Redemption (The Boris Chronicles Book 4) Page 9

  Then Boris winced as he heard a crash across the other side of the village. Turning, he saw the black cloud of ashy dust rise from the collapsing building. There were shouts as another two squads moved to aid their fellows that were trapped in the wreckage. Clearing anywhere house to house was always messy.

  Clearing ruined villages were costing him casualties in injured, even if he doubted any of the buildings were substantial enough to kill anyone in their collapse.

  His face took a grim cast for the hardliners as he approached the village to interview the prisoners. He hated risking his men's life and limb against these delaying tactics, but he had no choice. Underground storage places were all too common this far north. Even if the summers were far warmer and the winters shorter than the first few centuries of his life, high winter was still a time of bitter cold. In these troubled times, cellars also made far more sense as protection for critical stocks of food supplies.

  After all, what was the point in surviving a raid only to starve to death? Who wanted to have to choose between their long-term survival and the starvation of their children? Their children who would not survive in this world without the protection of their parents.

  These were questions Boris had once hoped only the people of his past would ask. That the people of his future would not need to ask them.

  It was with a grim expression still on his face he moved towards the prisoners. Five of them cowered as he approached, the sixth looking defiantly at him, anger blazing in his eyes. Internally, Boris smiled at that. Anger was good for several reasons. Angry people rarely censored themselves and were often a good source of intelligence.

  “Where were you?” the man yelled angrily, “where were you to stop the rolling atrocity our lives became? First, Viktor steals our daughters for his hareem and the amusement of his soldiers. Then he takes the strongest of the young men away to serve his state. Finally, his troops move in to destroy our village for the good of the people, herding our neighbors like cattle towards St. Petersburg!”

  Boris looked down at him, allowing some of his anger at being blamed to show in his eyes. “I received no messages. I'm only moving against Viktor now because he threatens the borders of a state that asked for help. How in the hells am I supposed to help those who need it if they do not have the balls to ask?” He ground out the question at the end through gritted teeth.

  “Still, I will give you a choice. You can either aid my men, caring for any who are injured in the fight to come, or return to my lands, or you can die here and now. I will not leave potential enemies behind me. All I ask is for the numbers of those that came to destroy your village.” Boris paused, weighing up his options.

  That man would never make a good soldier. Perhaps one of the other five might, but people who waited to be saved and complained when it didn't happen weren't worth wasting time on beyond the information he could gain.

  He judged the prisoners to be between thirty and forty years old. Four men and two women, laying testament to how many women had been taken from the town. After looking them all over, he said, “You have perhaps an hour before we leave this village to decide. Think about it,” Boris said before turning away and moving towards the house that had collapsed on the other side of the village.

  By the time he reached it, the fighters that had gone in to investigate had been pulled from the wreckage. Minor cuts and bruises and an injured ankle where one had fallen through the floor of the upper story. They'd been lucky this time.

  And still, they had no choice but to continue operating in the manner they were. If his forces did not, they left themselves open to far more casualties from guerrilla warfare along the line of their advance.

  One of the guards came up to Boris and told him that the prisoners had made their choices. Three were returning to his lands with the next prisoner movement. The other three were willing to help care for the injured.

  One of the women had even been trained in nursing by her mother and grandmother. It was people willing to keep skills active that were the pebble against which tyranny stumbles. Boris simply had to make sure that he was there to break the back of the tyrant as it stumbled against his people.

  <<<>>>

  “Reports are still coming in from units on the far flanks,” the intelligence officer said in a matter-of-fact tone, “but it appears that your initial impression is correct, sir. They are scorching the earth as they retreat, taking as many people as possible with them and leaving nothing that may provide us with any form of support.”

  “Idiots,” Boris growled, “there is not a single state that can truly use the traditional Russian tactic effectively. Not in the North, at the very least. Some of the remnant states of China might be able to, but up here, no single state controls more than a three-hundred kilometer radius. That makes the destruction more wanton than tactical.”

  “Historically it has worked, sir. It slowed the Nazis advance in World War II. It held Napoleon at bay,” The intelligence officer answered differently.

  “And in both situations, there was both more depth and less importance placed on logistics by the enemy it was used against. With the possible threats we face to our logistics line, there is simply no way for them to effectively cut it. The largest group of troops that I can imagine them getting in behind us would be a company.” Boris responded with the confidence of someone who had lived it.

  “Our entire logistics chain travels at company strength and is at least as well-trained in combat as any of Viktor's units. Better, from our point of view, more than eighty percent of our troops have seen actual action. More than half the reserve and all the regulars.” The intelligence officer replied coolly.

  Boris just shook his head in disgust.

  Once the war was over, he was going to have to spend more time, effort, and resources than he had planned on rebuilding just the homes and trackways that the vast majority of the population would need.

  Turning to Danislav, Boris asked, “What is the schedule like?”

