by W. R. Benton
At 0700 the next morning, the conference room was filled, mostly due to the eyes only message from Headquarters Moscow. Some of the men were excited to be jumping into combat, some were greatly concerned, while others were terrified. When the unit dropped, every man and woman, except those in the hospital, would drop as well. Equipment had to be triple checked, ammo and munitions handed out, and parachutes made ready, along with wills and next of kin verified.
Colonel Andrei Lazarev stood behind the podium and said, “Colonel Yurievich wanted to do this, but he's still at the destroyed Officers Open Mess looking for the type of explosive used. Would Sergeant Antoliy came forward, please?”
Antoliy walked to beside the Colonel and stood at attention.
A Captain neared with an opened wooden box in his hand and the Colonel reached into the box and pulled out a Hero of Ukraine military Order of Gold Star. “This medal is being presented to Sergeant Antoliy for heroism on January 1st, of this year. Senior Sergeant, then Corporal Antoliy, killed three partisans attacking his Commander and the last one he killed with a bayonet. Wounded severely in his left thigh by one of the Americans, he made his way forward and led a group of men to victory over the enemy. Those men were not usually under the Corporal's command. During the attack, the Corporal continuously refused first aid until the last American was dead. Having personally killed at least five of the Americans, one by the blade, Corporal Antoliy displayed unusual bravery, dedication to victory, and brought great honor to his airborne unit and Russia. I am extremely proud to present Sergeant Foma Antiliy the Hero of Ukraine military Order of Gold Star. Congratulations, Sergeant.”
The officers all stood and began clapping their hands, most envious of the young boy that had become a man in America, but they said nothing.
“I want all of us to line up and shake this brave man's hand. I understand our newly combat promoted Sergeant is offering free drinks for friends and comrades at the NCO club for one hour. I intend to be there. Come gentlemen, line up.”
Everyone moved forward and Antoliy shook hands until his arm was sore and then he went to the club. He vaguely remembered walking home near midnight.
At exactly 0400 hours, Senior Sergeant Petr Vova picked up a trashcan and as he made his way down the middle of the all male dorm, he beat the metal hard with a piece of a rake handle he often carried when working with his men and women. Senior Sergeant Yoga Salvicha was copying his behavior in the women's barracks. Coming to his newly promoted Sergeant, he leaned forward and pushed the double bunk to its side on the floor.
The noise was loud and Antoliy climbed from his blankets looking worse for wear. He stumbled to the foot of where his bunk used to be and stood at attention, as he fought the urge to puke. His bunk mate was moving beside him, as the Sergeant chewed his ass for being slow and drunk. Senior Sergeant Vova knew half the barracks was drunk, because they'd all been at the club, guests of the newly promoted Sergeant. He figured they'd sober up during the ten kilometer run in full gear.
“Drop your clocks and grab your socks! Wake, my little boys, so we can form up outside for our morning airborne run. We will do ten kilometers today and work our way up to 30 by Wednesday.”
“Sergeant, we no longer run in the mornings.”
“What did you say? Are you calling me a liar, Private?”
“Uh, no, sir. But, we have never ran in the six months I have been here.”
“Everyone! Listen up. Thursday, we are going to make the first mass combat assault landing in America for our unit. We will be in shape and we will kill our enemies. All of us will jump, and unless you are in the hospital under a doctors direct care you will jump too. Now, all of you men have 10 minutes to shave and then fall out in full combat gear, move!”
The men scattered and all headed to the bathroom to shave, and since there were only 20 sinks for 40 men, some shaved behind others as they followed the Sergeant's orders. Ten minutes later, 40 nicked and cut men were standing in formation, dressed as the airborne troops they were. Each wore a full combat pack, loaded with everything they'd need to fight a fierce battle after being dropped by parachute.
As they ran, some stopped and puked, others began sweating the alcohol from their bodies, and others fought severe headaches from drinking, but all ran and said nothing. They were running with a Russian Senior Sergeant, with a promotion coming soon to Master Sergeant, so he wasn't concerned at all about their hangovers or how they felt. They would run and then move on to practicing leaving the door or ramp of a moving aircraft. It was jump school all over again and come the 24th, they'd be ready to kill.
Chapter 2
Partisan High Command Headquarters, near Dallas/Fort Worth, was on a high stage of alert because of a warning that the Russians were suddenly making their airborne forces visible and what looked to be a build up of supplies and material for them. Having used the units as traditional infantry for years, the buildup caught the eye of the photo interrupters who analyzed the images taken by some very brave men and women on the ground. If caught, the images would have meant instant death, without a court date. The Russians were a hard army and they played war for keeps.
So far, America had turned into Russia's Vietnam, with no more of a win in sight now than 8 years earlier when they started. Some even compared the war to the Russian’s war in Afghanistan years ago. They'd fought like two cats with their tails tied together, only they had never come close to winning a conventional war. Most of their civilian acts and plans were outdated and the military used fear to insure compliance, but emotions didn't work. Americans were willing to sacrifice everything, including their lives, to get the Russian Bear to leave.
