by W. R. Benton
They quickly dug a foxhole, placed all their grenades and other gear within easy reach and then began eating their supper. She intentionally bent over her pack low, as she looked for a ration, and knew the Sergeant could see much more than just cleavage, but her complete breasts, if he looked long enough. When she stood, ration in hand, he caught him looking. She simply smiled and gave him a wink. Petr blushed a little, turned his head and began opening his meal.
As she ate, Olga made it a point to run her tongue over her meal, and knew she was being watched because she'd caught him, but neither of them said anything.
Shortly after dark, they were to stand 50% awake all night, which meant one of the two troops in each foxhole had to remain awake. It was not unusual for Petr to get up and check the foxholes, looking for both sleeping. Then he would place the edge of his sharp knife blade on the guilty person’s throat and wake them. The fear they felt for a few minutes was intense and more than one had peed their pants in fear. It kept those on guard duty awake because a sleeping guard was useless, and rumor had it if the Senior Sergeant caught you sleeping he'd cut your throat, which was of course a lie. He never brought the lie up because it was better if they believed he'd kill them for sleeping. So far, his new organization was better than most and he'd caught no one sleeping in the last six months. The sad part was, under Russian Army law, he had the power to cut their throats and no charges would be filed against him for killing. The Army was a brutal life where sergeants and officers could kill those who did not obey orders. However, only a fool would try to kill those who worked for him or one day he would probably find a grenade in the bathroom with him. The troops knew how to fight back and without witnesses too.
“Do you wish to sleep now, Sergeant?” Olga asked.
“Yes, I will sleep now and wake me when half the night is over. I think midnight would be a good time.”
“Good, you sleep and I will bathe in my helmet. I cannot sleep covered with dirt and sweat from walking all day. Sleep, and I will wake you later.”
An hour after they'd spoken, Olga poured water into her helmet, took a wash cloth from her pack, along with a bar of scentless soap, and began washing herself clean. She didn't get so wrapped up in her washing that she wasn't looking around, because she was, and some of the men were watching her. She unbuttoned her camouflage shirt and ran the cloth around her full breasts and moaned just loud enough Petr heard her.
Opening his eyes, he watched her for a few minutes, found himself interested in her, so he closed his eyes and rolled over on his side, facing away from her.
Seeing her bathe wasn't working on the old Sergeant, so she quickly finished cleaning and then sat in the darkness fuming mad. He actually turned his back on me and I know he saw my breasts. He saw the shape of my hips too. How can a man do that? He is not normal, she thought as she scanned the darkness looking for movements. Over time her anger disappeared and she grew sleepy, but she knew if the Sergeant caught her sleeping, he'd at least ridicule her in front of the other troopers and probably after slapping her hard. No, she had no desire to get on the powerful man's bad side or the rest of her army career would be rough.
Over the next five hours she listened to the crickets, tree frogs, whippoorwills, and quail calling in the night. At one point the night sounds stopped, but for less than five minutes. A little later they started up again. All experienced soldiers knew the night sounds assured them no one was in the area, but when the noise stopped, something big was moving around. Each person on guard flipped their rifles off safety until the noise returned.
It was midnight by her watch when she woke him, and then curled up with a wool blanket on the damp floor of the hole in the ground. She was asleep in seconds.
An hour before dawn, Sergeant Vova said in a voice loud enough to be heard by those awake, “I want everyone awake. We have a tank farm to visit and work to do for Mother Russia. Eat, gather in all mines, and pack your gear away. We leave right at dawn.”
Corporal Adam Igorevich mumbled awake from his sleep and said, “My father told me, join the army, it will make you a man. I joined the army thinking I could catch up on my sleep. I never imagined that for two years, I'd be getting up earlier than any damned farmer, but here I am and in a place I have never heard of. I know only that they have a lot of cowboys here in Texas. Maybe I will kill one and take his hat.”
“You would be handsome with a cowboy hat.” Private Tima Yermolayevich said and then she gave a low sexy laugh.
“That's enough clowning around. Stop the noise and prepare to leave.” the Senior Sergeant ordered as he placed his overnight gear in his back pack.
Igorevich walked to the edge of their camp, peed and then returned to his foxhole to finish packing. He'd only been in country a little over two months, but the Sergeant was correct to say something to them. Snipers often waited for the enemy to relax and then started their killing spree. He cut the small talk instantly because the old Sergeant was experienced and his word was law. Adam wanted to survive his tour in the American War, return home a hero, and go to college and then to a good paying job. At some point he'd marry, have a family, grow old and then sit around with other veterans and sip vodka as they spoke of times long gone. Yes, he would survive, because he'd listen and follow orders.
“Get your gear on, and it is time we move. Nititovich, I want you and Ikovle to guard the women as they pee and do their morning toilet. All of you men who have not peed and emptied yourselves yet, do so before we leave. Hurry, I want to be moving by the time the sun is clearly seen.”
Ten minutes later, all the Russian troops were moving down a little travel trail toward a tank farm. Junior Sergeant Ekel Pavovich was cursing the army in general for the ungodly hour they started to work, when a look from Senior Sergeant Petr Vova shut him up instantly. The look clearly said, 'Shut your mouth.'
