Stoney Compton: Alaska Republik

Piercing blue eyes and skin the shade of coffee with cream made for a very arresting figure. His wife, Bodecia, stood all of five feet and with her chiseled beauty, looked mostly of Alaska Native ancestry. The beautiful woman who had rendered him witless in more ways than one was Magda, their daughter.

After Jerry and Rudi both explained their presence, Pelagian had freed them and offered them assistance. A great weight lifted off Jerry’s shoulders at that moment. He and the sergeant just might live through this after all.

When he explained he had been shot down while fighting in aid of a Dená revolution against the Czar the effect on his rescuers had been electric. It seemed they were all on the same side, except Rudi, of course. Pelagian and his family had been in the bush for months and knew nothing of the battles fought between Russia and the Dená Separatist Movement and their allies.

Jerry wondered if these people could really get him and Sergeant Rudi Cermanivich out of the wilderness alive. He glanced at Magda who happened to look at him at the same time. Interest shone in her eyes and that buoyed him immensely.

Well, I joined the Air Force for adventure. Mother always told me to be careful of what I wished for.

Pelagian felt relief that he didn’t have to kill the Californian. However, he maintained a close, unobtrusive watch on Lieutenant Jerry Yamato. So far the young pilot from the Republic of California impressed him. He could have killed the Russian tanker sergeant and it would have been the fortunes of war. The sergeant would not have hesitated, in fact had twice tried his best to kill the pilot and not succeeded. If he had there would have been two bodies to bury out here in Rainbow Valley.

Instead, they were all busy rigging a litter to haul Sergeant Rudi Cermanivich to Delta where he could get decent care without being jostled all over the length and breadth of Russian Amerika. Sixty-odd miles were nothing for a healthy person, a few days walk. But carrying a litter through what had suddenly become enemy territory might evolve into a much larger challenge.

Lieutenant Yamato had told them about the Dená revolution against the Czar, about the Battle of Chena, and the death of Slayer-of-Men, Pelagian’s good friend and cousin to Bodecia. His wife had not shown much emotion, but he knew what to look for on the face of the woman he loved. She had taken the news of the death hard, rock hard, and he pitied any Russian soldier who fell into her gunsights.

Along with their daughter, Magda, they had watched the sleek warplanes attack an unseen Russian armored column far above them on Baranov Pass near Rainbow Ridge. At the beginning there had been fifteen aircraft diving and firing. Only seven flew away to the north after the shooting stopped.

They had witnessed the destruction of three of the planes, including Lieutenant Yamato’s; the fourth had been destroyed out of their line of sight. Having been a military pilot in another time and another place, Pelagian knew how close the lieutenant must have been to the men who died back there. He would carefully choose the time to discuss the battle with Lieutenant Yamato.

Magda moved around Jerry like a cat, curious but very wary. Pelagian didn’t dwell on that aspect of the situation since it didn’t involve him. He knew his daughter could handle herself, physically and emotionally.

Bodecia finished testing the knots on the litter and gave him a long look and a sharp nod.

“Let’s go to Delta,” he said, and slipped into the harness bearing the weight of the front of the litter.

Jerry Yamato stumbled again. How far had they walked? How long had they been walking? The litter bearing the wounded Russian tanker sergeant had to weigh two hundred pounds at the very least.

Pelagian wore the parachute harness bearing the front weight of the litter as if it were a light cloak. The rope sling in the back cut into Jerry’s shoulders and he gripped the end of the litter, constantly lifting it with raw, blistering hands to ease the burden on his aching shoulders. He could barely move but he gamely continued.

Following the man wasn’t difficult; Pelagian inspired confidence.

The dogs, bearing a goodly share of the load tied to a pole between them, which supported the right and left sides of the litter, seemed as fresh as when they started the journey.

Bodecia, Pelagian’s small, sharply handsome, shamanistic wife, and Magda, their stunningly beautiful daughter, both carried heavy packs with the air of being on an amble in the park. Jerry refused to whine about his condition. He stumbled again.

Pelagian said, “This is a good place.” And everybody stopped moving. The women dropped their packs and immediately unslung the dogs from the litter.

The dogs wandered around and thoroughly marked the area. Pelagian nodded to Jerry and they lowered the litter to the ground. For the first time Jerry noticed the clear creek running parallel to their route, and the high grassy meadow surrounded by mountains in which they found themselves. Back and legs aching, he lowered himself to the ground and lay down.

“Lieutenant, wake up. You must eat.” Magda’s voice ended Jerry’s dream and his eyes popped open. She knelt next to him, holding out a wooden bowl full of steaming, savory smelling food.

He scrambled to a sitting position and took the bowl. “How long was I asleep?” From the warmth in his face he knew he was blushing.

“A few hours. Not to worry, you were exhausted. After we eat everyone will sleep.”

Pelagian and Bodecia already sat cross-legged on the ground, eating.

Nodding dumbly, he shoveled what proved to be stew into his mouth. Large chunks of meat enhanced by carrots, potatoes, and unknown herbs made for a completely satisfying meal. The worn spoon boasted the twin-headed eagle of Imperial Russia on its handle.

“Nice silverware,” he said, glancing at Bodecia and grinning. “The Czar give it to you for a wedding present?”

“No, I traded beadwork for it,” Bodecia said.

Jerry wondered if the woman ever smiled. He noticed Rudi still slept, but the bloody, fouled uniform had vanished and clean blankets covered him. Jerry hadn’t thought about what Rudi’s personal condition might be.

I’m trained in wilderness survival, yet I feel so stupid here , he thought.

“Is there a wife waiting for you in Castroville?” Magda asked.

“No. I had a girlfriend, but she ‘found somebody else’ just before the war started. In a way I’m glad I’m not tied down right now. You never know what’s going to happen in a combat situation.”

“Then the relationship was not serious to begin with?”

“I wanted it to be for a long time, but no, I don’t think it ever was.”

Magda frowned. “So why did you not seek a serious relationship?”

Jerry set his empty bowl beside him, contentedly patted his belly, and stared into her lustrous eyes. “I’m still working on it.”

She smiled and blinked. “I’m sure you are.” From behind her she produced two blankets.

“Here is your bedding. I’ll see you in a few hours.” She stood and walked away.

He watched her body move under the soft moosehide and wondered if there was a sweetheart waiting for her back in Delta, or wherever they called home. Straightening one blanket on the ground he wrapped the other around him and fell asleep as soon as he lay down.

His plane flew straight toward the flashing muzzles on the row of tanks but his guns wouldn’t fire, nor could he make the aircraft turn away from what was sure to be instant death in mere moments. Bullets hit his plane; chunks of metal ripped away, the canopy fragmented in silent explosion. He pounded on the stick to make the bird turn but it wouldn’t . Something hit his foot and he jerked out of the nightmare, still shuddering.