Russian Amerika (30 page)

"How will you deliver them?" Grisha asked.

"Getting in and out of their areas is easy. We're all worthless Indians or
Creoles
to them," Wing said, "we've just got to be very careful."

“They'll be looking at everybody twice from now on, especially Indians and
Creoles
."

"What's the matter, Grisha, don't you want the job?" Blue asked with a laugh.

"I think I'd be the wrong man for it," he said wryly. "Give me something else to do."

"I've been thinking about that," Blue said. "But I need to talk to War Minister Nathan about it first."

"If it helps the Dená Republik, I'll do it."

Blue glanced at Wing. "With Chan dead, how do we finance this war?"

"What do you mean?" Grisha asked. "What did Chan have to do with finances?"

"That's right, you didn't know," Wing said. "Chan was the money behind the DSM and the revolution. His grandfather discovered gold up in the hills north of Chena way back in the '30s, and had the presence of mind to keep quiet about it."

"Yeah," Blue said. "He kept the secret in his family. They operated that mine for years and years, hauled most of the gold down into British Canada to sell it."

Wing nodded. "They were rich, the whole family. Then one of Chan's uncles got drunk and told another Dená about it, and a Cossack heard him."

"Oh, hell," Grisha said in a reverent tone.

"Yeah," Blue said. "Cossacks kidnapped the three brothers who had inherited. And their families were tortured to death in front of them. But no one told the location of the mine."

"Because," Wing said, hesitating for a beat, "the Cossacks had missed getting Chandalar. He had been over in Nenana visiting a girl and her family. So the rest of the family died at the hands of the Cossacks knowing Chan would revenge their deaths."

"Chan told the girl he couldn't marry, but would always love her, then went looking for other angry Athabascans," Blue said. "And he found a lot of

'em!"

"He recruited the first ten Dená Separatists," Wing said, "told them to find as many others as they could and he went down to the United States. He was arrested in a border town and turned over to the army. Within a week he was talking to someone on President Taft's staff."

"That's when Haimish came north the first time," Blue said. "I was just a little girl, but I remember him coming through our door and wonderin' what he was, cause he looked like one of those Eskimo billikens."

"But now they're both dead," Grisha said, sorry to pull them back to now.

"Yeah," Wing said in a husky voice. "But to answer your question, Blue, Chan willed the whole operation to the Dená people. We have bank accounts in British Canada, French Canada, and the United States with a lot of money in them."

52

A half hour later they came to a large tree lying across the road. Grisha started to drive into the ditch to go around it.

"No!" Blue shouted, her words nearly blurring in a staccato chatter.

"This is our roadblock. The ditches are mined!"

Grisha, hands suddenly shaking in an adrenaline rush, jumped on the brake, bringing them to a sudden stop. Cries of pain and anger could be heard from the back of the half-track. The vehicle stopped with the front wheels off the road, resting in the ditch.

Grisha looked over at the two women, wondering if his face was as pale as theirs.

"Did you know this was coming up?"

"Yes," Blue said, panting, "I knew, I meant to mention it earlier. But we got to talking."

"Anything else you forget to mention?"

"Yeah, get out of the cab unarmed, with your hands in the air."

Grisha shook his head and grinned. "Remind me to talk to you about timing." He pushed the door open and stepped out on the running board with his still-shaking hands in the air.

"We're friends from Chena Redoubt," he shouted into the dark, snowfilled forest. The scent of wood smoke hung in the air, cold burned in his nostrils, the fresh air felt clean and good. "Blue is with us."

"Who are you?" a voice asked from the darkness.

"Grigoriy Grigorievich!"

"For what battle were you cashiered from the Troika Guard?" the voice demanded.

"Bou Saada, French Algeria." Grisha frowned and peered into the trees.

A figure strode out of the dark, stunted, frozen forest.

"It really is you, Major, isn't it?"

Grisha stared hard at the person but didn't recognize him until Heinrich Smolst grinned and grabbed him a bear hug. The two pounded each other on the back, laughing. Other figures materialized and surrounded the two vehicles.

