Stoney Compton: Alaska Republik

“Kinda reminds me of that Spanish fight over in the Arizona no-man’s-land. Remember that?”

“How the hell could I forget it?” Colonel Buhrman said with a snort. “Only time I’ve ever been suckered, and by the sheep-humping Spanish at that!”

“But we kicked their asses,” Major Coffey said through his grin.

“And we lost four good men because we weren’t paying attention.”

Coffey’s smile evaporated. “Yeah, that’s right. Better keep our act together on this one, huh?”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself. Where do they have their tanks?”

“Way forward. You’d think they were attacking instead of retreating.”

“I’ve come to the conclusion that General Myslosovich likes to kid himself. He never retreats, only attacks. That suggests he’s vain and can be bullshitted. Good thing to know about your enemy.”

“Sometimes you scare me, Colonel Buhrman.”

“I must be losing my edge, used to be you were in constant terror of me.” He grinned again.

Joe laughed. He and Del had gone through the Presidio together. The officers the Republic of California Military Academy provided could more than match anything offered by West Point, VMI, TMI, or Sandhurst.

It had taken Joe Coffey nine long years to make major; marginal peacetime was hell for a soldier. But Del had made colonel in the same amount of time. Joe felt no envy; Del was the smartest man he had ever met. Give him another five years and he’d have stars on his shoulders, no doubt about it.

“Constant terror? Naw. Worried that we might not live through your latest adventure, maybe. You always pull us through and I’ll take that to the bank.”

“As if you ever had anything left over to put in a bank!” Colonel Buhrman was still grinning.

63 miles south of Delta

Rudi could make out the hulking armored personnel carrier through the light screen of willows. He aimed toward the machine and waited for movement. Moments before he had heard the death cry of the Oriental-Californian pilot.

Despite his self-avowal not to dwell on it until later, Jerry’s face flashed through his mind. He was beginning to like that boy, even if he was a goddamned first lieutenant. Now this pustule-infested, borscht-eating, lice-picking, mouth-breathing, self-abusing son of a bitch in front of him had ended Jerry’s life.

Rudi tried to maintain his sergeant’s distance. Something clinked and he focused. Another clink.

The whoreson is reloading his heavy machine gun. He painfully pulled himself to his feet and stepped as quickly as he could through the willows.

The corporal behind the twin 9mm machine guns jerked his head up in surprise and quickly brought the muzzle around to bear on Rudi. A burst of automatic fire blossomed a row of blood roses across the corporal’s chest and toppled him lifelessly over the edge of the gun tub onto the mud-scarred trail.

Jerry Yamato let his weapon drop to his side and grinned at Rudi. “I knew you were going to try something crazy. But your timing was perfect.”

Rudi felt something other than pain inside him. He grinned and pointed to the armored personnel carrier. “Is good to insure there are no others.”

Jerry walked around the machine, poked his weapon inside the troop compartment and let loose a string of shots. Silence fell over the area.

“So how far is it to the closest redoubt?”

“I would know this how?” Rudi asked, gesturing with his unburdened hand. “I am as new to Russian Amerika as the lieutenant, and like you, I no longer have my maps.”

“Good point.” His face went bleak. “Jesus, I nearly forgot, Pelagian has been hit.”

As quickly as possible, Rudi followed Yamato into the brush. The amount of pain he constantly suppressed had lessened over the past day, for which he was grateful. To tell full truth, he felt fortunate to be alive.

The forever fall down the mountain did things to him that other men would not have survived. Being obstinate helped, he felt sure. But Bodecia had worked magic on him and saved his life. She had also put clean clothing on him and replaced his boots.

He owed these people. It had been a very long time since he felt that way about anyone. It occurred to him that he felt more loyalty to them than to anyone or anything else.

Pelagian lay on the ground, using part of the parachute for a pillow. Bodecia knelt beside him, her back to the others, working on the wound. Pelagian appeared gray and wrung out.

Rudi wondered where all those worry lines on the man’s face had suddenly come from.

“Magda, come on in,” Jerry called. He surveyed the couple on the ground. “How is he?”

“I’ve stopped the bleeding. Now I must remove the bullet.”

“It didn’t go through him? That’s amazing.”

“We think it hit a branch first. We were both out of the line of fire and we believe the bullet was a ricochet. It could have been worse, but this is bad enough.”

Magda crept up as if her sudden presence would frighten.

“Father is wounded?”

“Yes, but I am going to take out the bullet; all of you can help me.”

“How will you remove the bullet?” Rudi asked.

“I have ways. Sergeant, you move over here,” she pointed, “and, Lieutenant, you go right there.”

Immediately both men knelt on either side of the fallen giant.

“Hold him; this will probably hurt.”

“What can I do?” Magda asked in a girlish voice.

“Get hold of yourself and then give me every bit of your strength you can.”

“Beloved,” Pelagian said in a papery tone. “For you I would endure anything.”

“Good,” Bodecia said with starch in her voice. “Now don’t move.”

Rudi followed Jerry’s lead and rested his hand on the wounded man’s arm. Bodecia cupped her hands over the blood-oozing wound and closed her eyes. The muscles in her neck and jaw stood out, slightly quivering.

Magda stood directly behind her mother, as close as she could without touching. She tensed her body and she lifted her face to the sun.

“Uhhnnn.” Pelagian went rigid, sweat popped out on his face and chest. His eyes rolled far back and Rudi thought the man would faint.

“It’s coming,” Bodecia said in a gasp.

Rudi thought he saw white light between her palms, but realized that was impossible.

Pelagian arched his back, straining against their hands, as Bodecia held her still-cupped hands over him. A gout of blood erupted from the man’s side with a small poitt sound and Bodecia grinned as Pelagian fell back in a swoon.

“I got it,” she said.

“Got what?” Jerry asked.

Rudi knew, but he wanted proof just the same.

Bodecia opened her hand and a bloody lump of disfigured lead rested on her palm.

“This was the easy part. Now I must make him heal.”

“That fast?” Jerry asked.

Bodecia and Rudi laughed in unison.

“No,” Bodecia said. “It will take time.”

“After seeing that,” Jerry said. “I believe you could do almost anything.”

“I can’t hurry time, which is a good thing, because that’s all we have.”

Magda slumped to her knees and rested her head on her mother’s back.

“What can we do?” Rudi asked. He felt a deep, nearly religious awe and affection for this healer.

“See if you can get that machine started. We need to get to Delta as soon as possible.”

“As you wish, Bodecia.” Rudi looked up at the lieutenant. “Do you know engines?”

“I know they run on gas and oil. Don’t look at me like that, I’m a pilot; I have a ground crew to keep my plane operational.”

“Come with me anyway.”

As in most Imperial Russian Army vehicles, a key was not needed. Ignition began with the push of a button. But on this vehicle, pushing the button produced a flat click.