“I think he’s coming around, now, Colonel.”
Wing grinned despite herself. Her unexpected promotion to colonel was still new enough to feel disproportionately grandiose. She watched Grisha’s face as his eyes fluttered and finally opened.
He frowned at the ceiling.
“You’re in the hospital, Grisha,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t try to move, they have your leg in traction. The longer you stay quiet, the quicker they’ll let you out of here.”
He looked down at the sling and pulley arrangement in which the doctor had trapped him. “Pretty fancy. Where are we?”
“Tanana. The U.S. fixed up the old Russian military hospital.” Wing glanced around and sniffed appreciatively. “It actually looks, and smells, like a hospital now.”
She smiled down at him, wondering if he remembered asking her to marry him. “How do you feel?”
“Weak, and I don’t like it.” He frowned, looked up at her, and the frown slid away into a smile. “And in love. Pretty strange situation all the way around.”
She bent over and kissed him.
Grisha took a deep breath. “What’s the military situation?”
“We have both the Diomedes. The bridge still stands but we can vaporize it if the Russians try to use it for military purposes. All Russian units between the town of Bridge and Chena Redoubt have been neutralized or eliminated.”
“We’ve won the war?”
“Not quite. From what we can gather, there’s a massive Russian retreat toward St. Anthony Redoubt. Those are the guys we fought outside Chena.”
She gave him a moment to appreciate the victory. “There was a second column advancing over the Alaska Range from St. Nicholas, but the RCAF hit them with a fighter squadron—”
“The 117th?”
“Yes. And they not only destroyed the majority of the tanks and other armor, but they cut the road. The only threat we have to worry about from St. Nicholas is aircraft.”
“How many birds did the 117th lose?”
“Almost half their strength. Their commanding officer has been recommended for a posthumous Medal of Honor.”
“How can we ever repay them?” Grisha whispered.
“We will, don’t worry. There is also a column moving north from Tetlin, no idea as to strength.”
“What about the F.P.N column?” Grisha’s eyes seemed normal again.
“What F.P.N. column?” Wing wondered how he could have military intelligence that she didn’t.
“How long have I been in here?” He waved at the room.
“Since late last night. The Battle of Chena happened yesterday.”
He told her what he had seen from the transport. “From the air their column looked to be about five miles long.”
“I wonder if they’re going to claim all territory they take?” Wing said. “This could be a whole new problem.”
“Is the U.S. or the R.O.C. claiming anything they’ve fought for up here?”
Grisha’s mind was clear as ever, she thought. “No. But the U.S. and the Californians established a liaison with us before committing troops. The F.P.N. is just attacking.”
Grisha surveyed his left leg and the cat’s cradle of wires hooked to it. “How long do I have to be in here?”
“Two weeks, minimum, if you ever want to walk normally again. It was a worse break that they thought, Grisha.”
“In more ways than one! Okay, I want a radio operator, a desk that I can actually use from this position, a telephone, and some routing boxes for papers, whatever. If I can’t be in the field I’ll do what I can from here.”
“You were wounded in the line of duty, Colonel Grigorievich,” she said with feeling. “Nobody will think you are shirking if you’re flat on your back in a hospital bed.”
“I know Malagni can handle—” he was looking at her face while speaking and what he saw there stopped him. “What?”
“Oh, Grisha, I thought you knew.” She told him about the epic man-to-man contest, how both sides had stopped fighting to bear witness, and how it ended.
“Things were moving so fast,” he said. “When we dropped on Chena we just watched for muzzle flashes and didn’t pay attention to anything else.” Grisha stared through the wall; Wing wondered what he was seeing. “Malagni is really dead, that is so hard to believe. Do we know the name of the man who killed him, who he killed?”
“Bennie Amos from Venetie said the promyshlennik’s name was Boris Crepov—what?”
The blood seemed to drain from Grisha’s face in seconds. “Did he have a scar on his right cheek, a big one?”
“Yeah, made him look even more fierce, they say. I was too far away for detail like that, and, afterward, I had other things to do.”
Grisha relaxed and his color returned to normal. “He’s the bastard that almost killed me on the trek from the slave camp. I’m the one that gave him the scar, that day on the trail when Nik and I ran into Valari’s ambush. Crepov was the man I cut.”
“Small world, isn’t it?”
“I was afraid of that man, knew he would hurt me some day. I just didn’t know how badly.” He sniffed and rubbed his left eye. “How soon can you get me a desk?”
“Today. How soon can you marry me?”
When he grinned like that she knew how he looked as a boy. “Don’t you want a husband who can carry you over a threshold or jump over a broom at your side?”
“I want to marry you before you can get away from me.”
“Well, for the next two weeks you know exactly where I’m going to be. It won’t be much of a wedding feast, and our first night together will probably lack a lot of the things I had in mind, but you get a holy man in here and I’ll marry you this afternoon.”
“You have a deal, General Grigorievich.”
“Colonel,” he said, still smiling. “I’m just a colonel, remember?”
Wing snapped her fingers. “I knew there was something else I had to tell you. The War Council of the Dená Republik promoted you to general as soon as they heard about your actions yesterday. And I think they’re working on a suitable medal to go along with the two stars.”
“I’m a brigadier general? Does that mean I’ll be stuck behind a desk for the rest of my career?”
“It means you’re in charge of the Dená Army, Grisha.”