Stoney Compton: Alaska Republik

If there were people uphill from them, there might be people down here, too. Very slowly, without moving his body, he turned his head to look behind him.

Two men stood two meters away with weapons pointing straight at him. He dropped his rifle and raised his hands.

“Turn around,” one of them said in an accent Bennett couldn’t place. He did as he was told. He still reclined on the rocks.

“Anybody else with you other than the Kaffir up the hill there?”

South Africa, Rhodesian probably . “No, just the two of us.”

“Good.”

Bennett didn’t hear the shot.

Nowitna, Provisional State of Doyon, Alaska Republik

“Any word from Field Fox Two?” Colonel Buhrman asked.

“No, sir,” First Sergeant Scally said. “And it’s been more than a half hour since they broke contact.”

“Silent alert, now. Get your weapon ASAP.”

“Sir!” Scally flipped a switch that turned on a red light in every house in Nowitna. The electricians had enjoyed the exercise and the residents thought it a novel way to communicate. None of them had ever believed it would be used.

Soldiers and armed villagers moved into prearranged positions. Radios were switched to the combat channel and locations were whispered into the microphones. Then they all waited for orders or action.

The village of Nowitna sits on a relatively high bank opposite the side where the Nowitna River enters the Yukon River between three islands. The Nowitna River bends and turns through a massive floodplain dotted with hundreds of lakes and ponds that entice millions of waterfowl every year as well as the ubiquitous muskrats valued for their fur. Moose populate the area in large numbers and the first Athabascans to come through the area thousands of years before probably thought they had found the most perfect place on Earth.

Now it lay swathed in a meter of snow, much of it deposited by the constant wind blowing across the frozen river and myriad lakes. Dark spruce and tamarack trees mingled with the denuded branches of willow, birch, and alder. A moving object of any size in the open could be seen over a mile away.

Colonel Buhrman and Lieutenant Colonel Smolst had their men watching the tree line, the clumps of Labrador tea, rosebushes, and various berry bushes. With the wind blowing small clouds of snow, it was difficult to tell whether or not humans worked their way forward through the growth.

Nowitna lay buttoned up; the houses on the north and west side of the village were all secure forts, with six to eight riflemen waiting at darkened windows or chinks in the log walls. The Titus Brothers Mercantile was one of the three two-story buildings in the village. Centrally located, one could see the entire swath of the region from northeast to southwest.

Buhrman, Smolst and two radiomen hunkered on the second floor, glassing their perimeter. Buhrman had the north and northwest; Smolst had the west and southwest.

“Do you really think they’ll attack us, Del?”

“I’d bet the family farm on it. They think we don’t know they’re coming. They’re pissed and want us out of the way for whatever they have planned down the line.”

“The guy we caught could give us a lot of that information.”

“Maybe there’ll be time for that later.”

“Colonel,” Easthouse, the radioman said, “is it okay if I smoke?”

“You make any kind of light and I’ll shoot you myself.”

“That would be a ‘no,’ then,” Easthouse said. “And I thought the biggest thing I had to worry about was lung cancer.”

“The last thing we want to do is make a light in here that can be seen from outside.” Colonel Buhrman glassed over his area.

“Don’t those lenses reflect light?” Easthouse asked.

Colonel Buhrman froze and dropped below the window area. “Jesus, he’s right—”

The glass in the window above his head suddenly blew in with a rush of cold wind and snow sprinkles. The rifle report echoed across the icebound flats.

“Did anyone see where that shot came from?” Colonel Buhrman snapped. He hadn’t been this pissed at himself since the fight in the Arizona no-man’s-land years before.

“Nobody saw a thing, Colonel,” Easthouse reported.

“Can you reach Tanana or Fort Yukon with that lash-up?”

“Sure, who do you want to talk to?”

“General Grigorievich, the sooner the better.”

“Give me a few…” Easthouse fiddled with the radio for a moment. “Tanana this is Field Fox One, do you read me, over?”

“Loud and clear, Field Fox One. Over.”

“The O in C wishes to speak to General Grigorievich soonest. Over.”

“Give me five, Field Fox One. Over.”

“Aren’t they in the same building?” Smolst said from his window.

“Yeah,” Buhrman said. “But remember, it’s a big building. Stay back from that glass, Heinrich. You’re the only poker player I have who is any good.”

“Why are they waiting?”

“They think we’re going to make a mistake, get excited or impatient, and go after them.”

“They’re the ones in the cold and snow,” Smolst said. “We can outlast them.”

“Until it’s dark. Then they’ll attack.”

“So what are our choices?”

“We’re going to go after them,” Buhrman said, “but not in the way they anticipated.”

St. Anthony Redoubt, Provisional State of Doyon, Alaska

Republik

Lieutenant Colonel Yamato sipped the last of his wine and considered if he wished a second one or not. Colonel Romanov was drinking up the last of his glass also. Jerry decided he would follow the colonel’s lead.

Sergeant Severin stepped into the room. “My apologies, gentlemen. Colonel Yamato is needed in the radio room. There’s a call from Tanana.”

Yamato stood and nodded to the colonel. “By your leave, sir.” He stayed on Sergeant Severin’s heels until they reached the radio room.

“This is Corporal Desonivich, Colonel Yamato.”

“What do we have, Corporal?” Jerry asked.

“Do you wish a private headset, Colonel?”

“Did they say this was classified?”

“Not yet.”

“Then put it on speaker and give me the microphone.”

The corporal complied.

“Tanana, this is Yamato at Delta, over.”

“Jerry, this is General Grigorievich. Is your plane operable?”

“Of course, General.”

“Have it loaded with machine gun rounds and antipersonnel rockets.”

Jerry nodded at Sergeant Severin who immediately picked up a phone and started talking.

“What’s going on, General?”

“Colonel Buhrman and Lieutenant Colonel Smolst are in a tight spot. They need a fighter over Nowitna as soon as we can get one there.”

“Once I’m in the air, I can be there in under an hour.”

“I wish I could send someone else, Jerry. Since the 24th Attack Squadron returned to California, you’re our only fighter pilot at the moment. We need to address that lack as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir, I agree wholeheartedly.”

“Once you’re in the air, we’ll give you coordinates and updates.”

“Yes, General. Delta out.”

“Thanks, Corporal,” he shouted over his shoulder as he dashed out of the room. “Sergeant Severin, get me a car!”

Nowitna, Provisional State of Doyon, Alaska Republik

“They’re sending who?” Lieutenant Colonel Smolst asked.

“Yamato, that kid from the 117th who got shot down over Rainbow Valley while my guys were jumping on the Battle of Chena, where you guys were getting your asses kicked.”

“I was wounded in that battle, Colonel Buhrman, otherwise you would have a much nicer reception.” Smolst glanced out the window. “We’re losing our light. If he doesn’t get here damn soon, he’ll be fighting in the dark.”