Stoney Compton - Alaska Republik

“Is that something we need to worry about? Foreign troops on our soil?”

Jerry laughed. “Said the Russian to the Californian!”

Stephan chuckled. “But we have found a new country, even helped create it. I haven’t seen that many US Army or ROC personnel changing uniforms.”

“First of all, I don’t think we have to worry as long as both allies have a presence here. If one pulls out, then we might have to take measures. Second, I think that in the end, a lot of the ‘foreign’ troops just might elect to stay, despite this insane cold weather.”

“I am amazed that you stayed, Jerry. I understand that California doesn’t have winter as such.”

“Northern California has winter, but nothing like this. Besides, I fell in love and I think I can better adapt to Alaska than Magda can to California.”

“I envy you. You have found happiness and a lovely, accomplished mate.”

“I’ve noticed that there are a lot of lovely, accomplished Athabascan women out there, Stephan. And a lot of them are single and looking for a good man.”

“Perhaps I don’t get out enough.”

“Back to the inventory,” Jerry said, pulling a notebook from his pocket. “What do we have in the way of equipment?”

“We had a Grigorovich fighter until a certain lieutenant flew away in it.” Stephan grinned.

“You still have the fighter. That lieutenant managed to get it, and him, shot up a bit. Both are good as new and the Grigorovich will be returned to Delta Aerodrome so I can face Sergeant Suslov again.”

Stephan’s face lost its animation. “He would be proud that you remembered his name, and happy that you kept your promise. But we lost Yuri Suslov to Russian artillery in the Battle of Delta.”

Jerry winced. The sergeant’s good-humored face shining with gap-toothed pride flashed through his mind. So many good people, promising people, had been lost.

“I am bereft to hear this. I wanted him to work on our P-61s. He was a superb maintenance sergeant.”

“Yes. We also have a Sikorsky helicopter and most of a Yak 3.”

“Helicopter? Do you still have a pilot for it?”

“We have two, much to my surprise.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Our pilot officers are sons of a nobleman in St. Petersburg who is very close to the Czar. Without the influence of the Czar, neither of these men would have made it through officers’ training let alone flight training. Until we made contact with the Freekorps, both men were abject alcoholics.

“One was wounded while they were on a reconnaissance flight over the Freekorps and nearly bled to death. This event sobered them in more ways than one. They both ceased drinking, became very good officers, and elected to stay here rather than go back to Russia.”

“And they both made it through the war?”

“Indeed, and brilliantly led troops in combat. I was astounded to say the least.”

“Is the helicopter airworthy?”

“Oh yes. We didn’t lose all of our mechanics, just the best one.”

“With your permission, Stephan, I would like to have the airfield named after Sergeant Suslov.”

Stephan’s eyes brightened. “I can think of no better name, nor a better way to show your Russian-born citizens that they made a difference and are fully accepted in this new republik. Thank you for that gesture.”

“No thanks needed, sir. It’s the very least we can do. I hadn’t thought of it as a unifying gesture, but you’re right. If we both sign the request, I think Tanana will agree.”

“It probably helps that you will soon be related to the First Speaker.”

“Pelagian hasn’t been elected yet. He has a lot of campaigning to do before the May elections. People up north don’t know him as well as folks around here. Gri—General Grigorievich is going to take him down to the Tlingit country, uh, Sealaska State, and introduce him around. The general was very impressed with Pelagian during the constitutional convention.”

“I am amazed at the speed with which all of this is happening,” Stephen said, shaking his head. “After all my years dealing with the tortoiselike bureaucracy of the Imperial Russian Army, this is like falling off a cliff!”

“We’re a small nation in population, but with vast distances. I’m amazed at how many people know each other yet live hundreds of miles apart. They sent Yukon Cassidy up north to talk to the Eskimos because they knew him. Yet he was born down in the First People’s Nation.”

“Cassidy is a good man; I’m proud to call him friend,” Stephan said.

“I can’t call him friend just yet, but I’m working on it.”

“We keep straying from the official purpose of your visit. We also have a number of field artillery pieces, I’m not sure how many at this point, as well as three old Zukhov-1 tanks. Beyond that we have a few dozen tripod-mounted machine guns and cases and cases of rifles.”

“Scout cars, trucks?”

“Oh, yes. We have one command car that is nearly an antique, three scout cars, four or five armored personnel carriers and twelve lorries; one is rigged with a dump mechanism.”

Jerry wrote furiously for a moment and then looked up. “Great. Some of the machines might get sent elsewhere but you’ll be consulted first.”

Stephan Romanov smiled. “It is just past the noon hour. Would you please join me for lunch?”

“Thank you, I would be honored.”

On the RustyCan between Nowitna and Klahotsa

“Just like the colonel said, there’s another one trailing behind.” Corporal Bennett sounded like a kid on Christmas morning.

Private Hendrix kept the binoculars to his eyes. “Isn’t the colonel always right? That man gives me the creeps! He ain’t natural.”

Corporal Bennett wasn’t listening; he had pulled his radio from inside his coat, extended the aerial and flipped the switch.

“Field Fox One, this is Field Fox Two, come in.”

Hendrix lowered the binoculars and joined Bennett in staring at the radio. New equipment was always suspect until it operated correctly under field conditions.

A tiny voice clearly said, “This is Field Fox One, go ahead Field Fox Two, over.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot that ‘over’ part,” Bennett muttered. “Field Fox One, the second target is in range, moving slowly. You want us to take him out? Over.”

“Take him alive if you can. If he threatens either of you, kill him, but bring in the body. Over.”

“Understood. Field Fox Two out.” Corporal Bennett gave Hendrix a level stare. “Did you make marksman back home?”

“You know damn well I did.”

“Then you stay here. Keep your sights on him at all times. If he looks like he’s even thinking of shooting me, blow him away.”

“Is this gonna get me a PFC stripe?”

“It will if I have any say in the matter.”

“Go get him, tiger!”

Their vantage point was on a hillside where the road turned to the left behind them. The target point was straight downhill at the apex of the curve. Bennett hurried down the back of the hill, out of sight of the lone scout, and across the road to a fall of boulders.

They had already set the site and he squirmed into position, rested his scoped rifle on the rock in front of him, and waited. He could see Hendrix out of the corner of his right eye, sitting up there like an archangel in winter camouflage.

Bennett watched the road, letting his mind wander a little. He was grateful that it had warmed to ten below zero and then marveled at the concept that that temperature could be considered warm. Still nothing moved on the road.

That son of a bitch should be here by now.

He glanced up at Hendrix. Hendrix wasn’t there. Bennett didn’t move.