Like everyone in sight of the contest, Wing watched Malagni battle the huge Russian. Even before the quicksilver blade of the promyshlennik darted into Malagni’s chest, she knew she witnessed his last moments.
Soldiers from both sides watched the titanic struggle, ignoring their enemies and shouted orders from those not in line of sight, totally mesmerized by two men fighting it out hand to hand on the battlefield with naught but steel between them.
Then the first fatal blow, and Malagni jerked back and with all his remaining strength and might, swung his axe in a blurring arc and decapitated the Russian. Malagni toppled forward, dead.
Wing exhaled, not remembering when she had first held her breath. The Dená and Russians surrounding the meadow edge where the giants had fought stared at the twitching, bleeding bodies for a long moment and as if on command, raised their heads and regarded the enemy.
A Russian sergeant cut down three Dená soldiers and the spell shattered.
Sergeant Major Tobias shrieked, “Charge!” and the Dená line hurtled into the Russians. Hand-to-hand combat raged. Wing considered picking off Russians, but none were far enough from her own people to shoot safely.
The Russians began to fall back under the intense attack. But the combat had exacted an insurmountable toll on the Dená army and they faltered. Russian fire from the woods increased and more and more Dená fell.
As Wing laced the woods with machine-gun fire she saw three Russians shooting into the air. She dropped behind the rim and gazed up at their targets—hundreds of parachutes filling the sky.
Men still spilled out of three aircraft overhead. In the distance she could see three more planes winging away. The Russians were shooting them in the air.
She jumped up and tried to make every shot count. She took out fifteen men before her clip ran dry. Frantically she searched for a full clip. There weren’t any.
Smolst had passed out. Wing pulled his hand off the handle on the heavy machine gun, checked the belt feed, and started scything down Russians. A man shouted and they brought their firepower to bear on Wing. Bullets whined past her, made angry buzzes past her ears, smashed against the inadequate earthwork around the firing pit, dirt and small stones sprayed over her.
She dropped to the bottom of the pit. Knew they would be on top of her in moments. This was it.
“God, am I thirsty!” she screamed.
Even with her damaged ears, she detected the increase in weaponry. The bullets ceased seeking her out. Curious, she stuck her head up for a look.
The Russians retreated toward the river. Paratroopers hit and rolled, cut shroud lines, and fired at the Russians. The woods boiled with friendly soldiers.
One man limped among them using a rifle for a crutch, directing, shouting orders, and firing at the Russians with a pistol. The man stumbled and fell and two soldiers who had been waiting for his injury to take over produced a litter and rolled him onto it. They carried him back toward Chena Redoubt from where a number of auxiliary vehicles emerged and roared toward the battle zone.
The last unscathed Russian tank reversed up the far bank—onto an antitank mine. The explosion ripped open the bottom and set off ammunition inside. It went up like fireworks on the Czar’s birthday.
Two soldiers in khaki jumped into her firing pit. The charging grizzlyinsignia of the Republic of California Army adorned their left shoulders.
“You okay, buddy?” one asked. He stopped and took a harder look.
“Sorry, ma’am, didn’t expect to find a woman out here.”
“Water,” she pleaded.
He gave her a plastic canteen and she gulped down a third of it.
“I’m Major Wing Demoski, D.R.A., who is your leader?”
“Some Dená colonel, what’s his name, Ernie?”
The other soldier thought for a moment. “Griz-something, I think. I don’t know, they never introduce me to the senior officers anymore.”
“Hell of a guy, though,” the first one said.
But Wing was already running toward the distant litter as tears threatened her vision.