by W. R. Benton
“Missile!” Fedorovo screamed to the tank driver, but he was too late. The missile struck the aircraft in the engine and then exploded, throwing helicopter parts, dead bodies, flaming fuel and debris of various sizes in all directions. The aircraft rolled to it's side and then struck the ground hard, where it exploded, killing the Corporal and all inside the helicopter.
The tank started almost immediately and the commander yelled to be heard over the engines, “Gather men behind me and let us see what is down that street the missile came from.”
The tank driver went around the huge fire from the helicopter and then moved to the narrow street the partisan had used. Fedorovo didn't like the situation, because the houses were too close to the street, and a few were two stories and dangerous in his view. The tank commander was up and partially out of his hatch, manning a machine-gun, and while the rest were closed, just one grenade dropped down the hatch and all would be killed.
Moving to the rear of the tank, he pulled a telephone from a box and started speaking to the man. It was then he heard shots and saw two Molotov cocktails and a grenade fly out of the hands of partisans. The outside of the tank immediately burst into flames and the grenade went right down the hatch. The driver's hatch flew open and the driver madly crawled out but was afire, as the grenade exploded. The tank commander, who was half way out of his hatch was blown into the air. Fedorovo realized the weapons operator never had a chance.
As soon as the Russians kicked the door to the building open, the Master Sergeant moved forward and wrapped the burning driver with his coat to put the flames out. He heard gunshots, an explosion, and then more shots.
The tank was in flames now and the Master Sergeant yelled, “Everyone away from the tank before the ammunition and fuel explodes. Move, people!” He stood, placed the wounded driver over his shoulder, and ran for the market place.
The Soldiers, three fewer now, ran behind him. When a Sergeant neared, the Master Sergeant asked, “What happened?”
“The stairs were booby-trapped and there were only two of them. They were hard men to kill.”
Nearing the market place, he lowered the injured man to the grasses, ignoring his screams and looked toward the street. A few minutes later, he heard an explosion and saw flames and smoke rolling toward the gray sky. The tank has just blown up, he thought and shivered at the thought of being trapped in a tank with a fire. Minutes later there came a series of horrific explosions as the fuel and ammunition exploded as well. Smoke, dust, and debris flew through the air in all directions over the buildings.
Vasiliev was mad, but not overly so, with the disaster of the food serving. He'd lost well over a dozen men and since he'd filed his report with Moscow, threats were already coming in by emails and phone calls. He was in his office, feet propped up on the edge of his desk, as he sipped a small glass of vodka. He should have known the food idea wouldn't work, not the way he'd planned it. The civilians needed to come to the gate to get foodstuff and from now on, he'd keep his people away from civil projects. Food and clothing would be issued, after the civilians were searched, and then allowed in a warehouse near the gate. He'd place a tank by the door and a company of men to protect the place. He saw no reason the Americans would not flock to get the free food and clothing, thus improving relations with both countries. If he could only keep Moscow off his ass long enough to complete his ideas.
“Colonel, we just got a call that a squad of our men have located a large number of partisans in a group of trees and his estimates are over 400 of them.” Major Borisovich said as he stuck his head in the door.
“Where are these trees? Did you find them on the map?”
“No need for a map, sir, it is in the trees on the south end of the camp. One of the infrared equipped helicopters picked up the body heat. There were so many, he returned to base and reported a gear malfunction. Testing proved there was nothing wrong with his equipment.”
“Right now? How in the hell did that many resistance members get so close to us without being spotted?”
“Intelligence thinks they entered the trees last night and spent the day there, planning to attack us tonight.”
“What is the weather forecast for tonight?”
“Uh, cloudy, overcast, cold with snow. The snow is to hit shortly after 2000 hours, sir. Why?”
Glancing out the window, the Lieutenant Colonel asked, “What time is it?”
“1900 hours, sir. Why did you want the weather forecast?”
