Alaska Republik-ARC

by Stoney Compton

Delta, Russian Amerika

  Moans of pain, the unusual sound of a man openly crying, and constant movement swirled around the operating table in the middle of the ancient cabin.

  “Put your hand right there and push down,” Bodecia ordered.

  The sweaty, blood-soaked, young Russian corpsman pushed down on the mangled thigh of the wounded soldier. The steady spurt of blood reduced to a dribble and Bodecia poured fresh, hot water over the wound and cleaned it as best she could. She packed the wound with sphagnum and wrapped it tightly with a bandage ripped from a sheet.

  “Tape that down,” she said, moving to the next, and last, casualty.

  ***

  Whistles out in the forest just before midnight told Bodecia what to expect. With practiced ease she had slipped from her cell and made her way to the mercenary hospital tent. The guard thought all threat would come from the forest.

  When she moved up behind him with the rock held in both hands, he didn’t even look around when she bumped the tent.

  “That you, Felix?”

  She fervently hoped the blow didn’t kill him, but she knew it would keep him out of the coming battle. A small battery lantern glowed inside the large tent and she immediately moved to Pelagian’s side.

  “Wake up, my husband, we are leaving this place.” She pinched his nostrils together and in a moment his eyes popped open.

  “Wha—”

  Her hand pressed over his mouth and she repeated her words.

  “I’m so hungry,” he whispered.

  She produced a strand of squaw candy and while he chewed, she moved over to Rudi.

  “Sergeant, wake up.”

  “I woke when you entered the tent,” he said in a soft voice. “Is it all going to start now?”

  “Yes,” she said and smiled. “Did you hear the birds calling?”

  “Other than owls and loons, birds don’t call at night. I thought it might be a message for you.”

  “A message for us. Come on, get up, we need to get out of this camp.”

  “What about the guards?”

  “They’re not going to see us. Please help me with Pelagian.”

  Rudi moved slowly but didn’t seem to be in pain. Pelagian was close to his old self.

  “I’m fine, Bodecia, you don’t have to hold me up.”

  “Good. Now humor me and hang onto my arm.”

  The trio moved to the door of the hospital. Bodecia motioned for both men to stop. She pulled a small battery light out of her pocket and flashed it three times towards the dark forest.

  A single light flashed once and then something in the mercenary motor pool exploded.

  “That’s our cue, gentlemen. Head for the trees where you saw that light.”

  In less than a minute they traversed the gulf from prisoner to citizen without so much as a shout being raised against them. But pandemonium reigned on the far side of the camp. Weapons of every caliber seemed to be firing as fast as possible.

  “So good to see you folks!” Doyon Frank Isaac yelled as they met under the foliage. “Does anyone need help, support, wheelchair?”

  “Just get us to the rear, please,” Bodecia said. “I know it’s going to get wicked lively over here very soon.”

  “I have just the guide for you,” Frank said with a wide grin.

  Magda appeared out of the gloom and hugged her mother and father at the same time.

  “Oh, I was so worried about you!” both women said in unison.

  “Where’s the lieutenant?” Pelagian asked.

  “Over with the people creating the diversion. You’ll see him later.”

  Heightened gunfire tore the air along with more explosions.

  “Let’s go,” Magda said. “We have a support camp and field hospital set up for the wounded.”

  ***

  Bodecia laid her hand on the last casualty, a young Russian private whose head was all but hidden by his field dressing. She couldn’t find a pulse.

  “Private, are you still with me?”

  No answer. She pulled off the bandage and realized he had probably died soon after being hit. They lost more troops than anticipated, but they had pulled the Freekorps’ teeth.

  Over the past four hours Bodecia had taped, sewn and patched up three-dozen fighters. Four of them were women and over two thirds of the wounded were Russian. She felt confused by Frank’s alliance with Romanov. They were Dená; weren’t the Russians the real enemy?

