the south and British Canada is doing the same from the north, yes?” Admiral Clyde’s voice could quick-freeze a tree, Benny thought. “Not to mention that when we dispatch military personnel to Russian America we will be at war with them, too.”

  “Russia has a small but modern navy with which to threaten our shores. So what would you have us do, what should we keep here at home for defense?”

  “The fleet and the fleet air wings, Admiral. You could deploy the marines against the enemy land forces. I have heard many times from their very lips that one marine is worth five soldiers.” He shrugged and kept his smile hidden. “I should think that would do it nicely.”

  Color rose in the admiral’s cheeks. Marine General Louis Cole broke his silence with a near growl. “Is that a challenge, Colonel? Or are you making a joke?”

  “Only repeating what I’ve heard, General.”

  “Okay, enough of this screwing around,” General Burgett, the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said. “We’re sending the Third Airborne and the 117th Fighter Squadron. Do you want to head up a Special Forces unit and go with?”

  “Thank you, General.” Benny’s heart seemed about to burst through his dress jacket. “I’d love to do just that!”

  “Then get your ass out of here and have at, you’ve got eighteen hours.”

  67

  East of St. Anthony Redoubt, on
the Russia-Canada Highway

  Major Riordan of the International Freekorps spotted movement ahead and slapped the driver’s arm. The scout car stopped and Riordan peered through his binoculars.

  “It’s our motorcycle scout coming like there’s something chewing his ass. Alert the column.”

  The driver reached out and hand-cranked a siren for five seconds. Behind the scout car, the men in the two armored personnel carriers and the five trucks didn’t change in their aspect, but most of them woke up.

  The camouflaged motorcycle purred up to the car and the rider stopped and saluted.

  “Major, there’s a Russian unit bivouacked about a mile up the road.”

  “"How big a unit?”

  “Three medium tanks, three APCs, five trucks, and a scout car.”

  “Could you tell if they were special forces or regular army?”

  “Looked like regular army to me, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “What the hell are they doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “I didn’t ask, Major,” the man said with a laugh. “And they didn’t say.”

  “They see you?”

  “No. I smelled the smoke from their fires and hid the bike before reconnoitering on foot. They must not be expecting trouble, their sentries were playing cards.”

  “Good work, Sergeant Percy. Let your radio antenna free and put a white flag on it. But first take a break, I need to talk to the men.”

  “Yes, sir!” Sergeant. Percy saluted and rode back down the small column.

  “Duty Sergeant!” Riordan bellowed.

  A large man swung down out of the first truck. His face bore scars and a nose broken many times over. “Yes, Major Riordan?” he said and saluted the smaller man.

  “I want two pickets forward about two hundred yards. They are not to fire at anything until ordered.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Captain Flars dropped out of the lead APC. He saluted in the French manner and narrowed his eyes. “What have we, Major Riordan? Perhaps an engagement?”

  “Pass the word for assembly, Ren. We’re going to play nice and be friendly, until we see the lay of the land. At least until I whistle.”

  “We are going to engage the Russian Army?”

  “Now, Ren , don’t go all Gallic on me. We’re not going to do anything stupid, okay?”

  “Oui, mon Majeur!” He turned and shouted for assembly.

  68

  Chena Redoubt, April 1988

  Wing picked at her food and wondered what had happened to Grisha. For a week the Southern Army had heard nothing of its commander. Malagni stiffened the patrols, drilled the troops mercilessly, and stepped up training for the new recruits.

  If asked, she wouldn’t have been able to explain the feeling in her gut, or the nervous twitch that ruled her left eyebrow. She felt a wrongness that magnified in proportion to the length of his absence.

  In addition, two days ago Malagni went to Tanana to confer with the War Council and left her in charge. She shook her head and eased down on her cot. Maybe a nap would help.

  Quick steps paused at her door long enough for someone to rap once before pushing it open. Sergeant Major Tobias poked his head in, eyes on the floor.

  “Colonel Demoski, things are heating up.”

  “Come in, Sergeant Major,” she said, sitting up. “What’s the situation?”

  He closed the door and stood with his back to it.

  “What are the Russians doing?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  “There’s heavy fighting at Bridge and our scouts report a mechanized force moving toward us from St. Anthony.”

  “How large a force?” Here was the genesis of her anxiety, why her thusfar infallible intuition nagged at her. She pulled on her boots and grabbed her jacket—April could be capricious.

  “Big, at least twenty tanks and twice that many troop carriers, last I heard.”

  “Sound the alarm. I want everybody into their bunkers. I’m amazed we haven’t been hit by aircraft already.”

  “They’re afraid of our antiaircraft batteries,” Tobias said with a quick grin. “I’ll sound the alarm. By the way, we’ve intercepted radio transmissions from the south. The Canadians are building up their troops on the California border and we think they have launched a major offensive through the First People’s Nation into Minnesota in the United States.”