It was near noon on a beautiful day and the man on point was Rostislavovich; they rotated the point man every two hours and that was because so many booby traps were being found. A tired person might pass up an obviously dangerous place where a fresh mind would not. The position was hard for some of the troops, because your adrenaline was high; one mistake could get you killed, and the traps were expertly hidden so a good eye and attention to detail was needed. Some men, like Ikovle or Rostislavovich enjoyed point and lived for the high the position brought. Every sense a person has was on edge and finely tuned while walking point, but a minute of slack would get yourself and probably others maimed or killed. It was, to some of them, an interesting job.
“Monsoon, this is Hotel, over.” The radio came alive.
“Go Hotel.” Olga said in a flash.
“Be advised a flight of Chinese attack helicopters are currently hunting in your area on the map. They found Captain Grigorievna's squad and there are only three survivors out of twelve.”
“Copy, understand we have unfriendly helicopters in the area. Over.”
“Correct and they are reported to be very aggressive. Over.”
“I will inform Monsoon Two. Monsoon out.”
“No need to tell me, I heard it all. Okay, spread out. I want ten meters between you and the next person in line. If we see a helicopter, fall to the ground and hope they do not see us. If they do and line up for an attack, scatter and spread out. Make them work if they want to kill us. We have two missiles, both are shoulder fired and four Grenade launchers, keep all of them out and ready to use. Pull them now and make ready.”
“Can we not just hide now, before they see us?” Junior Sergeant Ekel Pavovich asked.
“We could do that, but then we would not get to the tank farm, now would we? No, Russian soldiers do not hide, comrade, we stand and fight. Come, we have more kilometers to cover and I expect to reach them in the morning, unless the Chinese kill all of us. Let us move it, people, we have things to do.”
Whispering to Igorevich beside him, Pavovich said, “Nothing scares that sonofabitch.”
Vova heard him and didn't
say anything, but he did smile.
Chapter 6
John and his people were moving again, and things were slow and the stress rate was out of sight. They'd seen three more groups of Russians within the two hours they'd been moving and things were not normal. Never in 8 years had the Colonel seen so many Russians in such a small portion of land. The big groups of them had broken down into smaller cells, which the partisans did all the time, and they were all moving in different directions in a hurry.
The Colonel was squatting over a map, removed his cowboy hat, ran his fingers through his sweat saturated hair and then put his hat back on. He was attempting to find their location on an old map he had from a gas station, and was having little luck. He saw little in the way of a landmark and without landmarks, it was difficult to triangulate his position. He was finally able to find his location, near Mesquite, Texas or so he believed, and discovered he was about 18 miles from the tank farm at Rockwall, Texas, if his guess at their location was even close.
“As near as I can figure, we're near Mesquite, Texas and if we follow the highway, about a hundred meters from here north by east, we'll come to the tank farm before the end of the day.”
“What highway is it?” someone asked.
“Interstate Highway 30, but stay off the road and about a hundred meters from the edge of the road. Be watchful of Russian traffic on the road as well as mines too. Before we reach the tank farm, we'll find a huge lake, named Lake Ray Hubbard. We'll find Rockwall near the northern end of the lake, and the tanks are just a mile or so north of the small town.”
“How small is the place?” Private Larry Brown asked.
“I'm not sure but this old map says around 45,000 people so give or take a bunch now. It's hard to say how the fall of America hurt this place. As we all know, the war has killed millions of civilians. I don't think many still live there, or the Russians would not be using it as a tank gathering spot or farm. Surely most populated places have members of the partisans there and I've never heard of a group from Rockwall, Texas. Now, let's get saddled up and walking. If we work this properly and make good time, we'll be there way before dark. Let's move, people.” John said and stood, placing his sixty pound pack on his sore back.
As they moved toward the small town by a lake, John thought, I'm getting too old to be out here with these youngsters. I'm 40 years older than most of them, have a bad back and carrying more than my fair share of scars from previous battles. On top of that, my back hurts, my fingers are sore and my damned hair tingles under my hat. I don't think I'll go on more missions in the future, but I have to go on this one, because it may be the last big battle of the war. I'm tired of living alone, with no one to love me or to make me feel special. War is bad enough, but being alone in combat is hard, very hard. Then again, worrying about a person you love is hard to do as well. I need to remember I'm in a war and keep the relationships down to meeting a physical need. I am damned if I love a woman, and damned if I don't.
It was near 1600 hundred hours when Ssgt. Tom Prings, the point man, stopped, held his fist in the air balled up and everyone knew he spotted the enemy. John quickly moved forward.
Whispering from beside the point man, John asked, “What do you see?”
“I see nothing, but listen and tell me what you hear?”
John cocked his head to the side and then grinned as he said, “Tanks or bulldozers.”
“I suspect, sir, that's your tank farm. The lake is off our left side.”
“Move forward and do the job slowly. When you can see the tanks stop, and I'll move forward to your location. Move, but remember, this is not a race, and we're in no rush.”
“I fully understand, sir. I will use caution, and when do you want to leave?”
