For All Nails #177: North To Alaska
by Mike Keating
- Fort Romanov, Alaska, Russian Empire
- North of the Alaska/California border
- 22 February 1898
Major Ivan Pavlovich Federov sat at the dinner table with his family. It was the last night he had with them before going out on maneuvers with his men. Word had it there was tension between the Imperial government and the Kramer Associates, and the government didn't want the tension to extend to the USM government too. If you believed everything you heard about the Mexicans, Kramer had had Hermión installed in office. So Prince Pyotr Sviatopolk-Mirsky, the Foreign Minister FN1, had talked the War Minister into some show-the-flag operations. Let them know we won't be pushed around easily, with plenty of bravado.
He enjoyed this time with his wife and sons. The housing on base for officers had a lot to be desired, but he couldn't afford a home for four off the base. If he was a general, he could easily, or even a colonel. But not as a major.
His older boy, Andrei, chose to ask a question just as Ivan had his mouth full, just like always at dinner. Ivan had just put a forkful of venison into his mouth when ten-year-old Andrei said, "Papa, are we going to war with the Mexicantsi?"
"Andrei, let your father finish chewing before you ask him something," admonished his wife, Olga. As she said this she wiped food from two-year old Misha's face.
Ivan took advantage of that to chew a few more times while sending her a grateful look. Swallowing, he looked at Andrei. "I suppose that's for the Tsar and the Mexicantsi to decide, son. But I certainly hope not. Things have been peaceful here until the last few weeks, and I like them peaceful." So long as my family is here, I do.
Privately, he wondered the same question. Rumors about what was really going on were all he had. While the people weren't meant to know, he had serious doubts about whether Russia could win a war against the USM, or fight to a draw. Will my family be safe here? Federov wasn't sure if Nikolaevsk was safe FN2, or Novaya Odessa, or even Beringgrad FN3. Anywhere on the coast was a potential target, or anywhere not sufficiently north. What sufficiently north was, he had no idea.
- The next day
Federov looked at his men as they moved through the muck. It was just above freezing, and it was muddy. The mud was just liquid enough to be sticky, gooey, and unexpectedly deep. Every time he put his foot down, he fully expected it to sink to his ankle. It only did so once out of every five steps or so, but that was bad enough.
He turned to his aide, Captain Antonio Gomez. "What's the name of that captain in charge of the border again?"
"Tschakev, sir. Captain Boris Tschakev." FN4
"I've heard he isn't on the best of terms with the Mexicans."
Gomez nodded. "He's most uncooperative with them in some things, I gather, sir."
"How close to the border are we? I imagine we're almost right on top of it."
Gomez pulled out a map and read it while walking. "We may be within a quarter mile. Their border guards can see us, sir."
"Then we've made our point. Let's head back north." Federov paused, then asked, "Antonio, what are you doing in the Russian Army, anyway? I'd be willing to bet that you're the only Mexican officer, or at least the only one serving in Alaska."
"Well, for one thing sir, I figured not many Mexicans join because they don't see any others in the Army. Or the Navy, for that matter. If I do, others might. There's also the same reason others join militaries all over the world."
Antonio didn't explain any further, so Ivan had to prod him. "What reason is that?"
Gomez's reply was simple. "I got drunk."
Federov couldn't stop laughing for several minutes.
Forward to FAN #178 (2 March 1898, Great Northern War): On The Border.
Return to For All Nails.