Alaska Republik-ARC

by Stoney Compton

  “Exactly where?” Grisha fought a sense of bewilderment.

  Why did the First People’s Nation send an armored column into Dená territory?

  “They’re about six miles outside of Delta.” Major Lauesen waited for a beat and then continued, “Conflict outside Alaska has been intense and devastating to the units involved. The Republic of California declared war on Japan, as did the Kingdom of Hawai’i.”

  “I thought the Japanese attacked Kodiak,” Wing said in a puzzled tone.

  “And Sitka,” Lauesen said with a nod. “They destroyed the Kodiak Naval Station but lost a destroyer at Sitka and have withdrawn all naval elements from Alaska, except for an Imperial Marine battalion they abandoned on Kodiak.”

  “Why did they do that?” Grisha asked.

  “The Republic of California Marine Corps parachuted a brigade into interior Kodiak and ambushed the Japanese marines advancing on the town of Kodiak from the rear. The battle has yet to end, but the Japanese have no hope of winning that one.”

  “What else, Major Lauesen?” Wing bit off each word.

  “Yes, let’s get back to the rest of the world,” he said blithely. “The reason Russia has largely ignored us here in Alaska is—”

  “Ignored!” Wing snapped. “We’ve fought with everything and everyone we had!”

  “No argument, Colonel. But my government anticipated a much larger war here. The Imperial Russian government sent token forces compared to what she had at her disposal.”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve thought all along,” Grisha said. “I kept waiting for the real attack to begin.”

  “It won’t. That charade they perpetuated on you down in California paid huge dividends.”

  “My trial?” Grisha said through a grin.

  “Yeah. The Russians didn’t think the Dená would actually pull you out of a field command to answer criminal charges. They planned to use your non-appearance as propaganda against both the ROC and the USA for supporting a criminal rebellion.”

  “How would that really help them?” Grisha suspected there had been more to the situation than he had been told.

  “Alliances in Europe were changing on a daily basis. The situation in the rest of North America hinged on European alliances. Russia lost political face when she had to withdraw her charge, not to mention your performance garnered high praise from most of the members present.”

  “I’ll bet I can name the unimpressed ones,” Grisha said, relishing the moment.

  “I suspect you’re correct. The CSA halted hostilities with the USA; they were losing anyway. Texas and New Spain are negotiating yet another border, which has been a typical Texan thing to fight about ever since they left the CSA over New Mexico back in 1852.”

  “Stay on subject, Major,” General Eluska said with a hint of a smile.

  “Right!” He flipped a page in his small notepad. “All saber rattling in Europe has ceased with the understanding that no more European troops would be sent to North Amerika, forestalling an arms race that would bankrupt all involved.”

  “We’re like one of those little soldier pieces in that game you like, aren’t we?” Wing asked, staring into Grisha’s face.

  “Yes, my love, we were nothing more than a pawn to most of the world. But we are a very fortunate pawn.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Major Lauesen said.

  “Those airplanes?” Wing prompted.

  “They are called jets. They don’t have a propeller. Don’t ask me how they work because I don’t know, probably magic. The Japanese are openly using them, as is the Republic of California.”

  “What about the USA?” Grisha asked.

  “Ours are still a military secret,” Lauesen said with a laugh.

  “Which brings us to politics,” Blue said. “Dená politics.”

  “Just when I was starting to relax,” Grisha said. He noticed that Major Lauesen had pulled Sergeant Major Tobias off to one side and was speaking earnestly into his cocked ear.

  “And I’m part of that, too, General,” Waterman Stoddard said. He glanced at Blue and added, “President Roubitaux is trying to steal the constitutional convention.”

  ***

  “It was my understanding we were here to report on our meeting with the Tlingit Nation Army, Mr. President,” Grisha said, staring into Nathan’s eyes, “not to dispense justice or right civilian wrongs.”

  “We will get to your report in good time, General Grigorievich, but I feel it is imperative to inform you that a schism has developed in our cause and threatens all of the Dená Republik.”