“The worst the weather is, the better the conditions are for an attack. I want the whole base on alert, and do it now! But quietly, because I want no sirens or lights all over the place. Get the men into position and quietly, too. Alert Base Operations and tell them I want all aircrew on immediate alert for base air defense. Now move, Major!”
As the Major scurried from the room, Vasiliev grew concerned. He was a well trained officer and this was not his first combat command, but partisans didn't fight by the book. They reminded him of the American Indians he used to read about as a kid. The Natives were experts at hit and run and they very rarely attacked in mass to overwhelm their enemies, but slowly wore their enemies down by killing a few here and a few there. Or, they'd meet a small group of their foes and battle until a couple were dead and then end the fight. Like partisans, they didn't have unlimited manpower, but the Lieutenant Colonel did and he would use it, if attacked. The man stood, moved to the tea pot and poured a cup of tea and then added a little vodka. This night, or so it looked likely, he'd get little sleep.
He contacted all the members of his staff and placed them on alert and recall. Recall assured him the men would be in position when the attack happened. He took a sip of his vodka and tea, and thought, But, when and where will they strike?
By 0130, the suspected attack had not happened, and Vasiliev was thinking perhaps it was all a mistake and the infrared gear was messing up again. He walked from the office, lighted a cigarette and moved down the empty hall. Lights were on in many offices, but he stuck his head in Major Borisovich's office and said, “I am calling it a night. Keep the troops ready the rest of the night, except I think it will be a quiet evening. If you do need me, however, I will be in my quarters.”
“Of course, sir, and enjoy the remainder of your evening.” the Major replied.
Like all the troops, he was wearing full combat field gear, including a helmet and while the damned thing was heavy, he had to set the example. Just outside the building, he took his helmet off, ran his hands through his dirty hair and curse at how filthy he felt. He'd just put the steel pot back on his head, when he felt a sharp impact to his head, the helmet went flying and he was knocked to ground. Sniper, he thought. I need to lay still and not move, or they will put another bullet in me. I did not hear the shot, so they are using a silencer with the rifle.
The door flew open, five men rushed out, a Sergeant squatted and said, “He has been shot in the head!”
The young Sergeant's face suddenly had a black dot appear, right above his left eye, and then the back of his skull flew apart as a long finger of red blood shot from the hole. He blinked once, quivered, and then his lifeless body fell over the Lieutenant Colonel's. Two privates grabbed the Colonel and pulled him inside. As they worked, two more men, attempting to move the Sergeant's body were struck by the sniper. One was struck in the center of his back and his chest exploded, sending bone, flesh, and blood onto the wooden wall. He screamed, grabbed for his wound and then his body shook violently as another bullet struck him in the lower belly. He began to shriek and jerk violently as the second man tried to pull him into the door. The uninjured man took a bullet to the throat, and almost instantly a fountain blood shot from his injury. Choking on blood, he fell, half in and half out the door. In less than three minutes, both men were still as blood ran from their bodies, making small rivers of red as they flowed toward the steps.
Vasiliev, once inside, sat up and leaned against a wall. He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach as he
raised his right hand to feel his injury. While he'd bled a lot, it felt to him as if the bullet had only burned his flesh. He lowered his hand and it was covered in blood.
“Help me stand and we will go out the back door. I must get to our command post and direct operations from there. I want all in the building to leave at the same time.”
“Not yet, sir. I need to bandage your injury.” the Major said. He pulled a dressing from the Lieutenant Colonel's first aid kit and tore it open. Once completed he added, “If you had not been wearing your helmet, I think you would be dead right now. It ran a farrow around your skull, just breaking the skin.”
“Let us move, because I am needed.”
The Major helped him stand and placed the Lieutenant Colonel's arm around his neck. They then walked down the hallway, knocking on doors and emptying rooms. Vasiliev figured the sniper couldn't see on the other side of the building and he was right.
