by Unknown
“My father and Mr. Polski said they came up here and gathered what they could use. The food was the most important thing,” Petyr said.
“Yea, survival at its best. It was a good thing we were able to get those troops out of here,” Ricks said, remembering the joy on Petyr’s face when he found his family alive. Boxes and equipment were stacked everywhere. There was still more food, some fuel and lamps, even personal gear. They rummaged through the leftovers until it began to get dark, then made their way back toward the house.
Anton Bugayev started early for the evening. He was getting tired of only traveling at night. The cold seemed to almost never go away, but it was the only way to get across the border undetected. Today he started before dusk. The evening sky remained clear and blended from a blue to various shades of orange and red. After only thirty minutes walking he saw a house in the distance with lights burning inside. He wondered if there might be a chance to get a hot meal and be warm for a change.
Making his way slowly along the ditch on the side of the road, he looked for any sign of danger, but seeing none, he continued on. Bugayev decided he would simply knock on the door and ask for help. With refugees all over the country, the people may take pity on him and let him in. His hands fingered the small P-96 pistol in his coat pocket. It was his insurance in case he ran into trouble. The trusty pistol had been by his side for the last ten years. He made sure it was well maintained and fully loaded.
Coming up to the house, Bugayev could see people inside through the clear glass. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the door and knocked. To his utter amazement, Bugayev found himself face to face with Anton Kursov.
A look of shock and fear crossed Krusov’s face. “What are you doing here,” he almost spat.
Instantly the 9mm pistol was in Bugayev’s hand. Aiming it directly at Kursov he poked it into the man’s stomach, forcing him back inside the house. Camille saw the man with the gun and let out a high pitched scream before Bugayev slammed the door.
Ricks and Petyr stopped in mid stride. “That was Camille,” said Petyr as he began to run toward the house with Ricks right behind him.
“Stop at the barn,” called out Ricks as the two men neared the house. Dashing into the open door, Ricks found what he was looking for, two broad axes that had been hanging on the wall behind the door. “Okay, now we’re armed. Before we go in we need to see what we’re up against,” said Ricks. “Let’s go by the kitchen window.”
Ricks and Petyr made their way in a wide circle so that they could see in the window but were too far away to be seen from anyone inside.
“I know that man,” said Petyr. “He was the one I told you about who was setting up those demonstrations.”
Ricks nodded in understanding. “He’s carrying some sort of pistol. Let’s move in a little closer.”
Inside the brightly lit room Bugayev stood in front of the whole family. The evil smile on his face was accentuated by the pistol in his hand. “Isn’t it amazing how things work out,” he said. “I have been looking for you a long time. Now that I have you, I want to enjoy the moment,” Bugayev said.
“What would you want with us? Look around you. The war is over here. You lost,” said Kursov.
“Possibly, but the man who betrayed me to the enemy should be made to pay,” hissed Bugayev.
“Betray you? I was picked up along with the rest and interrogated for hours. Only after a long wait was I told to go home. When the war started no one cared to question me anymore,” said Kursov. It was a lie, but it fit.
Bugayev shook his head slowly. “No, that isn’t possible. I have found all but one of our party and they all said they were innocent, even when I shot them.”
The revelation that Bugayev had murdered the others was a slap to Kursov. It meant his folly would now strike at his own family. An angry look came over his face. “You killed those who supported you? Who worked for you? They were willing to give their all for Russia and now you have repaid their loyalty with this? Look what has now happened. The Allied armies have pushed Russia back almost to our borders. All the killing has come to nothing! Now you want to kill some more. This is not the Russia I remember. The Russia I knew had a soul, despite the Communists. You are nothing more than evil and hate, still trying to get your way. Very well then, shoot me and leave this place. Take out your revenge on me,” shouted Kursov, stepping forward slightly and puffing out his chest. He fully expected the bullet at any time.
Bugayev laughed. “Brave words, but no, I do not kill you. First I kill each of your family as you watch. It will be slow so you can feel the pain I felt at the hands of my captors.”