Smiling, knowing Prings knew his intent, John replied, “We need to leave now, Sergeant, and watch your ass, because booby traps will grow more frequent the closer to the big beasts we get.”
Prings smiled and then walk in the direction of the loud noises, his every sense on high alert.
Less than a mile later an explosion was heard at the front of the squad and when John arrived at the point man, he discovered Pringle sitting on his rear in the middle of the trail, a smoking two foot deep hole in front of him.
“What happened?” John asked as he looked for blood on the man but saw nothing but a small puncture wound on his right earlobe.
Shaking his head, the Ssgt. said, “I'm sorry, sir, but I can't hear you. My ears hurt and the noise may have busted my eardrums. I think I activated a small bomb, maybe 100 or 200 pounds. I tripped over the activating line and I suspect that saved my life. As it was, I was on the ground when the bomb exploded, sending all the shrapnel over my head and into empty air.”
John pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket and an ink pen from another shirt pocket. He then wrote, “If you cannot hear, you are no good as a point man. Join the main group and send Corporal Brown to me as your replacement. Understand?”
“I'm a bit confused, but I fully understand, sir. I can return on my own and I will send Brown to you.”
“Good, now go. I want to get to the tank farm today.” John wrote and then slapped the Sergeant on his back.
In a matter of a couple of minutes, Corporal Larry Brown was beside John as the Colonel discussed how to approach the tank farm. The new point man was all ears.
When he finished, John asked, “Any questions?”
“No, sir. I'll move out right now. I will be about 50 yards in front of the main group. If you hear gunfire, don't rush forward, because I will drop and attempt escape and evade back to the main group. You rushing forward might get you killed for nothing.”
“I understand, now move toward the tanks.”
Less than an hour later, Brown made his way to the main group, moved to John and said, “Sir, if you'll come with me, you can see your tank farm and it's not only full, but busy.”
Smiling, the Colonel said, “Lead the way and I'll take a look. Private Green, I need you as my shadow, and I want the phone at arms length at all times.”
“Uh, yes sir.” Green said and then began to walk with the other two men.
Minutes later, with all three on the ground behind some brush, John moved a few leaves and clearly spotted about fifteen tanks. A good twenty men were working on the big beasts or talking to others near their tank. Slowly John counted and when he reached the sixteenth and last tank, he said in a whisper, “I need the handset.”
Private Green handed the handset to his Colonel and waited.
Speaking, John said, “Copperhead, Cobra Two, over.”
“Go Cobra, this is Copperhead, over.”
“I am at the farm and I count sixteen tanks, with four BMP-3 troop carriers. Ten of the tanks are the T-90 and the other six are T-14's. I see close to 25 men out in the open, working on their tanks.”
“Roger that, Cobra Two, and I copy. Wait one, as I determine what Copperhead Actual wants done. Over.”
“Will do, over.”
Two minutes later, Copperhead said, “Cobra Two, Copperhead Actual wants you to pull back to the nearest hill or highest tree and for you to watch and provide a damage report. The Chinese have been notified and they are on their way to strike the tanks. Estimated time of arrival is ten minutes, over.”
“Copy and we're pulling back now. Cobra Two, out.”
“Everyone make for the slight hill to our east and we'll sit there and watch the show. When the attack helicopters arrive, bury your asses as deep in the ground as you can, to avoid any mistakes. In the meantime, once there, I suggest you all try to dig at least a partial foxhole. We need to double time to the hill, now.”
Once on the hill looking down a slight valley, he saw the tanks moving into a defensive position, so it was very likely they had advance warning Chinese aircraft were coming to visit. Most of the tank commanders stood in the turret, ready to override the electronics and fire manually. It was then the whop-whop-whop of the attack helicopters
were heard.
There were three counted by John, and he grinned as the fast choppers fired their first missiles of the attack. One struck a T-90 right where the turret meets the body and a huge explosion resulted as the tank stopped moving. Dark black smoke began to pour from the engine of the tank and men were seen climbing from the destroyed vehicle. The Gatling guns on one chopper began to fire and tufts of soil were tossed twelve feet into the air as men were cut to pieces. Bodies flew in all directions and when completed, a mist of cerise floated in the air, right above the dead. There were no more movements.
One chopper took a missile from a tank and began to smoke. Listening to the radio, he made no sense of the Chinese being spoken. The chopper gently moved for the ground, still level, but auto rotating as it dropped. The last six feet or so, it dropped hard and the other gunships lined up to attack the bird now in the ground and in flames.
“Cobra Two, to any Chinese attack helicopter attacking the Russian tanks. If you speak English, reply please.”
“I speakie little English.” a Chinese pilot said in a heavily accented voice. “This is Snow Reopard One, ovah.”
“Do not kill the crew, because my men will try to rescue them.”
“Uh, okay, but you no lescue, we kill.”
“I understand, One. Give us five minutes and you can continue to kill tanks, over.”
“Loger and out.”
As the battle was being fought, John and his troops move toward the two Chinese, now in a shallow but wide ditch. He stopped about 100 feet from the men and sent Sgt Wolfgang Hanish to the two men. When the two Chinese saw Hanish, they were scared enough that they almost shot him, but he yelled, “American! American! I come to help you.”
