Siberius (7 page)

“Let me tell you what home
isn’t
,” Barkov continued. “Home
isn’t
a concrete bunker shared with 20 drunken soldiers. Home
isn’t
a compound surrounded by a steel mesh fence and barbed wire. Home
isn’t
a plot of ice in the middle of an endless woods.” Barkov’s eyes drifted away in thought, then returned to Radchek. “Is it any wonder, captain, that I now hold a pistol in your face?”

             
Radchek caught his 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, private,” said Barkov.

Corovich half slid, half climbed back toward the rudder. He started to ease his right leg over when the MiG creaked again. He turned his head toward the sound and saw that the canopy was giving way.

Oblivious to the danger, Barkov spotted a set of snow-dusted tracks and followed them away from the tree. With growing concern, Radchek and Vukarin watched the private from the ground. “Easy does it, private,” Radchek said. Necks craned, the other troops joined the officers. From their vantage point, Corovich was veiled by the branches. They could, however, hear the creak of metal and crack of wood.

Corovich froze in fear and watched the canopy separate from the rail. Straddling the tail, the wreck underneath him shuddered. On the ground, the soldiers called up to him, but he dared not look down.

“
Get out of there.”

“
Come on, Corovich.”
              “You can do it.”

He could not do it. With the snap of breaking wood fibers filling the air, Corovich managed to look down. Through the branches, the crowd of soldiers urged him on, pleaded with him to get off the plane. Corovich turned toward the trees. Another tall pine stood less than 10 feet away. He swung his leg over the fuselage. Below, he thought he heard the soldiers cheer.

And then, there was a final, thunderous snap as the canopy gave way. Corovich felt the sudden sensation of flying and out of the corner of his eye, saw that the MiG, too, had again taken flight.

The private slammed into the branches of another tree 50 feet away. Tumbling downward, his body plowed through branch after snow-covered branch before hitting the forest floor.

The MiG’s short flight ended much the same way. It smashed into several tall pines. This time, it found its way to the ground and crashed into a heap.

Corovich opened his eyes to the sight of Captain Radchek standing over him. The other soldiers clapped and cheered as they poured around the private. In a moment, he was standing again.

Radchek exhaled in relief, dusting the snow from his cap. Vukarin joined him and barely opened his mouth to protest before Barkov called out.

“
Captain Radchek,” he said. They looked over at him. “I think you might find this interesting.” He was studying something on the ground.

“What do you think, captain?” Barkov squatted in the snow. Radchek came up from behind and at first failed to see what the colonel was referring to. Soon, though, he saw what Barkov saw: two distinct sets of tracks obscured by the recent snowfall. One set looked as if something heavy had been dragged behind them.

Radchek followed the trail with his eyes toward a nearby field. “Looks like something was dragged,” he said. “A toboggan, perhaps?” Radchek tried to sound as matter-of-factly as possible, but at that point he didn’t care about the spy. He was still trying to figure out what to do about Barkov.

“Yes, perhaps,” Barkov said. “And those?” Radchek looked at the other tracks. They came from the opposite direction of the first set, leading in from the north to their current position. It was hard to discern what type of tracks they were. Shrouded with freshly fallen snow, they were more like faint depressions.

“
Hard to tell, sir.” Radchek hoped his performance was convincing.

“
On the contrary,” Barkov began. “I think it’s quite clear.”

Vukarin stood with the other soldiers and watched Barkov and Radchek head into the forest. Still fuzzy headed, Corovich approached the lieutenant.

“
Sir, are we going to eat soon?” he said. Vukarin looked at the kid. Aside from the light stubble on his face, he could have passed for 12. He turned toward the other men and saw the desperate looks.

“
Listen, all of you,” said Vukarin. “We eat when the colonel says we eat. Understand?” The soldiers grumbled “Yes, sir” before milling about. Vukarin looked at Corovich, who backed away.

“
Private,” said Vukarin. Corovich’s glassy eyes found the lieutenant. “You’re okay, right?”

Corovich nodded. “Fine, sir.”