Around him the two families clung together. Mrs. Kursov took Camille and Sasha in her arms while Mr. Polski placed an arm around his son’s shoulders.
Bugayev looked from side to side at the family before him. “The question is who shall be the first?” he said slowly as he moved the pistol in an ark. His eyes focused on Freda. “You will do,” he said as he squeezed the trigger.
The pistol fired, but not before Anton Kursov sprang like a coiled spring in front of her. The bullet struck him in the upper left chest, spinning him around and knocking him to the floor. Mrs. Kursov let out a scream and rushed to his side. Rudy grabbed the back of a wooden chair and was about to throw it at Bugayev.
Bugayev hadn’t heard the door open, but as he was about to dispatch Rudy he felt a blast of cold air on his back. He had just begun to turn when an axe appeared out of nowhere, chopping its way through his upper arm and burying itself in the side of his chest. Petyr had swung the axe like a baseball bat. The blow knocked Bugayev over onto the kitchen table where he collapsed onto the floor. The severed arm lay on the floor, still gripping the pistol in its now dead hand.
Petyr placed his foot on Bugayev’s back and pried the axe from his side as if removing it from a tree. He watched the ever spreading pool of blood spreading over the wooden floor in a widening circle. Bugayev stared up as Petyr leaned over him. Just before his eyes fluttered shut he heard him say in a voice sounding like death itself, “You were wrong. I was the one who turned you in.”
Petyr turned to the others. “Get some towels and bandages. Mr. Polski, can you get a tourniquet on this arm? I want to keep this man alive,” he ordered.
The rest of the family jumped into action as Petyr went over to his father. He was lying on the floor being tended to by his mother. He knelt beside him and smiled. “You saved Freda’s life,” Petyr said. “I think I understand a little now. In many ways, I am proud of you, Father.”
A very pale Anton Kursov looked up at his son and smiled. “And I have always been proud of you, Petyr. You were right. I was foolish, and you have brought pride and honor to our family,” he said. He placed his hand over his son’s and grasped it.
“Now I need to get you to the hospital.” Petyr said.
They heard the Humvee pull up outside and Ricks came through the door. “Let’s get these two in the vehicle,” he said.
Kursov was eased into the front seat while Bugayev was lifted into the very back of the vehicle. Petyr and Mr. Polski junped in the back seat. Ricks shoved the Humvee into gear and sped down the highway toward Krakow.
USS Iowa
The Osprey eased over the fantail and slowly positioned itself over the deck of the Iowa. Once the wheels touched down, the back of the plane lowered and two passengers got off. Captain Rhodes greeted the two and escorted them back to his cabin. As they left, the Osprey shut down its engines.
For Hustvedt, the Iowa reminded him of his old ship, the North Carolina. The strength of the ship could be felt almost immediately and they were greeted by members of the crew as they made their way forward. Using a critical eye, there wasn’t much that could be said was wrong aboard the ship. The ever present rust was almost nonexistent, and the decks were clean and neat. Even when the party entered the skin of the ship there was little wrong. The decks were spotless and nothing seemed out of place. Rhodes led them to the
port side and up to his inport cabin. “Come in. I had some sandwiches brought in since you probably didn’t eat on the plane,” said Rhodes.
Claire Richardson looked around the cabin. “This brings back memories. The last time I was aboard Hammond was in command,” she said as they made their way to the table. The three sat on one end and selected a sandwich. Chips and tea were at each place.
“Then welcome back,” said Rhodes. “Now that you’re here, you mind telling me what you have up your sleeves? The message was rather cryptic and you mentioned a special mission.”
Hustvedt took a bite out of his sandwich and began. “Well, Captain, as you know we have just about taken the Crimea and a big chunk of the Ukraine. General Richardson has noticed that the troops are getting a little tired of the operation,” he began.
“Captain, this war has been fought totally different from anything previous,” said Richardson. “The use of the drones has pretty much taken the real danger out of going forward. We have been killing the Russians by the thousands with few casualties of our own. When that happens, we are finding that our people grow weary and sick of just killing, and to tell you the truth, I am too. More and more of our efforts are going toward trying to get the enemy just to give up. I already have over 250,000 prisoners.”