"My God, Heinrich," Grisha gasped. "They told me you had come over to our side, but I thought you were among the dead at Chena Redoubt. It is so good to see you, my friend."

"The Russians made me a captain, and I still hated them for what they did to you. I've waited ten years for the exact right moment to tell the Czar to go fuck himself, and it arrived out there in the woods, when I was surrounded by your Dená."

The refugees climbed out of the half-tracks, adding their welcomes.

"Look me up tomorrow, Heinrich, please?"

"Of course, Major!"

"Not 'Major.' Grisha, just like when we were both private soldiers."

"Looks like we're in that category again anyway. I'll find you tomorrow, Grisha."

A cable and pulley easily swiveled the tree out of the road. The small convoy rolled across the frozen Yukon River to where Tanana slept under the scrolling northern lights.

The half-tracks pulled up onto the high riverbank and stopped in front of a large building bright with light. Shell holes in the walls and roof already boasted tarp bandages. Grisha realized he didn't have to drive anymore. The exhaustion he had been denying swept over him. He stumbled into the warm room and collapsed in a corner, fast asleep.

"Major Grigorievich, wake up."

The voice penetrated his dream of being on the water again. So vivid was the dream that when he blinked his eyes, he expected to see the interior of
Pravda's
cabin. The crisp apparition staring down at him instantly brought him back. He moaned before his wits returned and he could stop himself.

"Heinrich, I'm not a major anymore," he said roughly. He stretched and, when the scent of cooking food finally registered, realized he was famished.

"About time you woke up," Smolst said. "You've been asleep for over a day."

To his amazement Grisha found himself undressed and in a bunk. He glanced around wildly. Three-high stands of built-in bunks filled the room. All the others were empty.

"How long have I been in here?"

"Since about oh-two-hundred yesterday."

"What time is it now?"

"Almost ten-hundred."

Grisha took stock, decided he felt pretty good. Voices wafted in along with food aromas. His stomach growled and he sat up, searching for his clothes.

The barracks contained a dining hall where nearly thirty people sat, talking, drinking tea, and eating. He blinked as he came out of the sleeping area into the brightly lit room. Heinrich prodded him from behind.

"Over there, near the wall."

Grisha blinked again and saw Wing, who saw him at the same time.

"Grisha. Over here."

He felt something he couldn't define when he looked at her. Relief that she was safe, the old deep-seated hunger he'd always felt but had denied, and finally something else he couldn't name-but it made his heart feel full.

She stood and embraced him. He couldn't remember anything that smelled quite as good as she did. He pulled back slightly and kissed her on her scar. She blushed and edged away.

"I want you to meet some people." She gestured at the five people sitting around the table: Blue, Claude, Nathan, and two other War Council members, an old man and a younger woman.

"I am honored to finally meet you," the old man said. Bright eyes flashed in the network of weathered wrinkles on his face. "I am Chief Andrew of the Dot Lake Dená." He held out his hand and Grisha shook it, completely at a loss.

A middle-aged woman with streaks of gray in her black hair smiled up at him.

"As am I," she said. "I'm Anna Samuel from Fort Yukon."

"Yes, I saw you both at the first War Council meeting, but I didn't meet you personally."

"Grisha is very confused," Nathan said gently, his intense eyes flashing from person to person. "Perhaps he should eat before we talk with him."

"Oh," Wing said, "of course. Pardon us, please." She led him over to the row of windows where the odor of cooked food became overwhelming.

Back at the table, as he wolfed down potatoes and moose steak, Wing spoke in a very low voice. The others listened quietly.

"We are in desperate straits. The Russians are massing troops on the Diomedes and at Tetlin. They're already moving north out of St. Nicholas."

Grisha's spoon paused midway to his mouth. "How many people do we have to put up against them?"

"That's a good question. A lot of Dená think we are mad to try this and are leaving the fortified villages, the redoubts, to go live with relatives in the bush. Other villages are fortifying against us, and announcing they are loyal to the Czar."

"How many do we know we have on our side?" Grisha asked through a mouthful of food, then paused to swallow. "That'll tell us what we can do."

