breath, and then said, “Sir, I want the men to be able to perform to your satisfaction. We will find the American much sooner, I believe, if they are not focused on empty bellies and tired eyes-”
The field radio interrupted him, crackling to merciful life.
“Vukarin to Captain Radchek,” it hissed. Barkov’s eyes stayed on Radchek. “Captain Radchek, are you there?”
Radchek kept his eyes on the pistol and the man behind it. He wanted to answer Vukarin, if for no other reason than to show Barkov that there was no threat. Taking the field radio in hand, Radchek brought it up to his ear and said, “Go ahead, lieutenant.”
There was a sustained electronic screech before Vukarin said, “We found the plane, sir.” His words could not have come at a better time, and before Radchek’s eyes, Barkov became human again. His complexion returned to its onion skin hue as he holstered the pistol.
“ Coordinates, lieutenant?” Radchek said.
The radio hissed. “Two miles north east of your position. It’s stuck in the trees.”
“We’re on our way.” Radchek replaced the radio as Barkov left the cab. The tension dissipated at once. Radchek removed his cap, wiping his damp brow and thinking about, for some reason, Maypoles and fireflies. He chuckled, a reaction he considered immediately to be strange. Colonel Barkov was a whole string section shy of a full orchestra, that was for certain. Yet Radchek’s desire to report him to General Tomkin fell apart before he even had a chance to consider it.
Their field radios could no longer reach Yenisey.
Even if they could, no one but the two of them witnessed the little drama, and a captain’s word against a colonel’s wasn’t sufficient.
Besides, Radchek reasoned, they were in the Siberian deep, and as anyone with any sense would tell you, Siberia was one place you’d never want to complicate the mere act of survival. He’d bide his time.
Vukarin saluted as Barkov and Radchek reached the site. “Right above us, colonel,” he said. Looking skyward, they saw the MiG lodged at the top of a bowed pine.
“Who found it, lieutenant?” Barkov said.
One of the soldiers leaped to attention. “This man,” said Vukarin pointing to the spindly young man. “Private Corovich.”
“Can you climb, private?” said Barkov. Corovich replied by removing his gear and coat and scrambled up the tree. In no time, his lithe body was halfway to the plane.
Vukarin looked at Radchek and could see in his face that something was wrong. Radchek didn’t say anything, but he could see, too, that Vukharin’s concern for the men weighed on him.
Barkov watched as the private climbed. Snow cascaded from branches as he knocked into them, and the sounds of the creaking wreck caused everyone to clear the ground below the plane. Corovich stopped for a moment, looking down.
“ What are you doing?” Barkov demanded. The private swallowed hard as something snapped above him. The tree lurched back an inch. “Get up there, private,” said Barkov. “It’s not going anywhere.”
Corovich took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and continued to climb.
He soon reached the rudder, all the time trying to forget the danger. He was well over 80 feet up.
On the ground, the entire squad watched with growing concern. Barkov paced, impatient. “Well?” he said. “Is he in there?”
Corovich held the rudder and eased himself onto the plane’s tail. Straddling the fuselage, he scooted toward the cockpit. From this position, he could see the canopy acting as an anchor, holding the MiG-3 in place.
On the ground, Barkov grew more impatient. “Private,” he said. “Answer me.”
Corovich looked through the canopy. “There’s no one up here, sir,” he yelled.
Barkov’s tense shoulders relaxed. A sense of relief overwhelmed him. He was not disappointed, no, for he wanted the pilot alive. Delivering a corpse to Moscow was far less impressive than turning over a prisoner. “Come down,
The field radio interrupted him, crackling to merciful life.
“Vukarin to Captain Radchek,” it hissed. Barkov’s eyes stayed on Radchek. “Captain Radchek, are you there?”
Radchek kept his eyes on the pistol and the man behind it. He wanted to answer Vukarin, if for no other reason than to show Barkov that there was no threat. Taking the field radio in hand, Radchek brought it up to his ear and said, “Go ahead, lieutenant.”
There was a sustained electronic screech before Vukarin said, “We found the plane, sir.” His words could not have come at a better time, and before Radchek’s eyes, Barkov became human again. His complexion returned to its onion skin hue as he holstered the pistol.
“ Coordinates, lieutenant?” Radchek said.
The radio hissed. “Two miles north east of your position. It’s stuck in the trees.”
“We’re on our way.” Radchek replaced the radio as Barkov left the cab. The tension dissipated at once. Radchek removed his cap, wiping his damp brow and thinking about, for some reason, Maypoles and fireflies. He chuckled, a reaction he considered immediately to be strange. Colonel Barkov was a whole string section shy of a full orchestra, that was for certain. Yet Radchek’s desire to report him to General Tomkin fell apart before he even had a chance to consider it.
Their field radios could no longer reach Yenisey.
Even if they could, no one but the two of them witnessed the little drama, and a captain’s word against a colonel’s wasn’t sufficient.
Besides, Radchek reasoned, they were in the Siberian deep, and as anyone with any sense would tell you, Siberia was one place you’d never want to complicate the mere act of survival. He’d bide his time.
Vukarin saluted as Barkov and Radchek reached the site. “Right above us, colonel,” he said. Looking skyward, they saw the MiG lodged at the top of a bowed pine.
“Who found it, lieutenant?” Barkov said.
One of the soldiers leaped to attention. “This man,” said Vukarin pointing to the spindly young man. “Private Corovich.”
“Can you climb, private?” said Barkov. Corovich replied by removing his gear and coat and scrambled up the tree. In no time, his lithe body was halfway to the plane.
Vukarin looked at Radchek and could see in his face that something was wrong. Radchek didn’t say anything, but he could see, too, that Vukharin’s concern for the men weighed on him.
Barkov watched as the private climbed. Snow cascaded from branches as he knocked into them, and the sounds of the creaking wreck caused everyone to clear the ground below the plane. Corovich stopped for a moment, looking down.
“ What are you doing?” Barkov demanded. The private swallowed hard as something snapped above him. The tree lurched back an inch. “Get up there, private,” said Barkov. “It’s not going anywhere.”
Corovich took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and continued to climb.
He soon reached the rudder, all the time trying to forget the danger. He was well over 80 feet up.
On the ground, the entire squad watched with growing concern. Barkov paced, impatient. “Well?” he said. “Is he in there?”
Corovich held the rudder and eased himself onto the plane’s tail. Straddling the fuselage, he scooted toward the cockpit. From this position, he could see the canopy acting as an anchor, holding the MiG-3 in place.
On the ground, Barkov grew more impatient. “Private,” he said. “Answer me.”
Corovich looked through the canopy. “There’s no one up here, sir,” he yelled.
Barkov’s tense shoulders relaxed. A sense of relief overwhelmed him. He was not disappointed, no, for he wanted the pilot alive. Delivering a corpse to Moscow was far less impressive than turning over a prisoner. “Come down,
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