  “Politically, but not militarily, Mr. President?”

  “It could lead to military action, General.”

  “May I have a word in private, Mr. President?”

  Nathan, caught flatfooted, opened his mouth but said nothing for a quarter minute. Grisha could almost see wheels spinning in the man’s head.

  “Of course, General.” Nathan stood and indicated a door in the corner of the room.

  Grisha opened the door and interrupted an intense embrace between a female staff sergeant and a male corporal. “You’re both dismissed. Go somewhere else for that.”

  They fled and Nathan came through the door, his face like thunder. As soon as the door shut, he rounded on Grisha.

  “You’re siding with the Village Faction, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not siding with anyone, Mr. President. Why are you?”

  “There seems to be a lot of people out there who do not fully understand the situation. They could endanger the constitutional process, make us look like fools in the eyes of the world.”

  “The world already thinks we’re fools for fighting Mother Russia. Why worry now?”

  “Don’t be clever with me, Grisha! This is serious business.”

  “Getting shot at isn’t serious business, Nathan? I think you’ve forgotten that a lot of people have died to keep you in the position to which you seem to have become accustomed.”

  Nathan had the good sense to back off, let the pomposity fall from his features and continue in a more contrite voice.

  “Of course. Getting shot at is about as serious as it gets. I apologize if you feel I was denigrating anyone’s service or sacrifice.”

  He is really smooth! Grisha thought. I almost believed that.

  “Not to worry,” Grisha said. “But I must tell you that a great many people are of the opinion that you are out to steal the election.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “To load it with people you have picked. This has to be a democratic process, Nathan, or everything we have done is wasted.”

  “Have you met Gennady Ustinov?” The sneer in his tone was unmistakable. “He’s a storekeeper in Old Crow who thinks he understands the whole political landscape of the Dená Republik.”

  “Maybe he understands that you believe you invented it?”

  “And thou, Brutus!”

  “Don’t throw your university education at me, Nathan. I’m too damned tired to give a shit. And don’t give me that old ‘you’re either with me or against me’ stuff, because it isn’t true.

  “But I do want you to remember that I took an oath, one that you administered, to serve the Dená Republik to the best of my abilities. And I plan to do just that—serve the Republik, not you personally.”

  “Thank you for being so candid, General Grigorievich. I appreciate it.”

  Before Grisha could respond, Nathan hurried back into the Council Chamber.

  “Lunchtime, folks!” he called out as he went through the front door without slowing or looking at anybody else.

  89

  6 miles east of Delta

  Magda and Pelagian sat in the back of the scout car as Major Smolst drove them and Colonel Buhrman toward the three tanks blocking the road. She held a machine gun with the barrel pointed forward and up. They could easily see the Kiowa war shield displayed on the tank hulls, even though the paint was pitted and dusty.

&n
bsp; They had already passed at least three squads of soldiers. Many of them wore feathers and other bird and animal parts in their hair. Considering that all of them also wore camouflage battle dress it made for an interesting ride.

  From between the tanks three men walked toward the scout car.

  “That’s Yukon Cassidy!” Pelagian said as he hopped over the side of the car and hurried toward them. He grabbed the shortest of the three and they hugged, slapped each other on the back and danced in a circle all at the same time. Pelagian towered over his friend by more than a foot.

  “I take it they’ve met before,” Colonel Buhrman said with a grin.

  “They’ve been friends for over twenty years,” Magda said. “Cassidy is one of those people you either hate or love. Our family loves him.”

  Pelagian and Cassidy stopped and spoke with the other two men. Pelagian turned and motioned for the others to join them.

  In moments they all stood face to face.

  “This is Colonel Buhrman of the Republic of California Army 3rd Parachute Infantry Regiment, Major Smolst of the Dená Army, late of the Troika Guard, and my incredible daughter, Magda, who is also a sergeant of scouts in the Dená Army.”

