Malagni viewed the battle through his binoculars as Tobias bounced them along in the command car. A young soldier hung onto the .30 caliber machine gun mounted in the back. They couldn’t go into battle without a man on the gun.
Malagni spoke into his headset. “Tanks, spread out and commence firing at the Russian side of the Chena. No short rounds or I’ll have your ass!”
He saw the Dená fire into the woods, peered through the binoculars at their targets. “Sweet baby Jesus, Tobias. They got Russian troops on their flank.” He spoke into his microphone, “We need infantry on the left flank up there. Now!”
Malagni watched the Russian troops, noted their expert deployment and discipline, much better than their regular army.
These guys know their stuff. Not good.
As he watched, more Russians emerged from the woods. New guys, different uniforms, maybe they were not as experienced. Many of them fell to Dená fire before the rest stopped their rush and took cover.
“That way, Sergeant Major!” Malagni pointed at the Russian-filled woods. He twisted around and shouted at the young Athabascan on the machine gun. “When you think you can reach them, knock the shit out of them!”
The young man gave him a wicked grin and fired the machine gun. Behind them, armored troop carriers raced to keep up. Farther back, scores of infantry ran doggedly after them.
Maybe we waited too long? Malagni felt a flash of apprehension.
Shell fire crashed into the wide meadow between them and the woods. The Russians had spotted them and were trying to find the range with their artillery.
“Don’t drive in a straight line!” Malagni shouted. “They’ll shaft us for sure.”
“Yes, sir!” Tobias shot back. He turned the car as sharply to the right as he could without rolling it. They headed directly toward the Russian line on the highway.
A shell whistled past and exploded behind them. Tobias veered left and another shell destroyed tundra where they would have been if they hadn’t turned.
“Some son of a bitch has plans for us,” Malagni bellowed.
The machine gunner kept up a steady fire that laced the tree line despite the violence of Tobias’ driving.
The Russians don’t have all the good gunners.
Malagni smiled, felt his heart hammering and his senses keen as razors.
He heard the one that got them. The shriek sounded far too loud to miss. Malagni didn’t hear the explosion, but the front of the car flew apart as the shell detonated directly in its path.
The shattered car body flew back in a lazy spin, throwing the men out to be buffeted by the sledgehammer concussion of the round. Malagni landed on the stump of his right arm. Pain vomited through him and he screamed. He rolled over and came to his feet, involuntary tears streaming down his face.
Tobias, still clutching the steering wheel in his hands, hair scorched by the explosion, sat on the ground peering about owlishly. “Wot the hell was that?”
The decapitated body of the machine gunner lay kicking in the sphagnum moss and early forget-me-nots, blood jetting from the mangled neck. An armored troop carrier roared up and men leaped out, picked up Tobias, and tossed him in the back.
“Can we offer you a ride, Colonel?” the sergeant driver asked.
Malagni jumped on the running board. “Let’s get them.”
The troop carrier bounced toward the enemy. The Russians had dug in and fired at them with good effect. Bullets splanged off the roof and hood of the carrier.
“Okay, Sarge,” Malagni said casually. “Let’s let them off here.”
Another enemy shell screamed over but landed in the tree line, taking out at least five Russians.
“Damned sporting of them,” Malagni shouted, grinning.
The artillery fire ceased. Now it was an infantry fight. Dená troopers poured out of the carriers and spread out, returning fire and digging in.
Malagni started to speak into his microphone before he realized the headset wasn’t hooked to a radio any longer, so he jerked it off his head and threw it over his shoulder. He turned toward the double-timing troops, who had closed to two hundred meters, waved his arm over his head and pointed to the trees where the Russian line thinned to nothing.
Maybe we can flank them.
A dozen rounds stitched across the ground toward him and he took cover behind a mossy rock. One round hit the rock, spraying tiny chips across the back of Malagni’s neck. He thought it felt like mosquito bites. Big mosquito bites.
His troops slowed, spreading out in a wavery hundred meter line, with little or no cover, and taking too many casualties.
“Enough!” he bellowed, jumping to his feet. “Let’s take them once and for all!” Malagni fired out the clip in the machine pistol at the Russians and threw the weapon over his shoulder.
He slipped the axe free, swung it over his head, and charged the enemy. Shouts echoed up and down the Dená line as his men rose and charged with him.