The Fall of America: Winter Ops

by W. R. Benton

  The first house they visited this night didn't go well.

  The home was a two story building in need of painting and Vanya walked to the door and knocked.

  “Someone looked out the upstairs window, sir, so give them time to open the door. I suspect they are an old couple.” Iona said and held his weapon in a relaxed manner. How much trouble can rounding up a bunch of old men and women be, he thought.

  Growing impatient, the Captain knocked again. He glanced at his watch.

  Suddenly, the sound of a shotgun was heard and the blast came through the door and struck Captain Vanya in the middle of his stomach. Part of his spine was blown out of his back, along with parts of his lungs and liver. Blood spattered in all directions, with a long finger landing on Iona's face. The Captain fell to the porch screeching, as his feet kicked and his fingers clawed at the wooden surface. Pulling his medical bag, Iona pulled the fatally injured officer away from the door and started to examine him.

  Two more shotgun shots were heard, which dropped two screaming Russians, but then a machine-gun opened up near the truck and bullets flew into the wood frame house. The three injured men were pulled to safety as the gun riddled the structure. Finally, silence.

  There was a noise of something rolling and when Yefrem looked toward the sound, he screamed, “Grenade!”

  The explosion was loud and left Iona's ears ringing. He looked the Captain over, shook his head and ignored the man's screams. Pulling his medical bag to him, he prepared two syringes with morphine and then injected both into the dying officer. In less than a minute Captain Vladlen Vanya was officially a statistic of the Russian American War.

  The grenade had caused six more injuries and as Iona was working on them, Senior Sergeant Yefrem led the men to the porch. He pulled a pin from a grenade and tossed it through the hole in the door. Almost immediately the Russian grenade shattered a window as someone inside tossed it outside. The resulting explosion injured no one, but it did make all involved nervous.

  Pulling another grenade, the Sergeant knew the fuse was set to four seconds, so he pulled the pin and let the spoon fly. After two seconds he threw it through the shattered window. There was an explosion and a loud scream followed. The Russian troops kicked the door in and entered shooting.

  An old man in his late 60's lay on the floor, his right arm and half of his face was gone. He was moving toward on old single shot shotgun, when Yefrem shot him down the back with his Bison sub machine-gun.

  There was a thin woman in a recliner. She looked to be dead. So Melor moved to her and pulled her body from the chair and tossed her lifeless form to the floor.

  “No, don't touch any—” Yefrem yelled, but too late.

  An explosion was heard, followed instantly by screams, and when Yefrem looked around, the room was filled with dust and blood was dripping from the ceiling and walls. He saw five men down; three from another squad, and Melor had saved some of the men by taking the main force of the blast with his body. Quickly checking himself and finding no injuries, except he couldn't hear, Yefrem stood on shaky legs.

  In ran Iona, medical bag in hand, and he was shocked by the dripping blood. He moved to Melor and shook his head. Then moving to Ilyich, he pulled out three tourniquets and applied them to what remained of his two arms and right leg.

  Iona said something to the Senior Sergeant, but he heard not a word and pointed to his ears. Within a few minutes, the medic had a IV in Ilyich and was giving him morphine for his pain. He then yelled for the radioman and told him he had a patient that would be dead if not taken out by helicopter.

  Yefrem walked outside, sat in Captain Vanya's blood on the top step, and thought, Damn, we have lost almost a dozen men and all by two old people. And, this is our first house! What if they all resist like this? How many men will this roundup cost my country?

  Minutes later, Iona sat beside the Senior Sergeant and looked his ears over. Pulling out a pen and a small pad he wrote, “Your eardrums have both been ruptured. I am going to give you some morphine for your pain. Is that okay with you?”

  Yefrem nodded in understanding.

  “Also, I want you to leave on the helicopter with Ilyich, because your days of combat are over for now, and maybe forever.”

  Yefrem said, “I am to leave with helicopter. The pain is less now. How many dead do we have?”

