Russian Amerika by Stoney Compton Page B
Authors: Stoney Compton
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fiction - Science Fiction, Space Opera, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction - Adventure, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Alternative History, alaska, Alternative histories (Fiction), Science Fiction - Alternative History
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shoulders and lifted his head, a Troika Guard major and boat captain one last time, and finished throwing away his life.
At least fight me bare-handed, you louse-infested sodomite." The insolence felt so good that he grinned.
The corporal snapped the weapon to his shoulder and squinted down the barrel. He shuddered and his expression shifted to surprise.
Grisha frowned at him, wondering at the hesitation. Could the huge fool actually be considering his challenge?
The Kalashnikov clattered to the ground.
Grisha jerked back in amazement.
The corporal slowly leaned forward, and picking up momentum, toppled off the platform into a heap on the ground. An arrow protruded from the base of his skull.
Grisha snatched up the automatic weapon and, dashing back to the water, stuck his whole parched head into the wide tin basin. After three huge sucks he threw himself to the ground behind the water tank and peered around, trying to make sense of the situation. Another raven called from the forest. Two women prisoners stood in the framed-in doorway of the lodge, staring silently at the dead Cossack.
He checked the weapon. The chamber indeed held a round. He remembered the muzzle steadying on his chest and shivered.
Grisha twisted to see how the tankers would react. The soldier who always sat on the turret seemed to be patting the cannon; a feathered shaft jutted from his back also. Grisha realized the man was trying to escape.
The soldier gracefully slid around the barrel and fell to the ground. A figure popped up from behind the riverbank and deftly tossed a blocky object into the now-vacant hatch. Grisha blinked in disbelief as the figure vanished.
The camp was under attack.
Footsteps pounded behind him and he turned to see the burly army guard racing toward the fallen Cossack. He pulled the Kalashnikov up to shoot the guard. The guard pointed his rifle from the hip, the muzzle bobbed back and forth.
Silence expanded like a bubble, then exploded with the tank. A piece of flaming debris scorched past Grisha's head and hit the guard, knocking him gurgling to the ground, his chest a mass of blood, ripped flesh, and mangled organs.
A Kalashnikov suddenly racketed off a burst. Another explosion blew the main Cossack cabin into flinders. Chunks of wood rained down.
Out of the corner of his eye something moved rapidly toward Grisha. He recognized the straw boss, the Creole woman from west of here, what was her name?
The women all hated men. She could shoot him as well as Russians. He tightened his grip on the gun.
From the half-formed lodge a guard stepped backward on stiffened legs, staring down at his hands grasping the arrow buried in his chest. His thin scream died away and he fell over backward. The straw boss slammed into Grisha and hunched down beside him.
"If you ain't gonna use that thing, give it to me!"
"Who do you want to shoot?" he asked.
"Cossacks!" she hissed.
Chunks of wood exploded off the guard tower at their back as the sound of another Kalashnikov grabbed Grisha's attention. The sergeant, framed in the window of one of the finished cabins, sprayed the trees at the edge of the clearing, then again turned his weapon toward the two convicts huddled at the water station.
Grisha finally felt himself shift into combat mode. He squeezed off three rounds as the weapon bucked furiously in his hands. The window frame around the sergeant disintegrated and the man's face suddenly burst in a grisly spray.
"Pretty good shooting," the woman said.
"Thanks." He stared down at the rifle, then up at her. "Answer a question for me?"
She frowned and her eyes flicked around the area before coming to rest on his face.
"What?"
"What's your name? I've been trying to think of it for five minutes now!"
She laughed, showing gaps that remembered teeth. "Blue. My name is Blue."
Abrupt silence fell across the work site except for the crackle and pop of the furiously burning tank. The trees stood
At least fight me bare-handed, you louse-infested sodomite." The insolence felt so good that he grinned.
The corporal snapped the weapon to his shoulder and squinted down the barrel. He shuddered and his expression shifted to surprise.
Grisha frowned at him, wondering at the hesitation. Could the huge fool actually be considering his challenge?
The Kalashnikov clattered to the ground.
Grisha jerked back in amazement.
The corporal slowly leaned forward, and picking up momentum, toppled off the platform into a heap on the ground. An arrow protruded from the base of his skull.
Grisha snatched up the automatic weapon and, dashing back to the water, stuck his whole parched head into the wide tin basin. After three huge sucks he threw himself to the ground behind the water tank and peered around, trying to make sense of the situation. Another raven called from the forest. Two women prisoners stood in the framed-in doorway of the lodge, staring silently at the dead Cossack.
He checked the weapon. The chamber indeed held a round. He remembered the muzzle steadying on his chest and shivered.
Grisha twisted to see how the tankers would react. The soldier who always sat on the turret seemed to be patting the cannon; a feathered shaft jutted from his back also. Grisha realized the man was trying to escape.
The soldier gracefully slid around the barrel and fell to the ground. A figure popped up from behind the riverbank and deftly tossed a blocky object into the now-vacant hatch. Grisha blinked in disbelief as the figure vanished.
The camp was under attack.
Footsteps pounded behind him and he turned to see the burly army guard racing toward the fallen Cossack. He pulled the Kalashnikov up to shoot the guard. The guard pointed his rifle from the hip, the muzzle bobbed back and forth.
Silence expanded like a bubble, then exploded with the tank. A piece of flaming debris scorched past Grisha's head and hit the guard, knocking him gurgling to the ground, his chest a mass of blood, ripped flesh, and mangled organs.
A Kalashnikov suddenly racketed off a burst. Another explosion blew the main Cossack cabin into flinders. Chunks of wood rained down.
Out of the corner of his eye something moved rapidly toward Grisha. He recognized the straw boss, the Creole woman from west of here, what was her name?
The women all hated men. She could shoot him as well as Russians. He tightened his grip on the gun.
From the half-formed lodge a guard stepped backward on stiffened legs, staring down at his hands grasping the arrow buried in his chest. His thin scream died away and he fell over backward. The straw boss slammed into Grisha and hunched down beside him.
"If you ain't gonna use that thing, give it to me!"
"Who do you want to shoot?" he asked.
"Cossacks!" she hissed.
Chunks of wood exploded off the guard tower at their back as the sound of another Kalashnikov grabbed Grisha's attention. The sergeant, framed in the window of one of the finished cabins, sprayed the trees at the edge of the clearing, then again turned his weapon toward the two convicts huddled at the water station.
Grisha finally felt himself shift into combat mode. He squeezed off three rounds as the weapon bucked furiously in his hands. The window frame around the sergeant disintegrated and the man's face suddenly burst in a grisly spray.
"Pretty good shooting," the woman said.
"Thanks." He stared down at the rifle, then up at her. "Answer a question for me?"
She frowned and her eyes flicked around the area before coming to rest on his face.
"What?"
"What's your name? I've been trying to think of it for five minutes now!"
She laughed, showing gaps that remembered teeth. "Blue. My name is Blue."
Abrupt silence fell across the work site except for the crackle and pop of the furiously burning tank. The trees stood
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