  Danislav answered with a smile on his face, “We are running at least four days ahead of schedule. The vanguard troops cleared the main line of advance efficiently, and your force crossed the border ahead of schedule. They are still ten or more days out from being in the region you designated for our forward operating and logistics base.

  Boris grunted. He devoutly hoped that Janna would have the first intelligence on what the hell was going on in Estonia by then. There was something about the whole situation that made his shoulder blades itch. He'd experienced that feeling many times hunting Vampires, most often just before one of them got the drop on him.

  “And Paul?” Boris inquired

  “Janna reports Paul has arrived at the forward base. He is finishing the logistics organization for the march on the region Olaf disappeared in. He should be in range to send out scouts around the time we start digging in our own planned forward base. Being a smaller force, he plans on moving slower than you are pushing, scouting more comprehensively,” Danislav answered.

  Boris nodded at the answer. It was always better for a small force to avoid a forced march. It would give them the energy to dig in quickly or dodge out of the path of a larger enemy force.

  Boris needed to move more quickly so he could tempt Viktor to do something stupid. Paul had no such need. In fact, Paul's biggest problem was an information deficit far greater than Boris’s own.

  “So, everything is moving as planned or better, is it?” Boris asked the staff surrounding him.

  There was a collection of nodding heads from everyone except Danislav. His foster son knew exactly what Boris was implying.

  “Send messages to all commanders to intensify scouting efforts. The last thing we need is a visit from Murphy. Now, while everything seems to be running well is the time he will make his presence felt. We will avoid it if we can and limit the damage done if we cannot,” Boris said, ending the meeting.

  There was a long march still ahead, and he needed to work on what th
e few villagers that had visited St. Petersburg were able to tell him about the occupied portions of the city. He was still thinking of an assault plan when he finally fell asleep.

  <<<>>>

  Paul sighed and scrubbed his face. A miasma of fear had met his arrival two days ago. Major Petrova had not been able to hide her terror when he arrived. She had been resigned to execution at best. Paul snorted.

  No matter how angry Boris might have been, he would never have executed anyone for losing his son. Dismissed them from current and future service? Yes. Execute? Never. Given the circumstances of what had happened, he would not have even gone as far as dismissal or rank reduction.

  When Olaf returned, he was likely to receive a stern dress-down on what behavior constituted an ‘acceptable risk.’ Paul would do his best to convince Boris not to take it too far.

  After all, Olaf was only taking such risks because he had been held back so long by his father—probably. Being honest, what Olaf had done might have been the best option anyway.

  At most, twenty-five—what was considered a ‘normal’ full shuttle load—had been sent without him being on board. They had crammed the shuttle tight to fit over thirty. Ten extra soldiers could make a big difference to people fighting rearguard actions and needing to use hit and run tactics.

  A far bigger difference than the same ten would likely make for the heavy battalion that was at the base.

  “Are our units prepped? Ready to move out in the morning?” he asked Major Petrova.

  Bracing, she said, “Yes, sir. Everyone is ready for movement. A quarter of the artillery has been dug in, and teams of picked Weres and humans have started moving out. The flank-forward scouts moved out a half hour ago.” She paused and looked at her watch. “The forward scouts should be moving now.”

  Paul nodded, “Good work.”

  He was glad that his troops had been dropped at the border by shuttle. Riding fourteen hours a day, it had taken two of those days to reach the base. They had needed a day to recover from the four-hundred-kilometer trip.

  No army before the Fall had troops fit enough to perform such a feat without motorized transport. Only the fact that the Weres took the extra weight off the humans had allowed them to complete it.

  He had made it clear to Petrova that she was his tactical deputy. They had a mission and there was little if any reliable intelligence on possible enemies on the route. There was no way that there was a force more than twice the size of his current unit in the region.

  Not unless they had come from farther west than Janna believed likely. With all the civil wars in the region, a leader from Western Europe should have consolidated where there were more resources. If that area was even recovering yet.

  Chances were that it had not. The heavier urbanization and larger populations would have been hit harder than anywhere in the east of Europe when the electric and transportation systems had been destroyed. Without shipments of oil, they could not have had a high survival rate.

  Boris hadn’t investigated farther than the western border of Belarus. He had seen enough devastation in his long life. He had no desire to see more, and the reports from Sweden had not been encouraging. They had been forced to close their borders to the south soon after the Fall.

  It seemed unlikely from the reports they had received that any significant military force could have been built. There was too much recovery needed. For that, the people required police, agriculture, and trade. A military force was an expense they would not have the money or other resources to afford.

  That left the potential of local forces. Belarus had been a dictatorship before the Fall. The civil war and chaos that enveloped it after the Fall had been something Boris had monitored. Eventually, the factions that split the country until it was left splintered with limited communication. Assuming the increased birthrates common after a war, the region they were to target could muster a force. Even a force large enough to be a threat to the one Paul commanded.