In Russia, many folks were tiring of their sons and daughters coming home in aluminum caskets and many were marked ‘Do Not View Remains’. So far, over 80,698 Russians had been killed in the war with America and over 12,000 were missing. Many of the missing had blown up when they activated a mine and left nothing but a smoking hole in the ground. The war was crude, and the partisans actively took the war to the Russians. It was no longer safe on any installation due to bombings, assassinations, and sniper attacks off base that killed folks on base. The folks back home were growing angry because the war should have been over years ago.
Over a million people had marched and protested the war effort at least four times and small assemblies were formed to protest as well. The smaller groups were more frequent and growing violent the longer the war continued. Russian politicians were now being elected by promising to withdraw from the war in America. So far little had been done, but it was suspected by everyone that the Russians were about to call it quits. The hatred of the war was one of the reasons the partisans were making every effort to increase their body count of dead Russians in every battle. After large battles, with the Russians losing large numbers of men and women, the protesters were always out in force.
“John, the latest intel states that the Russians will be using airborne troops soon because of the large number of material and replacement troops sent to them. Now, not once in all the years have the Russians actually used their airborne as a real airborne unit. They have been used as conventional troops over the years, but now they seem to be making them ready for an assault someplace.” a Major said as he placed a stack of images and papers on the Colonel's desk.
John, wearing the silver eagles of a full Colonel, thought for a minute and then asked, “Any increase in materials that would be used only by airborne troops? You know, parachutes, packs with lanyards, lowering devices, or anything that will prove they will soon be dropped?” He then began going through the documents and images the Major had given him.
“You're looking at photos of containers marked 'Parachutes, harnesses, and Bison sub-machine guns’. The Bison is their airborne weapons for those above the rank of Corporal. Our eyes on the bases claim the Russians are suddenly running in the mornings, and practicing exiting aircraft mock-ups by the door and ramp. This training is being done out in the open, an
d sand has been laid to reduce the numbers of injuries the trainees might have during training. I'd say we have an excellent chance of one or more airborne attacks and they will hit, most likely, near Partisan Headquarters or our larger Partisan groups in the field. They have no idea where our small field units are and their base camps move frequently.”
“I want both areas prepared for a warm welcome for our parachutists. Since we have no idea when they will land, place everyone on immediate alert. Have the Partisan groups in the field leave this evening and do so after dark. I want everyone to move at least twenty miles or more. Have them report to you after they have moved. As for us, I want any and all openings large enough to land a company size airborne unit mined and prepared to make life rough for them once they land. I know we may not have much time, so get the alert sent out and get this place to hopping. I'm due to return to the Missouri Ozarks and my old unit in three days, but until then, I want security on this base fixed up and made stronger against airborne troops. Now, get this started, and right now.”
“Yes, sir. But, what about the General? He needs to be told, sir.” Major Fan Woo said.
“You get the base ready and send the messages by radio to all others. I'll take care of the General. Go.”
As soon as Woo left, John, picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“Office of the Fort Commander, Sergeant First Class Windwood. This line is not secure. How may I direct your call?”
“Windwood, give me General Thomas, please.”
“Morning, Colonel, I'll pass you right into his office.”
“General Thomas.” The General answered almost immediately.
“Sir, this is John, and I have some security information that I will brief you on as soon as you have an open hour. But, I need to have your response today.”
“That important?”
“Yes, sir. I certainly feel it is.”
“I will have our lunch delivered, so be here at 1200 hours and we'll eat and talk. Keep up the good work, John, and I may have some good news for you when you arrive. See you at noon.”
At 1150, John arrived at the General's office, got past three doors of guards, and walked into his outer office. A crusty looking man of about fifty sat at a desk cleaning his 1911 .45 pistol and an old M-16 was hanging from a nail behind him. John noticed the rifle had a magazine inserted and it was squeaky clean.
“Intelligence. I have a 1200 hours appointment with the old man.” John said.
“Go right in, sir, he is expecting you.” the man said without looking up from his disassembled pistol.
John knocked once and entered when the General said, “Enter.”
He walked to the General's desk, saluted, and when told to take a chair he did, and then began telling the man all he knew of the buildup of the Russian troops. When he finished, the General thought for a long time and then said, “You've taken the proper procedures to keep us as safe and sound as we can get, but I want a battalion on ready status until this happens or two weeks, which ever comes first. I want the men and women in your intelligence section to monitor this closely and our eyes on the ground might even see the fully loaded aircraft take off. If so, we need advanced warning they are coming.”
“I'll see to it. I'll also see that all personnel are issued rifles, sidearms and combat gear for the time being. I agree with you, I don't see any attack coming later than two weeks from now. If all that gear was issued for replacement of other gear, they'll not move, but my belly says we are in for a fight. I've never heard of the Russians issuing all new gear and then not putting it to use.”
“I agree with you, John. I trust you to handle this and if you need anything, anything at all, just contact me. Now, I have a surprise for you that I think may confuse you. Over the course of this war, medals and awards have been stockpiled until it's all over. The mission you were on to place a suitcase bomb in Pearl, Mississippi years back has been evaluated by a team of combat senior officers and you have been approved for the Medal of Honor, effective six years ago. Now, if the Russians win, your medal will be on hold until they leave.”