  Private Iona wrote, “Too many. I do not expect Ilyich to survive. He has lost much blood. Melor is dead. Captain Vanya is dead. Two other men were shot fatally. Right now we have four dead and many wounded. How can this be? Only two old people lived here? I do not understand.”

  “These Americans will fight us until only one of them lives, and he will go to his death fighting too.”

  “Do they not fear death? To resist us means death, Senior Sergeant.”

  “To them, to wear the yoke of Russian dominance is a fate worst than death. They are an independent lot, Americans are, and have never been beaten in a war.”

  “What of their war in Vietnam?” Iona wrote on his pad.

  “The military did not lose that war, the politicians did. They pulled out all Americans and left, just as they had the communists on their knees, begging for peace. It was a big mistake and after they had lost over 58,000 troops. Two years later, South Vietnam was under new ownership and the American politicians let it happen.”

  Iona looked up as he heard the whop-whop-whop of a helicopter and wrote, “The aircraft comes and you be sure to get on it.”

  “I will do that, Sergeant Iona. I will speak to the Colonel about your promotion. You saved lives here today and are a good soldier.”

  The medic smiled, nodded, and then quickly moved to his patients, wanting to load the most serious first.

  The helicopter didn't land but lowered a basket, much like an American Stokes litter, and the injured were loaded one at a time. Once Senior Sergeant Yefrem was in the helicopter, the nose lowered and it moved toward Edwards.

  At almost every home they approached they were met with stiff resistance and by the time they'd gotten to dwelling number five, they'd toss in a grenade, and kick the front door in immediately after the explosion. Often the occupants were in bed, since it was night time, and the grenades did nothing but awaken them, but fight back the Americans did. A dozen more dead and injured were added to the list the Sergeant in charge carried in his shirt pocket.

  Finally, at home number ten a helicopter landed in a nearby street. Colonels Ivanov and Kuznetsov, the gulag Commander, ran from the helicopter. They walked quickly to the ranking Sergeant.

  “What is causing all the casualties, Sergeant?” Colonel Ivanov asked.

  “We are meeting armed resistance, sir, and in some cases, it is very heavy.”

  “You mean to stand there and tell me Russian troops cannot take a bunch of old people into custody?”

  “That is exactly what I am telling you, sir. These are not a bunch of old people sitting at home waiting to die, and all have fought to the death.”

  “Has this house been attempted yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  Pulling his pistol, Ivanov said, “Watch me and learn, Sergeant. I will show you how it is done properly and it will not take me long, either. Come, Kuznetsov, and let us teach these young men how this job is to be done.”

  Kuznetsov pulled his pistol and slipped the safety off. He followed the Colonel up the steps to the door. Ivanov pounded on the door and yelled, “Russian army, open your door!”

  A male voice answered from inside, “Kiss my ass, you communist sumbitches. If ya want our asses, come and get 'em.”

  “Kuznetsov, move to the side of the window and warn me of any movement inside.”

  The gulag officer had no combat experience, and Ivanov had just one encounter, but the junior officer moved for the window. The window had been busted out years ago and the Colonel didn't duck as he move in front of the window frame. There came a loud twang and Kuznetsov fell screaming, with an arrow from a crossbow in his n
eck. Blood, a bright cherry-red, ran through his fingers and spurted into the air with each beat of his heart, as he tried to stop the bleeding. Then he began to choke as Iona squatted beside him.

  The medic pulled the arrow shaft the rest of the way out, applied a compress to the holes, and then gave the Colonel and shot of morphine. As Kuznetsov drifted off in a drug influenced sleep, Iona filled out a casualty tag that would go around the Colonel's neck.

  Ivanov, angry at the stupidity of Kuznetsov, kicked the door in and was surprised to see no one in the room. A squad of men followed him and one asked, “What is that smell? It reminds me of rotten eggs.”