At the command post, Vasiliev immediately took control and other than sniping, no one had attempted to breach the perimeter fence. Before his death, Colonel Ivanov had had the fence charged with electricity, to assist in base security, so maybe the fence would keep them out. It is unlikely, he thought, because they blow one hole in the thing and it will all quit working.
“Sir! One of our helicopters, uh, Delta One Six, claims movement toward the fence line now.” A young man wearing a headset yelled out to be heard over the normal voices. It instantly grew quiet.
“Tell Delta One Six to wait until the partisans reach the fence line, then engage the enemy. Alert all helicopters in the air we are about to have guests. Make sure our defensive positions all know we will soon be under attack. Notify Base Operations and tell the commander I want everything that will fly in the air. Now!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pulling a full bottle of vodka from his desk drawer, Vasiliev poured a water glass half full and then chugged about half of it down. He sipped the rest as he said, “Damned doctor wanted to put me on morphine for my head wound. I have to be able to think, so vodka will keep me functioning until this is over.”
“Delta One Six is engaging the enemy now, sir!”
Raising his glass high, the Lieutenant Colonel said, “Gentlemen, the game begins.”
CHAPTER 15
I heard the dog before I ever saw it and the animal was sniffing our trail hard. I had Dolly laying beside me and she wanted a piece of that animal badly. I could clearly see the Russian troops approaching and suddenly the dog handler stopped, looked around and then said something. I saw the troops bring their weapons to the ready position.
I'd guess there were a hundred Russians and seven of us, so it didn't look good to me. I waited until the group was right in front of my Claymore mine and then squeezed the clackers. A loud explosion echoed through the trees, followed by screams and shouting. The dog was still alive, his handler down and then the animal broke free. I saw dirt kicked up all around the animal and he was moving right for my position, so I released Dolly.
Silverwolf blew another Claymore and more screams were heard. All of us began tossing grenades as fast as we could pull the pins. Finally, Walsh stood with the flamethrower and squirted his liquid death down the trail. He was advancing toward the Russians when I saw him suddenly explode into a walking ball of flames. His screams were a much higher pitch than the Russian wounded and I know I smiled when a long burst of fire from one side or the other, dropped him to the trail. I pulled my pistol and as Dolly and the dog fought, I waited from them to give me a clear shot. Finally, they separated, each dripping blood from their mouths and I fired one round into the dog. The Russian dog dropped instantly, dead before he struck the ground.
I called Dolly, looked her over and saw some injuries on her face and neck. I put my whistle to my mouth, gave three loud blasts, the signal to retreat and began to back away from our enemies. We'd agreed to meet a half mile down the trail and off to the right about a 100 yards. Knowing the Russian troops would be supported by choppers, I moved slowly and stopped to listen often. Abruptly one chopper flew over; I heard it's machine-guns open up, so I kept moving.
Twenty minutes after I reached the agreed upon spot, Silverwolf arrived limping and Scott was helping him along. I waved as they neared and once beside me I asked, “Where are the rest?”
Silverwolf said, “Walsh was killed when his Flamethrower tanks blew, Kerr was struck in the head and is dead as hell. I don't know about Joyce.”
“Joyce was in a huge Pine behind me and I saw a chopper cut her to pieces. As we retreated, she was taking shots at the Russians. I knew for every shot, a man died, but then a chopper showed, and a door-gunner chewed the tree to pieces. A minute or so later, I saw her body fall from the tree. John, there is no chance she's alive; hell, she must have fell over a hundred feet anyway.”
“I agree, if the guns didn't kill her the fall did. How badly are you hit?” I asked looking at Silverwolf.
Grinning, he said, “A piece of shrapnel from one of my own grenades hit the leg. It went through the meat and missed the bone, so I'll live. It hurts like a bitch though.”