  She stepped out into the cool dawn, leaned against the wall of the building and sank to a sitting position. Given more than a minute of silence, she would have fallen asleep.

  “Jesus, man, I sure wasn’t ready for them guys to shoot hell out of the forest.”

  “Yeah, Arkady and Vitus were right next to me and the bullets just tore ’em apart.”

  Sixteen dead didn’t sound like a lot, she thought. Except when you knew every one of them. And we’re not even fighting Russians.

  “Mother, are you okay?”

  She looked up at her beautiful daughter.

  “I’m fine, Magda, just very tired.”

  “I thought that might be the case. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  She let Magda help her to her feet and through the brightening day they walked down a familiar street. Her mother and grandmother had walked through this very same dust, yet this morning it all looked different.

  “How is Lieutenant Yamato?”

  “He’s fine. He’s sleeping. William said he fought like a demon last night.”

  “You like that young man, don’t you?”

  “He is a man, not a boy, Mother. Yes, I hold him in very high regard.”

  “I already know what he thinks of you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I watched his eyes when he looked at you.” Bodecia smiled at her daughter. “All I’m going to say is this: you don’t really know him yet. But in the greater sum of things that might not matter.”

  “So far I like everything about him. But I told him I couldn’t think about him and me until you and father were rescued.”

  “He agreed to that?”

  “Instantly. He’s not stupid or full of himself like, like other people I’ve known.”

  Bodecia’s smile didn’t get beyond her eyes as she mentally supplied names for both categories.

  “I know he’s not like us; he has Asian and Californian ancestry…”

  “Magda, race is not a consideration here. Your father is part Irish, African, and Danish. I am Athabascan and New England Yankee.”

  “As I said, he’s not like us.”

  “Does this fact bother him?”

  “I don’t think so, Mother.”

  “Then drop the subject. It’s not worth your time or consideration.”

  “You don’t have any problem with his ethnicity?”

  “Was there some portion of ‘drop the subject’ that you didn’t understand?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Bodecia stopped and considered. Magda hadn’t used “ma’am” since she was nine years old. She held out her hand and stopped her daughter.

  “Magda, look at me. I’m on your side. I know you well enough that if you decide to do something, you have thought it out in all its complexity.

  “I trust you and I love you. You do what you think is right. But I reserve the right to geld any man who hurts you in any way. Agreed?”

  Magda’s beautiful grin broke across her face and she hugged Bodecia tightly.

  “Agreed, Mother. Agreed.”

  33

  St. Anthony Redoubt, Russian Amerika

  “Doyon Isaac, I have received messages that our forces at Chena, at the Battle of Chena, that is, that the Russian Army is falling back in some confusion.” Colonel Romanov sat at his desk and stared at the man seated across from him. “This puts me in a unique situation, which I’m sure you can appreciate.”

  “Are they counting on you for reinforcement or rescue?”

  “No. They know we are
a small garrison. They have inquired about Taiga 10, but I already made a full report regarding the International Freekorps and our temporary alliance.”

  “And their response was…”

  “Forceful, anticipated, and completely out of touch with the reality of the situation.” He smiled briefly. “They mentioned the possibility of a court-martial.”

  “Have you answered them?”

  “No. First I wanted to talk to you about options.”

  “Options. You have a small command, yes. But you are on the only road between British Canada and Russia. A defeated Russian army is coming from the northwest and, if my intelligence is correct, there’s an armored column between here and Tetlin headed northwest, and all are going to arrive here eventually. You will soon be knee-deep in reinforcements and all spoiling for a fight. What option do you have other than to wait for all of them to arrive?”

  “We fought together well last night,” Romanov said. “The mutual support bordered on extraordinary, and we accomplished our mission. Your intelligence is correct, a column is headed northwest from Tetlin Redoubt.”

  “But?” Doyon Isaac said.

  “I have been ordered to apprehend all members of the Dená Separatist Movement in my district and hold them for interrogation.”

  “Have you identified any?” Doyon Isaac smiled.