  The Colonel continued through the house, checking all the rooms and found them empty, until he got to the kitchen. An old woman of about 80 held a lighter in her hands and a man lay on the floor, shotgun in hand. As he raised his pistol, Ivanov knew he was too slow, because the shotgun fired, the Colonel was knocked against a far wall, and then the whole building exploded. If they've been more thorough as they searched the rooms they'd have found small propane tanks, the size of the containers used in a barbeque grill, with the valves open, in every room. The blast from the double barrel shotgun had supplied the fire needed to ignite the gas, which caused the resulting explosion.

  Iona smelled the gas and as he started to stand, the whole building exploded in all directions. He fell on his patient and shielded him with is own body. Kuznetsov suddenly screamed and his body joined many others as sharp pointed pieces of wood struck the unsuspecting Russian troops. A large mushroom cloud of dust and flames formed in the sky directly above the building. The large blast was followed by many others as the individual tanks of propane exploded as well. Each tank that exploded, sent sharp metal shrapnel in all directions, and more men called out in pain. Then, minutes later, it was quiet.

  The medic, moving to the Colonel, saw a long sliver of wood stuck in his chest near his heart. He called two soldiers over and said, “I have to remove the wood from the Colonel to treat him. I want you both to hold him down as I do the job.”

  “When?” the youngest looking Private asked.

  “Right now.” Iona replied and then grabbed the wood with a solid grip, and then slowly removed it. The Colonel screamed and kicked for a minute or so and then passed out. From what the medic saw after removing the wood, it'd gone completely through his body. Rolling his body to his side, he saw an exit wound. He pulled the man's shirt off, ignoring the 30 degree weather and plugged both holes with cotton bandages. He then wrapped the injury in cotton as well.

  The helicopter was still parked in the street, so Iona slowly stood and made his way to the crew. He was suddenly exhausted and when he neared he said, “I need you to transport all our wounded back to Edwards.”

  “Sorry, but we are the private crew for Colonel Ivanov. We are under orders to wait for him so we can return him to base.”

  “Colonel Ivanov and ten other men died in the explosions that just happened. Now, both of you out rank me, but I am sure a review board will be interested in why you two allowed brave Russian soldiers to bleed to death, when they could have been saved. Your boss is dead meat.”

  They looked at each other and the oldest man shrugged and replied, “Load them on the aircraft, and do it quickly.”

  Returning to the remains of the burning and smoking house, he'd just bent over to check on Kuznetsov when the helicopter exploded, throwing debris and burning fuel high into the air. One crew member had gotten out of the helicopter alive, but his right leg was in flames. One soldier ran to him and sprayed the leg with a fire extinguisher from a truck. The fire went out instantly, but the other man could be heard screaming as he burned to death, still strapped in the left seat.

  “Rocket propelled grenade!” someone yelled, and all went to ground.

  “Radioman!” the Sergeant who Ivanov had given a hard time called out.

  “He is dead, Sergeant.” an unknown Private said.

  “Bring me the radio, and do the job now. Base is going to shit when I tell them the base commander is dead, along with a good dozen other soldiers, and their gulag commander is severely injured and may not survive.”

  “Here is the radio, Sergeant.” The Private handed the radio to the man.

  CHAPTER 13

  When dawn arrived, I was still tired and so was Dolly. I fed her most of my Russian ration and then moved around to loosen up my stiff body. My eyes felt like they had grit or sand in them, and my back was sore from sleeping on the hard floor. While the fire station blocked the wind, it remained cold in the place. Looking out frost-covered windows, I saw snow was still falling, but I knew it'd not last long. It was rare this far South to get more than an inch of snow and it never lasted long. I figured by mid-day most of the snow would be melted, but right now I needed to meet Colonel Lee and see if our joint attack against Edwards had gotten the results we wanted.