The numbers shocked Rhodes. Being at sea kept them away from such things. “My soul, that’s a little astounding,” he exclaimed.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, our estimates are that the Russians may have lost over two million people in this,” said Hustvedt. “Between that and our keeping the population cold and dark, these people are suffering,” he said.
“That brings us to this operation,” said Richardson. “Captain, I want to take Iowa into Sevastopol harbor and see if we can get the city to surrender as a whole.”
Rhodes sat back in his chair. He had a sharp vision of the Iowa being pelted with every gun imaginable before even getting into the harbor. “That’s a huge risk,” he said slowly. It was obvious he wasn’t thrilled at the idea.
“I know it is. We don’t really know what might be up against us. But if we go in under a white flag and talk to the local commanders, it might just work. Of course the Wisconsin and North Carolina will be just offshore. The Queen Elizabeth is out there too, just in case,” Hustvedt explained.
“Who will be going ashore?” Rhodes asked.
Richardson spoke up. “Just two of us. I will go and I would like to take Lieutenant Commander Jeffers along as a translator,” she said.
Rhodes looked skeptical. “Just two of you, with no escort, into an active war zone. Ma’am, I wouldn’t do that on a bet.”
“Most sane people wouldn’t,” Richardson chuckled. “But the way things have been going, I wouldn’t be surprised if they jumped at the chance. They have the Spanish and Italians to the northwest and we are coming in from the east. These guys have to know what’s about to happen,” she said.
Rhodes sat back. Yes, it was a gamble, but the harbor is wide and deep. There would be plenty of room to turn tail and run if the shooting started. No cloak would be able to hide them, that was for sure. Besides, unless they were shooting huge guns, there wasn’t much they could do to the ship. He rubbed his hand down his face. “Well, I’m in. I’ll get you there and back and will sit in the harbor with my guns cocked if they do anything stupid. But maybe we need to ask Jeffers if he’s in on it,” he said. “I can’t order a guy to do what you’re asking,” he said as he reached for the phone and had Jeffers come to his cabin.
A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and the sentry announced the First Lieutenant. As Jeffers stepped into the cabin his face broke into a smile.
“Rod! How are you,” exclaimed Hustvedt.
“Just fine, Admiral. It’s good to see you both again,” Jeffers said shaking their hands. Rhodes had him sit and they explained the plan to him. He listened intently, then let out a breath. “You make me wish I didn’t know Russian,” he said.
“I know, Rod, but this is important,” said Richardson. “I have other translators, but they don’t have the background and understanding you do, so I’m asking if you will do this with me,” she said.
Jeffers’ smile widened. “Of course you know I will,” he said. “When do we go?”
“Actually, we go in tomorrow morning. A message will be sent to them letting them know we will be coming in under a white flag. We are offering to negotiate aboard the ship or ashore depending on their wishes. Hopefully that will mean a free passage at least,” said Richardson.
“What about you, Admiral? Are you coming too?”
Hustvedt grinned. “No, I am going aboard my old ship to be there just in case. If somebody does start shooting, I’ll make them wish they had never pulled a trigger,” he said.
“Well, I guess we’re both in then,” said Rhodes.
Hustvedt slapped him on the shoulder. “Good. I had a feeling you wouldn’t turn us down. Now I have a request. Could I address your officers and chiefs in the wardroom?” he asked.
“Of course. When would you like to do it?”
“Why not now. I’ll have to leave to get to the North Carolina soon anyway. So if you don’t mind?” Hustvedt asked.
Rhodes asked Jeffers to take care of it and Jeffers left the room. That was when Hustvedt told him the reason for the assembly.
The wardroom was filled with men sitting and standing. The conversations and speculation filled the air. Suddenly the aft door opened and someone shouted, “Attention on deck!”
The room fell silent as Hustvedt, Richardson and Rhodes entered the room. The head table had been cleared and the officers took a seat. Once seated the rest of the room took their seats.