  Romanov smiled back. “I have some suspicions, but no proof. But to be honest, I have no interest in following those orders.”

  “Court-martial aside, don’t they shoot people for not following orders?”

  “Only if they can prove it.”

  “It sounds to me as if you are limiting your own options, Colonel.”

  “Perhaps. I have been following the battle reports closely and it seems obvious that Russia is losing this war. Perhaps St. Petersburg isn’t willing to risk more troops in Alaska for whatever twisted political rationale, and is prepared to cut her losses.

  “Obtaining military assistance from North Amerikan countries was a brilliant stroke. I believe that in a very short time the Dená Republik will be recognized by the entire world. The Imperial Russian Army will soon be leaving Alaska.”

  “Well, this part of it,” Doyon Isaac said. “I’m not sure what will happen in St. Nicholas or farther south in Tlingit country.”

  “I believe it is inevitable that the Czar will relinquish all claims in North Amerika. The sentiments which provoked this war are also being heard in the Russian Far East; people are tired of being subjugated.”

  “So, your options boil down to what?”

  “I wish to stay here. There is nothing in Russia for me, hasn’t been for over a decade.”

  Doyon Isaac finally looked surprised. “I see. If the Imperial Command hears about this, they won’t bother with a court-martial, they will summarily execute you.”

  “Only if they are in control of the situation when they arrive. I have talked to my officers and noncoms. Those who did not accept my way of thinking have already headed southeast toward the Tetlin column.”

  “Your way of thinking being…?”

  “I, and the remainder of my command, wish to join the Dená Republik. If you’ll have us.”

  Doyon Isaac, grinning from ear to ear, sprang from his chair and grabbed the colonel’s hand.

  “Welcome! You are all so very welcome!”

  34

  St. Anthony Redoubt

  “This is Dená Southern Command, Delta One, we read you, over.”

  Jerry stared at the microphone, wondering why he suddenly feared communicating with his command. He suppressed the thought and pressed the send button.

  “This is First Lieutenant Jerry Yamato, Republic of California Air Force. Are there any representatives from my unit there?”

  “ROCAF? I thought you guys all flew away a long time ago, but then I don’t get out much.”

  “I was shot down in action over Rainbow Mountain.”

  “Oh, you’re that guy! Wait one second, please.”

  Jerry looked around the Russian radio room. A beefy sergeant with two-inch gold, double-headed, crowned eagles equally separating the six gold chevrons on his arm watched him closely. “What ‘guy’ is that?” he asked in a voice laced with frost.

  Jerry tried to smile. “They probably mean the one who was shot down and lived to tell about it.”

  “This makes you famous, da?”

  “Damned if I know. I’ve been out—”

  “Yamato, is that really you?” Even through the static Jerry recognized the voice.

  “Fowler?”

  “Yep, that’s you all right. Where you at?”

  “Delta, St. Anthony Redoubt. Is the whole squadron there in Chena?”

  “I’m not in Chena and I can’t say where we are; the Russians are probably listening. St. Anthony Redoubt! Are you a prisoner?”

  “Negative, but for the same reasons I can’t get into specifics. Is the skipper there, too?”

  Fowler’s voice instantly lost its exuberance. “Jerry, the skipper bought the farm in that attack. So did Christenson, DeForest, and Barton. Major Shipley is the skipper now. He recommended Major Hurley for the Medal of Honor.”

  Jerry’s eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. Major Hurley had represented everything good about the officer corps. He never told you where to go, he led you.

  “Who was it that flew over me the other day, dropped the message?”

  “Major Shipley, Currie, and Kirby. They said you were with a good-looking woman. How’d you pull that off?”

  “You know my animal magnetism. I’ll tell you about it when I get back. There’s a field here; can you guys arrange a pickup?”

  A different voice suddenly boomed from the speaker. “Lieutenant Yamato, this is Major Shipley. I’m glad you’re still with us.”