Barkov lead Radchek through the trees, then came upon a small clearing. In the center of the clearing was a large arch made from pine saplings. Hanging from the arch, a hunk of rusted sheet metal as big as an automobile’s hood swayed in the wind. The fainter tracks lead here, circled the arch, then trailed off, continuing north.

Radchek touched the edge of the metal, flicked it with his finger. It clanged dully. “Strange,” he said as he looked off into the forest. “I wonder if there are any more-” He jumped at the sound of a gong-like boom.

“
It’s a bell,” said the colonel, holding the luger by the barrel. He had struck the sheet metal with the butt of his sidearm.

The noise brought Vukarin and the rest of the squad running. Barkov turned to them, then began circling the arch. “Comrades, you are tired and hungry,” he said, studying the hanging metal sheet. “I understand that.”

Radchek didn’t trust Barkov’s jovial exterior, and from the look on his face, Vukarin didn’t either. Both were pleased, though, that Barkov had addressed the issues.

“
But,” the colonel continued. “We have before us an unfolding mystery.” He faced the soldiers, leaving Radchek and Vukarin out of the picture. “A mystery that now involves more than just one American spy. If you will join me in a search, I will see to it that each and every man here gets a week of R and R at Firlinsk on the Adriatic Sea.” All of a sudden, the soldiers weren’t hungry anymore, and Radchek and Vukarin shuddered at the men’s downright jubilation.

“
There are four of them,” Barkov said to his dumbfounded officers. They followed the prints away from the arch and into the woods. “The injured pilot was placed on a toboggan and dragged south by one person. Two others went this way, to the north.”

“
To the north? Why?” said Radchek. He didn’t want the colonel to think he was as gullible as the rest of the squad.

“
That, captain, is an excellent question. We know there is nothing to the north but more taiga.” Barkov stopped as the prints trailed off into an even thicker part of the woods. “I suspect there is more to this situation than we are seeing here, however.” Barkov turned to Vukarin, who eyed him suspiciously. “Lieutenant, choose four men. I want them to follow these tracks north. I want to know who’s up there.”

Vukarin was ready to object before Radchek intervened. “Sir,” said Radchek. “What about rest and food?”

“Give it to them,” said Barkov. “But I want this trail followed before the snowfall covers everything.”

“
What about the rest of us?” Radchek hoped Barkov was going to say that they would return to Yenisey.

“
We’ll follow the other trail south.” And with that, the colonel headed back to the trucks. Vukarin shook his head and waited until he was out of earshot.

“
Captain,” he said looking at Radchek with a tinge of desperation. “
Maksim.
You have to do something.”

“
What, lieutenant?” Radchek said. “What would you have me do?”

“
We’re not trained or equipped for this kind of search.”

“
I know that,” said Radchek. His mind was going in 50 different directions, and every one of them was a dead end. He was powerless to do anything and the frustration was evident in his face. He looked 10 years older. “The colonel has the support of the men for now,” he said. “We’ll just wait and see how long that lasts.”

Removing his hat, Vukarin wiped his bald head, the occasional snowflake melting against his scalp. “What if we
do
find something? “ he said. His hushed voice was subtle and foreboding.

Radchek didn’t answer. He was still a soldier, and although he thought Barkov’s behavior irrational at best, he wondered if he himself hadn’t somehow provoked the colonel. Barkov sounded magnanimous while talking to the men, asking for their permission to push them hard. That, as far as he knew, was a first in the Soviet Red Army. And it seemed to work.

There was one image Radchek couldn’t shake, however, and it stuck in his mind like a bad song.

It was the picture of the red-faced monster jamming a gun in his face.

8

             
Kurskin snuffed out his cigarette on his shoe, then immediately lit up another one. In the dull green light of the radar room, the hot orange tip of the cigarette was brilliant, and Kurskin focused on it. He wasn’t much of a smoker when he got to Yenisey, but he developed an appreciation for black market Italian brands. It had to be a secret appreciation, though, because Barkov didn’t allow smoking on the grounds. Kurskin had never heard of such an outrageous thing before, but the colonel was adamant. Radchek and Vukarin hadn’t cared about the directive because they didn’t smoke. Most of the rest of the guys did, though, and it was common practice to sneak out into the woods beyond the perimeter fence to light up. But right now, Kurskin had other things on his mind.