  But how much of that force could be deployed? How vast was the region it drew on for recruits? These were the imponderables. Paul believed that it was unlikely to be as well equipped, but planned to face a force of equal size and equipment.

  Belarus was always going to be a wildcard. They had been heavily involved in weapons research. Before the Fall they had also been a secretive dictatorship. Their primary export had been upgrades for older weapons systems—systems that major militaries considered obsolete.

  If there was any group that might have found a way to power armored vehicles without access to oil, it was the Belarusians. Any method Lilith had come up with so far had limited their utility. But Lilith wasn’t very military minded—someone like the Belarusians could have found a way.

  With the shuttle being taken down by an unknown weapon, something they had not expected any weapon to be capable of doing, Paul had to be cautious of everything. They needed to be ready for anything.

  There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to find his wife glaring at him.

  “Stop that,” she hissed angrily, but quietly. There was no-one left in the dugout room they were using but the two of them. Complete decorum wasn't necessary for her when she was taking the role of concerned wife. “You are overanalyzing things. You have the troops, and especially the Major, back in control of themselves. Back to just worrying about the enemy. It's not like there is a lot we can do about the lack of information. We have a mission. We need to complete it. Worrying about the maybes is not your job now. Acknowledge them and move on.”

  Paul looked at her and blinked. Alecta was right, and he was supposed to be the military man of the pair. Somehow, since the Fall, they had switched roles. He had become the analyst, the one looking at problems and possibilities. She had become a woman of action, looking for solutions in the real world rather than chasing abstract possibilities.

  ‘Hell, in the last decade she has been on more active patrols than I have!’ flitted through Paul’s mind. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself back from the panic that had been building.

  He looked into her eyes and murmured, “How do you put up with me, dear?”

  She stroked his arm lightly and shook her head with a slight smile. Paul knew she hated it when he said things like that. Alecta felt she had put him through as much, or more, grief than he had her. But simply speaking the words and seeing her smile allowed the stress, guilt, and strain to drain out of him.

  “Come, love,” Alecta said “Come to bed. We will not have much time for sleep soon enough. It’s best if we don't short ourselves now. And if you have trouble getting to sleep, well, I am sure I can think of something…” She focused a smoldering gaze on him, then took his hand in her own.

  A smile danced across his face as she pulled gently on his hand. Rising, he followed her across the room to the camp-beds set up in the corner. Indulging their desires would be awkward, but he was sure they could find a way to improvise.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Olaf was growing angry with the situation. For five days, he had been sending a pair—one of his men with one of the partisans—to the resistance leaders. There were only five resistance members left with his group. He did not want to move his camp without them knowing about additional neutral to friendly forces in the area.

  The next ambush was unlikely to have a happy outcome for either side. They should be allies—they should at least be able to talk.

  Olaf had suggested to Stasia that she head out with the next pair, but she had outright refused. Once everyone was clear, she had explained why.

  “I cannot travel with too few people. While it’s unlikely that they will be captured, it’s not impossible. I know the meeting schedule. If I were to get captured by a surprise ambush, it would be a disaster,” Stasia told him quietly.

  Olaf looked at her disgustedly. Of course, they had organizational meetings. Without them, any efforts they made were mosquito bites. With some form of coordination, their efforts would have a lot greater effect.


  It would have been good to know before he had scattered ten people across the region looking for her father with a message.

  Scowling, Olaf said to her, “And you didn't mention this earlier? I understand not telling everyone, but why didn't you tell me earlier? I could have traveled with your group by myself. Or, we could have traveled as a combined force.”

  “It was not the best solution. My father… He’s going to be angry you are even here and angry your people didn’t arrive to help years ago,” Stasia said, her face blazing with shame and humiliation at having to admit that. “Father is not rational on the issue. He resents that no-one has arrived to help. He was raised on tales of the mighty Russian empire and the clever but dangerous European nations. He’s convinced they should have recovered decades ago, that the only reason Belarus is in such a state is that outsiders decided to abandon us.”

  Olaf could not stop himself. He snorted his disgust at the concept. Everywhere was smashed down by the Worst Day. The only exception he knew of was Japan. They had reacted as one would expect. They had closed down. Closed to everyone outside the home islands. They still talked to his father occasionally, but Boris felt it was best if they remained a mysterious bastion that others didn’t even consider approaching.

  “We were all suffering. It is only in the last year, or so my father started extending outside his initial declared lands. We started more than a thousand kilometers away. What was your father expecting? For us just to know the people in a region that distant needed help?” he ground out at her.

  “It is ridiculous, I know. And now help has arrived. I’m simply not sure how he will react. I’m afraid that he will try to execute one of your men for the failure to help us earlier,” she said grimly, “which would be insane, yes, but I’m not sure he is sane. It was ten years ago when all this started for us. My mother came home a monster and started by feeding on my brothers and sisters. If he hadn’t been out with my oldest brother and me, training me to shoot, I would be dead. But it broke something in him. Something he cannot fix.”