  “They must be madmen. Anything about California?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They have broken off diplomatic relations with Russia and said if the Czar’s forces attack the Dená, they’ll declare war.”

  “Let’s hope they aren’t just posturing.” She followed Tobias into the situation room. “I want an officers’ meeting in five minutes. Radio Colonel Malagni of our actions.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  From the roof a klaxon broke the arboreal silence.

  She paused at the radio room. Two women and a man sat at consoles with earphones clamped on their heads. All three scribbled madly on pads of paper. As they tore off the information-covered sheets a corporal collected them and hurried into the next room where a knot of people huddled around a map table.

  Wing followed the corporal, a second cousin from downriver, and asked the room at large, “So what’re they doing out there?”

  A large man Wing didn’t recognize straightened to attention.

  “We were just going to send for you, colonel. I’m Captain Lauesen, U.S. Army Intelligence. I’ve been seconded to your command and am honored to be here. I also brought two enlisted men who should arrive momentarily.”

  “Welcome, Captain, we need all the help we can get. What do we know?”

  “All hell’s breaking loose here in Alaska, as well as the rest of North America.”

  “Give me our situation first, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He cleared his throat and his face remained free of emotion. “Thirty Russian tanks are advancing from St. Nicholas at roughly forty-five kilometers per hour. Behind them are troop carriers, forty-five at the very least. Reports are still coming in from our scouts.”

  “How far out are they?”

  “There are some lead elements, three scout cars and a few motorcycles, ten klicks ahead of the rest who are approximately three hundred and fifty kilometers away. It will take them at least thirty hours to get here.

  “Much closer to home we have a three part battle group moving up from Tetlin Redoubt, some of their armor was already in St. Anthony, twenty tanks and forty trucks, which will hit us first, probably in less than two hours.”

  “They must not be too worried about mines and ambushes,” Wing said.

  “They have an advance force of rangers who are moving very fast. Our people have picked off about ten of them and we’ve lost five effectives.”

  “Two to one, not good enough,” she said.

  “To beat the numbers they’re sending against us, we need to make it eight to one,” he said with a nod.

  “What else?” A sudden numbness crept over her and she had to concentrate to make sense of his words.

  “Our 77th Airborne parachuted into St. Michael and, in concert with your Northern Defense Force, are engaging the enemy at Bridge. Mobile antiaircraft batteries are en route as we speak. There’s so much happening down south that the only way to follow it is chronologically.”

  He glanced down at the paper in his hand and pointed a long stick at the maps. “British Canadian armor has struck across the corner of the First People’s Nation, here”—he tapped the map—“and into the U.S., here. The town of Bemidji, Minnesota”—another tap—“is under siege. A second front at Detroit Lakes has bogged down and the town is under heavy artillery attack.”

  “Where are you from in the United States, Major?”

  “Iowa, ma’am, out west in ‘Confederacy Corner.’” His grin held no humor. “We’re east of the First People’s Nation and north of the Confederate States. We haven’t had trouble with the F.P.N. since we gave ’em back Kan
sas and signed the big treaty back in 1877. If anything they would be allies, but so far they’re just sittin’ quiet.”

  More of her officers hurried into the room and stopped to listen.

  “Will the United States lose to Canada?”

  “Not likely. Our borders have been beefed up for decades, waiting for this.”

  “What else is happening down there?”

  “Well, the Confederates are trying for a second win at Harrisburg, but our boys are holding without too much trouble since we aren’t using muskets this time.”

  “It seems that fighting a two-front war is the fashion these days,” Wing said.

  A few in the room laughed-brittle, edgy barks lacking humor and evading release.

  “Can anything down there change our situation one way or another?”

  “On our way here,” Captain Lauesen said, “Republic of California Air Defense told us to expect heavy friendly traffic from their direction. They didn’t elaborate.”

  The door crashed open.

  “What the hell is going on?” Malagni swept into the room, radiating energy. He glanced at Captain Lauesen, pinned Wing with his eyes. “Report, Colonel.”

  Great, he’s in crazy mode.

  “This is Captain Lauesen of the U.S. Army.”

  “Colonel,” Lauesen said with a nod.

  “He and the rest of us were assessing the situation, Colonel,” Wing said. “It seems all of North America is suddenly at war with itself.”

  “What’s our situation?” he asked with a nod to the captain.

  “The Russians are fielding enough men that we’re outnumbered eight to one,” Wing said. “To be truthful, I don’t know if we can hold them.”

  “Of course we can hold them!” Malagni’s teeth bared under glinting eyes and Wing wondered if he smiled or snarled. He pressed on.

  “Tanana Command is being beefed up by antiaircraft batteries from the U.S. and their new radar units show a large flight coming in from the R.O.C. All we gotta do is slow the damned Russians. Not that I would mind slaughtering every mother’s son of ’em!”