  Magda didn’t wait any longer; she rushed forward and hugged Cassidy. “It’s so good to see you again! You just disappeared after the first part of the battle.”

  She pulled back while her father introduced the other two men.

  “Gentlemen, this is General Lawrence Spotted Bird and Colonel Franklin Fires-Twice of the First People’s Nation Army, and my old, dear friend Yukon Cassidy.”

  After hand-clasping all around, Colonel Buhrman immediately went to the crux of the matter.

  “What are you people doing this far north, General Spotted Bird?”

  “May I ask you the same question, Colonel Buhrman?” General Spotted Bird asked.

  Buhrman didn’t lose his grin. “Touché! We were invited by the Dená Separatist Army to provide aid and assistance. We’ve been providing both for over six months.”

  “Commendable,” General Spotted Bird said. “We followed a bandit and his cohorts north.”

  “With an entire armored column?” Major Smolst blurted. “You must have really been pissed.”

  “Well put, Major. The International Freekorps went through our country like a plague of locusts, killing, looting, burning and fleeing when met with equal force. Then the British Canadians had the temerity to attack us with the fiction that they were merely passing through to get to the United States.

  “We defeated the British and chased them back into their own country and, just for the hell of it, took a big part of their territory and kept it. However, we didn’t find Major Riordan since he had gone north where he thought we wouldn’t follow. He was wrong.”

  “We have a lot of IF prisoners of war, but I don’t know if he’s one of them,” Colonel Buhrman said.

  “He isn’t. Cassidy brought him in yesterday. He’s back there in our jail lorry.” General Spotted Bird nodded toward the tanks behind him.

  “What are your plans now, General?” Pelagian asked.

  “First, to offer any help we can give. Second, to get home as soon as we can. My men are tired and they’ve fought well.”

  “We offer you the hospitality of Delta, Dená Republik.” Pelagian grinned. “I think there’s going to be a celebration very soon now.”

  90

  Tanana, Dená Republik

  While two of the new F-82 Swordmasters flew a combat air patrol overhead, the side of the Tanana Aerodrome was lined with aircraft. The remaining nine P-61 Eurekas, patched and tired, were flanked by thirteen of the new, gleaming jets.

  Captain Jerry Yamato stood at parade rest in the front rank of the 117th Attack Squadron personnel. Both officers and enlisted men wore their dress uniforms, sent north specifically for this occasion. To their right were mustered the officers and enlisted of the 24th Attack Squadron.

  Jerry noticed the 24th had three times as many officers as did the 117th. Over the next two hours that would change forever: the 117th was being disbanded as an active unit. He tried not to think about it.

  The command sergeant major snapped tall.

  “A-tenn-SHUN!”

  Every man on the field went as ramrod straight as he could.

  Five officers moved out of the shadowed hangar and into the bright Alaskan sunshine. Jerry couldn’t believe how damned hot it was. He was no stranger to heat and he calculated it had to be right at 90 degrees Fahrenheit.

  One of the officers was Brigadier General George “Jud” Caldwell of the Republic of California Air Force. Every man in the RCAF revered him. Jud had gone from an enlisted sergeant-pilot to a battlefield commission of lieutenant. He then opted for four years at the Presidio where he graduated fifth in a class of 187.

  Every airman in the RCAF knew that “General Jud” would never ask anything of them that he wouldn’t do himself. He was the best and they would follow him anywhere. He had come north on the same plane that carried their dress uniforms.

  The general’s adjutant, Colonel Ust, carried a small stack of boxes: decorations to be presented. The other three officers with General Jud were unknown to Jerry. All were in the Dená Republik Army and wore a combination of ROC and USA army uniforms. The two men wore the rosettes depicting dentalium shells in a star pattern and executed in beads, gold on a field of blue: generals.

  The woman wore the depiction of the sun resting in a moose rack. She was a colonel. Jerry gave her a closer look than he did the men. She was strikingly beautiful despite the scar on her cheek; he decided she had to be Athabascan.

  The party halted in front of the 117th.