  Our primary goal was to prevent the nerve gas attack on unarmed civilians in the state and to do that, we'd hoped to hit the Russians hard enough they'd call off the attack, and then move men back to their units in order to provide better security for all bases. Edwards Air Base wasn't the only Russian base we'd attacked, and all up and down the state we'd attacked various staging areas, warehouses, and bases. Most were considered a success, except Jackson Air Base, where we'd taken horrible losses. Of course, we'd expected Jackson to be difficult, because it was the main Russian base in the state. Of all the bases, since it was the central supply receiving port, it was better armed and defended. While the Strela-2M missiles had downed a few helicopters at Jackson, the fast movers, the jet aircraft, were based there. We learned the missile wasn't as good against jet aircraft as it was against the much slower choppers. The jets had torn our people to pieces and we'd experienced over a thousand dead and three times that many maimed and injured. Jackson was a failure, in many ways, but it did show the Russians we'd attack where and when we desired.

  An hour after dawn, I said, “Saddle up, we're going to find Colonel Lee. We have carried out his plan as well as we can, but I need to know if the Russians have called off their gas attack.”

  Joyce, who was on guard appeared at the top of the stairs and said, “Russian truck just pulled up and I have them near the front door to this place.”

  “Everyone to a window, but don't shoot unless I start first. Joyce, you remain in the vehicle bay and keep an eye on them. Let me know if they enter the building or when they leave.”

  “Will do.” she said, and then moved down the stairs.

  From my window I could see highway 80 well, and one large Russian truck was parked in the driveway with its engine running. It was cold enough the heat from the exhaust of the truck looked like smoke. I suspected it was near thirty degrees, or even a little lower. I could even see the individual Russian soldiers breathing as they moved around outside.

  Five minutes later, as I watched, the Russians piled in the back of the truck and they pulled onto the highway and turned toward town. Joyce walked to me a few minutes later with a poster in her hand.

  “Read this. The English is rough, but you'll understand the meaning.” she said.

  I read the text, looked around the room and said, “The Russians are gathering up all family members of partisans and will relocate them to a gulag out of state, unless they decide to execute them. All members of the resistance are urged to surrender to save your family. We all know what will happen if you surrender, except this poster says you'll be treated well, fed, given new clothing, and assisted in starting a new life. The rest of the lies are on it, so read it.” I then passed the poster to Arwood.

  I wasn't concerned; my parents were dead, and I knew better than to believe a word on the poster. After about ten minutes, Walsh, the last man to read it tossed it to the floor and said, “I have family, but they live in the backwoods of Mississippi and the Russians won't find them.”

  “Do any of you want to surrender?”

  Silence, but finally, Joyce said, “My
parents were alive the last time I saw them, but they are elderly and proud of my work with the resistance. My dad told me no matter what happened to them to keep up the fight and I intend to do that.”

  “How do they know who is a partisan?” Silverwolf asked.

  “The Russians have computers and by guessing, looking at the ages of each of us, they can then check our police and military records, if we have any. The Department of Defense will have data on all of us who served, including our DOD-214 details, or discharge papers. If you were still on active duty at the time of the fall, they'll know even more about you. Also, gun registration information, hunting license information, and even our drivers license info will have some details. If you ordered a veteran license plate, even that will be documented. Then consider the spies we've found within our groups the last few years, which I'm sure furnished as many names as possible; they'll have a fair tally of who is with the resistance. They will suspect anyone with a military background, a hunter, or registered gun owner to be a partisan.”

  “They'll be wrong in some cases.” Kerr said.

  “Do you honestly think they'll give a damn?” I replied and then added, “Walsh, pick up the poster and bring it with you to show the Colonel. We need to find the man, and as soon as possible. Looks to me like this poster may fool some members with us, and we want to avoid that if doable. I don't see the Russians keeping their words and I'm sure all partisans who surrender and their families will be murdered. Let's move toward the Pearl River and Kerr, you take point, while Silverwolf, I want you bringing up our rear.”

  We moved quickly, but not so fast we didn't look for mines or booby-traps. The Russians knew we were in the area, so I knew they had mines out, so we stayed off the beaten path and in the rough grasses and brush as much as possible. We'd covered about half the distance to the river when Kerr stopped and motioned me forward.