I handed him a white pill from Sandra's medical supplies and said, “This will kill your pain for a couple of hours. Now, we need to be moving quickly, and keep moving until dark. Once dark, we'll stop long enough to have a cold supper, then continue to Colonel Lee. I suspect we'll reach him at some point later tonight. Scott, help him until the pill kicks in, then he can use a limb as a cane.” I wiped the blood from Dolly's back and discovered most of it was not hers. She had one scratch down the middle of her back and that was it. I wiped it down with a bit of rubbing alcohol and while she didn't like it, she didn't move away from me. I knew it had to sting her a little, but she trusted me.
Scott asked, “How many Russians do you think we killed?”
“I have no idea, but not as many as you think we may have. Our only advantage was the Claymores and I suspect we may have killed a couple, but injured a good half dozen or more.”
“Surely we killed at least a dozen or more.”
I gave him a tired grin and said, “No, not even close, or if we did it was pure luck. But if you're worried about it, you have my permission to go back and check.”
“Ain't no way in hell.”
“Okay then, let's kill the chatter and get moving. I'll take the point and you help Silverwolf. In about twenty minutes his pain will go away. At that point he should be able to walk with the aid of a cane and any green limb will work fine as a walking aid. Let's move.”
We moved through the woods slowly at first, until the pill started working, and then much faster. I was disturbed by the loss of my three people and all were my friends, except I'd learned in this war to adjust to loss. I'd lost my best friend, his wife, and my wife, and eventually I'm sure, it'll cost me my life. Except, what choices did I have? What is the value of this nation, even in human lives, if that's the price to be paid? Millions have already died, more would die, and the dying would probably continue well after the Russians were removed.
Our evening meal was cold Russian rations and creek water. I didn't like the idea of drinking the water, but Silverwolf assured me the enemy hadn't poisoned the water yet, but not long ago, they'd sure as hell used gas on a bunch of people down near the Louisiana state line. I was not very trusting of water sources and told both of them so.
After our meal, I gave another pain pill to Silverwolf and off we went. Even with the pain killers I knew he was hurting, but if I gave him morphine, Scott and I would have to pack him and I didn't like that idea. It's hard to respond fast if needed when you're carrying an injured man. Snow began to fall and I felt the temperature dropping fast. Still, while wanting to stop for the night, I needed to get back to Colonel Lee, and replace my dead people. I would not be able to complete my missions if not manned at 100 percent, and removing the Russians from my nation was my key concern. Nothing else in life mattered right now; nothing.
Colonel Lee moved around a large
map, nailed to the side of a building and said, “Tonight we will strike Edwards Air Base. Our primary mission is to show the Russians we can hit when and where we want. Intelligence indicates they currently are short the base and gulag commanders. One we know was killed, but the other we don't know for sure yet. The acting commander has ordered the return of all troops and called the poison gas attack off. Now, this new acting commander is an interesting individual.”
“Interesting in what way, sir?” a voice from the back asked. All officers and senior Sergeants were assembled outside and most were sitting in the dirt or grasses.
“Not long ago, he attempted to open a free soup kitchen in Edwards. We found out about it, of course, and took it out, along with over a dozen men and a tank. It cost us three lives, gentlemen, but well worth the price.”
“Sir, I don't see the purpose of attacking Edwards, just to show them we can.”
“We'll use snipers, probe a bit, and who knows, we might get lucky and overrun the base.” the Colonel said and then took a long drink of his pine needle tea.
I asked, “What about my squad, sir? I'm down to two people, including me, with a third, but he's injured.”
“John, I have replacements for your unit, so relax and see Top. Later today I will furnish more information about when and how we'll move toward the Russian bear.”
As the man turned to move, Top yelled, “Tennnn Huuut!”
Everyone jumped to their feet.
“At ease!” the Colonel said as he rounded the corner of the building.
“John!” Top yelled and then waved at me.
I moved to him and he said, “I have nine replacements for you and all are experienced men and women. Your sniper is a woman called Mary, with over eighty confirmed kills, and she's a hard woman. Scott is to remain here and work for us. The Colonel thinks the man's language skills and intelligence will better serve our purpose if he's placed at headquarters. If nothing else, he can monitor Russian radio conversations.”