  “Airmen of the 117th Attack Squadron,” General Jud said in a conversational voice, “you have brought honor and glory to your service, your country, and your flag. A grateful nation salutes you.”

  All five of the officers saluted at the same time.

  For a moment the 117th froze, and then returned the salute, officers and enlisted alike. None of them had ever seen that done before.

  “It is my great honor and pleasure to award the following decorations,” General Jud said.

  “To Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Hurley, late commander of the 117th Attack Squadron, for actions above and beyond the call of duty. In an action against an armored Russian column, he led by example and gave his life to bring about the destruction of most of the enemy column. A grateful nation awards Lieutenant Colonel Hurley the Republic of California Congressional Medal of Honor, posthumously. The award was presented to his widow three days ago in Sacramento.”

  Every man in the 117th applauded long and hard. Jerry felt tears on his cheeks and didn’t give a damn. They’d even promoted Major Hurley to Lieutenant Colonel; that would help his widow in terms of a pension.

  The applause died down and General Jud gave them a moment to collect themselves. He cleared his throat.

  “Major David Fowler. In an action over Russian Amerika, he shot down two enemy fighters and, although mortally wounded, piloted his aircraft into an enemy bomber, resulting in the destruction of that craft and a second bomber, which resulted in an enemy retreat. A grateful nation has awarded him the Distinguished Flying Cross.”

  In his mind’s eye Jerry again saw Dave’s plane arrow into the Russian bomber and explode. As far as he was concerned, that deserved a Medal of Honor also.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Roger Shipley, front and center.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Shipley moved out smartly, stopped in front of the general, and came to attention.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Shipley consistently and professionally led his squadron against the enemy, never wavering in his duty to his squadron or his country. He is hereby promoted to full colonel and a grateful nation awards him the Air Medal.”

  Colonel Ust handed General Caldwell the medal and the general pinned it on Colonel Shipley’s chest and then shook his hand. Jerry couldn’t hear what the general said to Colonel Shipley, but
the colonel was visibly moved. In moments the colonel was back in ranks.

  “Captain Gerald Yamato, front and center.”

  As Jerry stepped out and came to attention in front of the general, he wondered why they would award him a decoration. All he’d done was try to stay alive and keep his word. Only dead men should receive honors.

  “Captain Yamato turned adversity into opportunity when he was shot down over Rainbow Ridge in the same action that claimed four of his comrades. He persevered through an attack by a Russian survivor of the armored column the 117th destroyed. He was instrumental in saving the life of the Russian and making him his friend.

  “Captain Yamato, still a lieutenant at the time, joined forces with elements of the Dená Separatist Movement and led a group of infantry volunteers against a well-entrenched column of professional mercenaries and successfully destroyed enough enemy armor to reduce their military threat significantly.”

  General Caldwell looked up from his paper and grinned at Jerry.

  “This is like reading a novel, Captain!” he said in his San Fernando Valley drawl.

  Quickly suppressed laughter eddied through the ranks.

  “Being deprived of his P-61, Captain Yamato flew an antique 1940 Grigorovich in first a reconnaissance flight over three hostile armored columns and then later returned to attack all three. Captain Yamato was wounded in this last action yet piloted his damaged antique aircraft to an airfield two hundred miles distant where he had never been before.

  “In addition,” General Caldwell theatrically wiped his brow causing more laughter in the ranks, “then-Lieutenant Yamato led a strike force back to the Battle of Delta where the 117th surprised a Russian bombing mission on its way north. Captain Yamato shot down two enemy fighters in the action where Major Fowler gave his life, and proceeded to lead his squadron back to the Battle of Delta where they depleted their armament on the forces attacking the Dená Army.”

  General Caldwell stopped and looked at Jerry. “I am proud to know you, sir. A grateful nation bestows upon you the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Purple Heart, and the Air Medal, Major Yamato.”

  Jerry stood, stunned, as General Jud Caldwell pinned medals on his chest. They had blown everything out of proportion: he didn’t deserve this.