lives.”
“Perfect. I’d like to speak with them at their earliest convenience.”
Smolst nodded. “I’ll go get them now. You going to be in this spot?”
“Yep.”
13
58 miles south of Delta
Shouts of dominance and victory carried through the copse of willows and black spruce. A shot rang out and the cheering intensified. Jerry felt near panic. Where was Magda? Had they found her?
He stepped out onto the path, almost standing over the Russian captain’s body. A quick glance about found nothing and he steeled his resolve to go into their midst after her. He checked the machine pistol, making sure the safety was off.
“Lieutenant!” The whisper came from behind him and he whirled about to see Magda and the dogs deep in the willows.
“My God, you’re safe!”
“Shut up!” she hissed. “They are just down the road. If they catch us, they will kill us: you and my dogs immediately, me after they have had their fun.”
Jerry joined her in the brush. “What do you want to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“You’re my guide, Magda. I agreed to follow your lead.”
“You saw what he did to the captain. These are rogues, without honor or discipline.”
“I think they have discipline,” Jerry said, maintaining his whisper. “But I don’t think they have any honor. Which to be honest, I considered just an abstract concept until about five minutes ago.”
“So what do we do?”
“I wish I knew what they were going to do. If they are headed for Delta, we have to take a different route—are there any?”
“Of course there are, but we’re talking about an extra day’s worth of walking. They will take the highway; we’ll have to follow the game trails.”
“Then let’s not waste any more time. I’ll follow you.”
“We need to move fast in order to warn the DSM.”
“The what?”
“The Dená Separatist Movement. That’s who you’re fighting for.”
“I thought this war was all new to you?”
“The war is,” she smiled, “but we’ve been part of everything else all along. Come now, we need to hurry.”
Frigid water swirled around Jerry’s hips as they forded yet another fast-moving tributary to the Delta River. The only good thing about being in the middle of a cold creek, he decided, was the lack of mosquitoes. The invasive insects droned in clouds all around the horizon.
Magda gave him something to rub on his exposed skin but the devils still found entry into his shirt and hovered around his face. As they approached the shore, he could see them hazing above the water.
“Do you have any more of that stuff?”
She pulled a vial from her pouch and handed it to him. “Use it sparingly; it’s all we have left.”
He rubbed it behind both ears and on the back of his neck before closing the vial tightly. Hours ago he had pulled off his flight suit and now wore his khaki fatigues.
He pulled the flight suit out of his bag, held it under water and, as they neared shore, wrapped it around his head and shoulders. Cold water cascaded over his face as he hurried up onto the shore.
“Move fast, maybe we can lose most of them,” he all but shouted.
“Make a little more noise and the Russians will bite you permanently!”
Jerry slowed and looked back at her. “I’m being eaten alive by flying needles and you’re worried about Russians? They won’t be out in this; they’re all sitting around smudge pots drinking vodka.”
“If you believe that, I’ll just let you stay here and die.”
Jerry bit his tongue to stop his heated answer. This was not the way to save Pelagian, Bodecia and Rudi. Nor was this the way to serve the Republic of California and the Dená Separatist Movement.
“I’ll try to make less noise if you will,” he said in his most jocular tone.
“Oh, now I’m the one making noise!”
He stopped moving and stared at her, watching her eyes widen and her lovely bosom heave with the emotion she felt, and appreciated the color blossoming in her
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