Free Alaska Republik-ARC by Stoney Compton

within ten meters of her. Blood pounded in her ears and her hands shook slightly as she aimed the rifle at the noise.
    Off to her left a voice said in Russian, “Did you find anything?”
    Griz growled deep in her throat and Bodecia quickly squeezed her muzzle. The dog quieted and along with her brother, Kodiak, stared intently toward the sounds, body tensing to spring.
    The steps faltered and stopped. “No, Sergeant. Nothing but damned willows and rocks.”
    “Come on back,” the first voice commanded. “We need to rig this tow.”
    “Yes, Sergeant.” The man walked away toward the disabled armored car.
    “Whoever killed them are long gone by now. Probably another DSM ambush.”
    Bodecia felt her heart slow closer to normal. Rudi thrashed again and began mumbling. She clamped her hand over his mouth.
    If it’s not the dogs, it’s the men!
    He subsided and she held the rifle firmly in both hands, waiting to see what would transpire next. Where had they come from? She had heard no engines.
    Perhaps the constant breeze had worked against her. She jerked with the realization that if the wind shifted slightly, the Russian soldiers would smell the smoke from her fire. She caved in the sides of the pit on the wispy flames and they ceased to exist with no telltale plume.
    She stood as tall as she could and peered around, seeing nothing other than the vast willow forest and the rushing creek.
    Where were they?
    ***
    “Take up the tension,” a man’s voice bellowed in Russian. “Don’t snap the cable.”
    Bodecia, moving as quietly as possible, continued piling dead brush on top of the parachute. After chopping off all but two thirds of a meter from the support poles, she now tried to disguise their low-profile shelter. The parachute nearly blended with the surrounding area and she stopped, listening intently.
    “Make sure it’s in neutral,” the second voice said.
    They didn’t like each other, she decided. Good, they both will fixate on their irritation, perhaps relaxing their vigilance.
    “That’s the middle position, right, Sergeant?”
    “Private Gordonin, if you give me any more shit I’ll break your arm.”
    Bodecia smiled at the animosity in both voices. Her enemies were enemies.
    “When I wave, you brake for both of us, understand?”
    “Yes, Sergeant.”
    This time she heard the engine crank up. How had she missed that before?
    “We only need to go a few hundred meters, so keep it in a straight line.”
    “Yes, Sergeant.”
    A few hundred meters? Fear coursed down her spine. She found the strongest willow within sight and carefully climbed the slender trunk.
    The Russians moved away from her toward a mass of parked vehicles about three hundred meters away, somewhere between thirty and fifty machines, she thought. Most of the machines had guns of various sizes mounted on them. Another two hundred meters beyond the vehicles squatted clusters of tents with soldiers milling about.
    The whole Russian encampment was no more distant than the lengths of two soccer fields.
    Bodecia eased back to the ground, thinking hard. If they had strayed but a few meters off the path and taken the line of least resistance, they would have walked into the middle of that. But the Russian motor pool lay between the camp and her.
    How did they not hear the exchange of gunfire earlier when Pelagian was hit? Between the wind and willows, she decided, much went undetected. Or the gunfire had been ignored as commonplace.
    She checked both her patients. Then, taking only her berry bag, hurried off toward the Russian encampment. She moved quickly but quietly, both dogs silently flanking her.
    In minutes she saw the dirty brown of military vehicles through a screen of willows. She edged into the open and looked around. Nothing moved.
    Bodecia sidled up to a small truck and saw the ignition button waiting to be pushed. But would they hear her? She felt sure nobody would see her, as the truck was much smaller than the tanks and great