“Gener—”
“John, we will not discuss this. I know you don't want the medal, but you're not being asked. The impermanent Chief of Staff thinks you deserve the medal and by God, you'll accept it with open arms. Once the Russians leave, the medal will be presented by our first President, whoever that may be. John, you continued your mission even when severely wounded, refused morphine for your pain, and the whole mission was a mess by then. Your action alone killed over a quarter of a million Russians and to this day, they have not reported the loss of a single man.”
“How many innocent citizens died, sir?” John asked, his voice hinting at anger.
“It simply does not matter. Look, the civilians were expendable, just as we are. Many were in gulags, or homeless and sleeping in the street. Hell, over half of them were eating human flesh and were the dregs of society. John, you didn't make the decision to kill a single civilian, we Generals did that, and you were only our delivery system. I had hoped the medal would have made up for the fact your mission was a tough one and one no other man could have completed.”
Giving an ill felt grin, John replied, “Yes, sir, I will accept the medal, but you know my feelings on the subject well.”
“There will be more than you getting our nation’s highest medal that day. There will be six other brave men and women, if they survive this war. The Russians are about at the end of their efforts in America and the people back home are tired of no progress, and the numbers of Russians soldiers killed and maimed is high. Combined, over 290,000 of Russia's men and women have been maimed or killed in action against us. But, it has cost us, too, with almost the same number, 275,000 recorded dead or wounded. We have no idea of how many civilians have died through all acts of this war. We are not presenting the Medal of Honor to heroes like you to feed your ego, but to show our civilian population that our men made great sacrifices for our freedoms.”
Silence, because John had nothing to say.
Opening his right top drawer, the General pulled out a bottle of excellent Kentucky whiskey and poured a double shot in two glasses. He handed one to John and then said, “We have unofficial word that this airborne assault will be the last combat of the war, if the Russians lose. So, with that said, we must make it fail. We had no idea what exactly was being planned, but obviously it was this airborne unit. If they win a great victory over us, their army will then continue the war. That makes the coming fight the most important in the history of our current warfare. At all costs, all costs, we must win this battle.”
“I have the information being distributed as we speak, sir. All our field units and units here will know what is planned to happen, to a point. I will not provide anyone but my staff and yours what I learn from now on, such as the date of the attack or the number of troops to be dropped by the Russians. The information I provide you, sir, you can do with it as you wish. I suspect you'll want to inform certain members of your staff.”
“I will do that.” Standing, the General moved to a dining table and said, “Let's eat now, John, and relax a little. Once the meal is behind us, we both have jobs that need done. Come and join me. It's not everyday I get to eat with a Medal of Honor recipient.”
“Sir, our eyes on the ground in Saint Louis have stated the Russians are currently loading aircraft with supplies and pallets of gear, but no personnel are moving yet. They expect the troops to load tomorrow or the day after. They have heard nothing, but they have seen the activity and it's obvious to them the Russians are ready to fight.” he was speaking to Colonel Joshua the Commander of the Communications section, and in John's tent.
“Tell them if the troops load wearing parachutes, we need to be notified as soon as possible and at all costs.” Joshua said as he looked up from the 8 by 10 images he was looking at with a magnifying glass. The image showed a Russian forklift moving crates and pallets of supplies and gear to a Russian
transport aircraft.
Major Woo knocked on John's removable door frame, entered and said, “The Russians will use the 38th Guards Air Assault Brigade. The unit is the Special Forces brigade of the Armed Forces of Belarus. It is currently based in Saint Louis, Missouri, but in Russia it's based in the city of Brest, which is a historic site of a variety of cultures. I'm pretty sure you're not interested in their culture, Colonel. The most important thing to remember, sir, is these men are Special Forces, and are able to operate in units as small as only three men. I think if you think of them as equals to our US Army Rangers, you'll be almost correct, sir.”
“Thank you, Fan. How are the sharpened poles and land mines coming along?”
“We now have thousands of sharp poles in the ground around the area, but it would take years for us to put them in every clearing. The mines take less time and we have over 50,000 planted so far, and each have minefield warnings placed around the areas. It is estimated that by tomorrow at 1600 hours, we'll have over 150,000 mines planted and four times the number of sharpened poles. The poles will also keep helicopters from landing, so that may or may not help us.”
“I want command detonated mines placed on all trails leading toward our base. Plant an explosive with a 55 gallon drum of old aviation gas and a gallon of liquid soap, which we have in storage, but we don't have nearly as many 55 gallon drums as I want. I suspect we will need over a thousand, but at last count, we had fifty. The older gas and soap is lethal and I'm sure the new stuff will be too, but the soap breaks down in the drum after a month of storage, then it makes the whole mess sticky when it blows.”
“There are other traps in use that you suggested too, Colonel. The toe poppers, using shotgun shells with the primers resting on nails are all over the place, and the punji pits and snake pits are also being used.”
“Smear human waste on the sharpened stakes so they cause an infection from the smallest cut. The more that become injured or killed the better chance we have of ending this war.”