“Officer and Chiefs of the Iowa we are privileged to have Vice Admiral Hustvedt and General Claire Richardson with us today. Tomorrow morning we are going to be included in a special mission to see if we can get the city of Sevastopol to surrender. I’ll brief you more later, but the Admiral asked if he could address you before he left. Admiral,” he said as he turned to Hustvedt.
Hustvedt stood and placed a package on the table. “Ladies and Gentlemen, than you for letting me come aboard today. It’s nice to be around battleship sailors again,” he said. There was a chuckle from the men in the room. “I came here today to not only talk about this special mission but to also single out someone for some of the bravest actions and most brilliant work I have been privileged to witness. Lieutenant Commander Jeffers, could you please come forward.”
Jeffers, obviously caught by surprise, looked at the people around him before standing and making his way to the head table. As he got there, he was asked to come to attention.
Hustvedt pulled out a blue document holder and a smaller blue box. “Many of you may not know it, but Operation Arctic Wind was authored by a virtually unknown officer who was told to write something up as an exercise just to get some experience. That exercise became one of the greatest operational plans since the Normandy invasion in 1944. The author of that plan is standing before you today. “The Secretary of Defense takes pleasure in presenting the Defense Superior Service Medal to Lieutenant Commander Roderick Jeffers for his amazing intellectual skills in conceiving, and planning Operation Arctic Wind during the War with Russia. Your keen grasp of the tactical and strategic mission of the Allied Forces, their abilities and the execution of what has become the largest amphibious operation since the Second World War reflects great credit upon yourself, the Navy and the Department of Defense of the United States. Your expert planning and execution of Operation Arctic Wind has been instrumental in the success of Allied efforts. From the Secretary of Defense. Congratulations,” said Hustvedt, as he opened the smaller box and pulled out the yellow, blue and white ribboned medal emblazoned with an eagle. The wardroom broke into applause as Hustvedt pinned the medal on Jeffers’ chest.
After a respectable time Hustvedt motioned for quiet once more. Jeffers turned and began to go back to his seat when he heard, “Not
so fast, Commander.” Hustvedt motioned for him to return, then called the wardroom to attention. Everyone stood.
“The Secretary of the Navy takes pleasure in presenting the Navy Cross to Lieutenant Commander Roderick Jeffers for services set forth in the following citation. For conspicuous gallantry, extraordinary skill and supreme courage while serving on the staff of the Commander Allied Black Sea Expedition. After several missile strikes, Lieutenant Commander Jeffers, with little regard for personal safety, did take command of the USS America upon the death of her commanding officer and incapacitation of the ship’s executive officer. Despite being wounded and surrounded by flames from several missile hits, his quick actions allowed him to regain control of the ship and prevent the America from colliding with the aircraft carrier, USS Enterprise. He continued to pilot the ship, alone, helping firefighting teams in their efforts to extinguish multiple fires aboard the ship from incoming missiles while providing medical aid to the ship’s executive officer and other crewmen. Despite being wounded a second time from enemy missile fire, Jeffers maintained his vigilance for two hours as the ship’s personnel battled raging fires to get to the bridge. Despite fires which threatened to consume him, he maintained his post and brought the ship to safety. His actions bring great credit upon himself and the Naval Service. From the Secretary of the Navy.”
The medal was a cross of gold with a blue and white ribbon. Hustvedt pinned it on Jeffers’ shirt, then shook his hand. Jeffers couldn’t hear the shouts and applause from the others in the wardroom. He simply looked down at the medal on his chest. It was the second highest award in the United States, only below the Medal of Honor. He was stunned. Then he saw Hustvedt pull out another blue box and pin on the Purple Heart. He went back to his seat in a daze. His shipmates were congratulating him and patting him on the back, but it didn’t really register. Jeffers didn’t consider that he had done anything spectacular. He had just done his job. His emotions were mixed. During these same actions he had lost his best friend. Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to play his guitar or banjo because of it. Yet others called him a hero.