"It seems we don't have to ask," Anna said to the others at the table.

"No," Nathan said with a smile on his pockmarked face. "He's already talking like a field commander."

Grisha nearly choked in the middle of a swallow. "Field commander! It's been years since I was a major, I'm not even a Dená."

"Don't forget we six are over half the War Council," Chief Andrew said in his careful voice, "Yesterday the Dená Republik officially declared independence. We're offering you a commission in the army, Colonel Grigorievich."

"Why me? There are so many others."

"You think efficiently during fluid situations," Wing said, holding up an index finger. "You have years of experience in the field and have proven yourself to be a commander of fighters." Another finger popped up. "You know the Russians-you've lived among them your entire life and served in their army. And we trust you to do your best." Four fingers splayed toward him.

"But I'm not a Dená, I'm only half Kolosh."

"There has been friction between some of our people," Nathan said, looking down at his hands. "Between 'upriver' Indians and 'downriver'

Indians. People from Nulato don't completely trust people from Old Crow. There are factions in all areas."

"Why would they care, aren't we all in this together?"

"Some old, very old habits die hard. Everyone fights the same enemy, but when it comes to taking orders from someone whose people have always been suspect . . ." Nathan shook his head.

"There are soldiers in the ranks who know you, served with you in the Troika Guard, they speak highly of you. You've shown us all your mettle over the past few days."

"It doesn't feel right. I really think you could find someone else if-"

Chief Andrew raised his hand, palm out. "There's the other side of this aspect to consider. If we fail in our fight for independence, you would be the scapegoat in the eyes of many. You're not even of the People."

"But I plead with you to say yes," Nathan said. "There is much we think you can do."

Grisha considered Chief Andrew's warning along with Nathan's entreaty. He felt honored by the opportunity to lead these people he had come to respect and even love. This cause was important to him: much more immediate than anything he had ever done for the Czar.

But Chief Andrew was right: if his troops failed, Grisha would be blamed.

Which makes perfect sense to me.

He knew he would probably never see Akku or any other part of southeast Alaska again.

"Very well. Where do I serve?" Grisha tried to overcome the feeling of hollow unreality inside him.

"Colonel Grigorievich, you will be in charge of the Southern Defensive Force," Anna said crisply. "You are ordered to protect the highway between Chena and Tanana while retaking Chena for the Dená Republik."

"How many people are in my army?"

"A little over eight hundred, so far," Wing said. "Our scouts say the Russians haven't reinforced Chena yet. They're too busy building up Tetlin. They must think we're going to attack."

"What about the political angle?" Grisha asked. "Didn't the Californians offer some help, and Haimish's people?"

"The U.S. has a squadron of fighters on the ground in Galena but it's still uncertain if they are going to stay," Wing said. "The Californians are supposed to have an answer for us today."

"And," Nathan murmured, "here comes Mr. Jackson now."

Benny Jackson walked over to their table.

"Who's in charge here?"

"I'm the acting president," Nathan said, "if that's what you mean."

"Yeah, that's what I mean. Would you step over here, please?"

"Benny," Wing said firmly, "whatever concerns him as president also concerns us as the council."

"I got someone who wants to talk to the person in charge, okay?" He rolled his eyes at the ceiling and turned away. "C'mon, Mr. President."

Nathan followed him across the room, futilely running a hand through his unruly hair. Grisha got up and ambled after them. Jimmy Scanlon wore a headset with large cups over his ears behind a radio transmitter like the one back in Chena. A microphone on a stand stood in front of the other equipment.

"Where'd you get that?" Grisha asked.

"We left a cache here on our way to Chena," Jackson said, picking up a microphone. "Okay, Nathan, Mr. President, the person you're going to speak to is an undersecretary in the State Department."

"Of what must I convince him?"

"You must assure her that if the Republic of California grants your government diplomatic recognition you will grant us 'most favored nation'

status in return."

"What does that mean?" Grisha asked.

"I thought Nathan was in charge here," Jackson snapped.

"So what does it mean?" Nathan asked, his raptor's gaze pinning Benny.