25
St. Anthony Redoubt, Russian Amerika
“Colonel Romanov, we have lost all communications with Taiga 10 command.”
Colonel Stephan Romanov sighed and tore his gaze from the natural beauty outside his office window.
“When did they last report in, Sergeant Severin?”
“Yesterday at noon. Captain Kobelev said they were eager to advance whenever the order came.”
“Nothing since noon yesterday?” Romanov chewed his lip and wondered at this turn of events. Until a year ago this had been pleasant, if boring, duty.
“It’s either faulty equipment or the damned Dená,” Sergeant Severin said.
“I hope you’re right about the first part.” Despite his aristocratic name, Romanov’s grandmother was a Yakut from Siberia and he held deep sympathies for the Dená. He tried to keep his attitudes to himself, but others had noticed.
A visiting colonel once asked for an Indian woman for the night.
Stephan had frowned. “I’m not a whoremonger, Colonel. You’ll have to solicit for yourself.”
“You do not know women who—”
“No. You’ll have to ask one of the privates.”
Thankfully, the colonel let the matter drop. Romanov would not allow his men to molest the local women nor mistreat any of the civilian population. He preached brotherhood to his troops and had a corporal lashed within inches of his life for drunkenly beating an old Athabascan man.
Now this stupid war has made a hash of everything, he thought. Not that he blamed the Dená. In fact he felt they were right: St. Petersburg had abused the Alaskan peoples for over 200 years and it was time for a change.
Colonel Romanov glanced up guiltily at his sergeant to see if the man had interpreted his silence correctly. The sergeant was staring out the window.
“Are the pilots sober today?”
Sergeant Severin snapped his head away from the window. “I don’t know, sir. Shall I send an orderly?”
“Yes, do that. Have the orderly tell them that I require a reconnaissance mission. Now.”
The sergeant grinned and pressed a button on his desk. A private walked in and snapped to attention.
“Turgev, go to the officer’s quarters and tell the pilot-officers they are to report for a mission immediately.”
“Even if they are drunk, Sergeant?”
“Even if they are drunk, Private Turgev.”
The colonel and the sergeant grinned at each other as soon as the door shut behind Private Turgev.
“What if they wreck the helicopter?”
“We’ll be rid of both of them. That’s worth a helicopter, don’t you think?”
“As long as I don’t have to pay for it,” the sergeant said with a laugh.
“If they’re not drunk, they will be suffering hangovers large enough to split rocks.” Colonel Romanov chuckled.
“Perhaps Taiga 10 received orders from the front and we were not informed, Colonel?”
“I thought of that already, but dismissed it for two reasons. First, I am in nominal command of the force since I am the district commander and would have been notified as a courtesy and for protocol if nothing else. You know how much the army loves protocol.
“Second, we are between their last position and the front, unless there is a new front to their rear. But Alaska Command would have notified us of that also, no?”
“I certainly hope so,” the sergeant said.
The door to the office banged open and two blonde men stumbled in, cursing and complaining.
“Colonel, we are in no condition to fly today, we can barely walk!” Captain Ivan Fedorov said without so much as a salute.
“My brother is right,” Captain Georgi Fedorov chimed in. “Besides, this is our stand-down week and—”
“Silence!” Colonel Romanov bellowed, not allowing himself to smirk when both men flinched in pain. “This is not the St. Petersburg Officers’ Retreat. We are in a war.”
“We know that,” Georgi mumbled, “but we—”
“Taiga 10 has not reported in since yesterday at noon. This is not only unusual, but also alarming. The only way we can contact them is by motorcycle messenger or helicopter.”
The pilots looked at each other. Ivan scratched his unshaven jaw.
“I have already dispatched a motorcycle messenger, but I want an aerial reconnaissance as well. Now.”
Ivan straightened into a semblance of military bearing and gave Colonel Romanov a weak salute. A moment later Georgi copied his brother.
“As you wish, my Colonel,” Ivan said in a ponderous tone. “We leave as soon as the helicopter is warmed up.”
“Yes,” Georgi said with a firm nod.
“The maintenance crew has already started the machine,” Romanov said. “By the time you reach the flight line, it will be ready to fly.”
Both pilots turned as one and shuffled out of the office, leaving the door open behind them. Georgi’s voice drifted back to them, “I told you we should bring the vodka with us.”
“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Sergeant Severin said in a low voice. “How did they get through officers’ training, let alone flight school?”
“Their father is a nobleman and supporter of the Czar. Those two uniforms on his worthless sons are a gift from a grateful ruler,” Colonel Romanov said. “Therefore, they become our problem.”
“How do they fly that thing?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. All I want from them is a report about Taiga 10 or word of their deaths.”