  “So am I. Good to hear your voice, Major.”

  “They’re telling me we have to cut this short, so here’s the deal. For the time being I need you right where you’re at, to act as liaison and, if it comes to that, forward spotter.

  “You people have a large Russian force running north up the RustyCan to bite you in the butt. We’ll give you all the air support we can, but that’s about it.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “You’re a good man, Jerry, and I know you’ll uphold the honor of the air corps.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jerry stiffened his spine and nearly saluted the speaker. The carrier wave dropped into total static.

  “Welcome to the infantry, Lieutenant,” the sergeant major said with an evil grin. “The colonel wishes to see you now.”

  Jerry noticed the headquarters building consisted of a variety of gray stone. The dark gray stone floor bore hundreds of scuff marks with stolid endurance. Medium gray walls, broken with elusive splashes of color in military posters, remained otherwise unforgiving and impermeable.

  The colonel’s door, at least, was dark brown oak. Jerry knocked on it twice, and then waited.

  “Enter,” said a loud voice rigid with authority, never doubting instant compliance on the part of the listener.

  Jerry opened the door and stepped into a comfortable office decorated with lace curtains; an oriental rug covered most of the stone floor, and the colonel rose to his feet behind a beautiful cherrywood desk.

  “First Lieutenant Gerald Yamato reporting as ordered, sir.” He gave him the best salute he owned.

  The colonel stiffened to attention and returned the salute. He smiled and gestured to a chair on front of Jerry.

  “Please sit, Lieutenant Yamato, enjoy being off your feet while you can. I am Colonel Stephan Romanov, late of the Imperial Russian Army. Even though a number of my men and I have joined the Dená Republik Army, I have been left in nominal command of our little band of volunteers.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jerry said, waiting for the real reason he was here.

  Romanov smiled. “I understand that you are new to the area, flew in from California?”

  “Flew most of the way, wa
lked the rest.”

  Romanov laughed far more than the situation warranted. After a few moments of deep breaths, he said, “Thank you, Lieutenant, I needed to laugh at something.”

  Jerry had remained deadpan throughout. “You’re welcome, sir.”

  “We’re faced with overwhelming odds. I’m sure you’ve been told we have the remnants of an angry, defeated army coming at us from the north and a fresh, fully complemented army of retribution coming at us from the south. Unless we fade into the bush, where the remains of a band of pissed-off mercenaries still lurk, we have nowhere to go.”

  “What is your plan, sir?”

  “Who said I had a plan?”

  “You and Doyon Isaac did great quite recently. I know, I was there.”

  “Yes, so I heard. In fact you showed great courage leading the infiltrators and sappers. If I was still in the Russian army I would decorate you for your actions.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jerry felt a wave of astonishment sweep over him; the colonel actually meant it!

  “No, I thank you. I need your help again: what should we do here and now?”

  “I’m a first lieutenant from another nation’s military; I don’t even know the country. Why are you asking me?”

  “For some of the same reasons you just mentioned as well as the fact that you are a warrior. Perhaps I was at one time, but for the past eleven years I have been an administrator.”

  “Have you spoken to Doyon Isaac about this?”

  “Yes, he recommended you as an advisor.”

  “Oh.” Jerry thought for a moment. He had sorted things out, but he needed to put them in the right order. “We need reconnaissance, on the ground and in the air. Do you still have aircraft?”

  “We have a Sikorsky helicopter, which is almost repaired, and an old Grigorovich fighter.”

  “A Grigorovich. How old is it?”

  “I think it was built in the late ’40s.”

  “Does it fly?”

  “Beautifully. But our last fighter pilot left three years ago and our drunk—our helicopter pilots won’t touch it.”

  “Does it still have armament?”

  “A 20mm cannon on each wing and 7.62mm machine gun in each wing root. Our mechanics have kept it in perfect condition, as a pastime more than a duty. They run the engine up each month just to keep it functional. Have you flown such a plane?”