The Fall of America: Fatal Encounters (Book 2)

by W. R. Benton

  “Let me lead. Usually around noon a convoy drives the road and if we get there before then, we can ride home.”

  “Go slowly or we will never get there.”

  “Off to the left is a narrow trail, we can move faster on it.”

  “Sir, I think—”

  “You heard my decision, so move to the trail.”

  All went well until they'd covered most of the distance and then the lieutenant walked into a tripwire John had stretched across the trail as they moved away from the ambush. There came an explosion and the young officer was blown into thousands of small pieces in the blink of an eye. Pellets were heard hitting the trees on the other side of the dead man and all that lingered in the air was a cherry-red mist. His boots were all that remained and they still contained parts of his legs and feet.

  The Sergeant was too terrified to take another step forward, deep in his mind he knew the officer had moved too quickly and foolishly. He glanced in the direction he had to cover to the road and estimated it was less than a hundred meters. Slowly, he gathered his courage and moved forward, constantly searching the trail for any sign of mines.

  CHAPTER 7

  John listened to the Russian radio, but heard nothing. Finally, he sent Margie and Joshua out to collect weapons, ammo, other needed items. He should have done that earlier, but he was tired and not thinking clearly. They were to drag the dead into the rubble of the burned house. He wanted little seen if the Russians sent a chopper to the scene, which he suspected they would.

  Joshua was the first to return to the brush and then Margie, who looked preoccupied to John. He neared her and asked, “What's on your mind?”

  “As I was moving the Russian bodies, I had a thought. Why don't we put their clothing over ours, lure the chopper in and destroy it? I mean, if one of us can get close enough to the door of the bird, we can toss a grenade inside.”

  Tom met John's eyes, grinned and said, “I do like the thought. But, if they capture one of us in a Russian uniform, they'll kill us.”

  John laughed and replied, “Hell, if they catch us period, they'll kill us, so how we're dressed doesn't come into play here.”

  “Well?” He asked.

  “What of the radio? If they call and we don't answer, they'll know something is wrong, right?”

  “Look, we both know radios go out; either the batteries die or they just go kaput. We stand out in the open, let the chopper see us and when they near, I'll send a sign that the radio is out. If we're dressed as Russians, they'll have no reason to doubt us. We've both had it happen enough in the past. You guide the chopper to the ground and the rest of us will act.”

  John turned to Kate and said, “Hold off on your shot, until one of us get's close to the door before you take the gunner out. If we can get a grenade or two in the bird, we'll do some serious damage.”

  She nodded.

  “Sandra, Joshua and Margie, I need the three of you to strip the dead Russians. Some of us need to stay in the trees in case the bad guys show. Then, try to hide the bodies so they can't been seen from the air. Be sure to get their boots, too.”

  John grew apprehensive as the small group moved forward, knowing from the air their actions would be clearly seen. The idea was sound, but he knew from past battles something could go wrong and if it did, folks would die.

  “Be sure to leave the card in the Major's mouth. I want them to know who was behind this today.” John yelled.

  Less than an hour later, they were dressed as Russians and standing around the fire.

  Tom said, “It looks to me as if the twister hit this place dead on and blew it to hell and back. Many of the bodies out there under ponchos were killed by flying debris.” He threw another log on the flames.

  John said, “A tornado will do that and we both have seen the damage they can do. I don't know of anything as—”

  “Quiet. Do you hear that?” Tom asked.

  The radio suddenly came alive with Russian chatter. None of them spoke the language and John wished Willy Williams was with them, because he spoke the language fluently.

  Joshua said, “I have a chopper at the three o'clock position and it looks to be some sort of gunship. Slightly to the left, is a second bird.”

  “Ignore the second aircraft, but Sandra, since you're wearing the radio, come to me and I'll act as if I am talking. Maybe, if we work this right, all will go well.” Tom said, and he was dressed in the dead major's uniform. He then turned the radio off.

  Pointing to the north, Margie said, “The other chopper is now at our twelve o'clock position. We'll be hearing it in a few seconds.”

  Seconds later the wop-wop sound of blades beating the air to death were heard and Tom said, “John, you move into the wind and prepare to lower the chopper with your rifle. The rest of you line up beside me. Look sharp and keep your eyes open. Any movement by the door gunner and Kate will smoke his ass. Margie, since this idea is yours, you have the honor of tossing the first grenade. Joshua, you'll be next, so toss a grenade, too. Now, don't put too much muscle behind the toss or the damned thing will go out the other side, if both doors are open or removed. Once the grenades are tossed, move your asses, because when they explode I suspect the whole bird will go up.”

  Aaron, who'd refused to not play a part, was dressed in the smallest Russian uniform they could find. John didn't like using him, but as Tom said, “The boy has an ax to grind with the Russians, so let him participate, too.”

  The chopper made a straight approach, flying about fifty feet over the ground and all the partisans waved. The bird then circled a few times and the small group kept waving. Finally, Tom began to point at the radio and shrug, with his hands held out palms up, so the helicopter pilot would suspect the radio was not working. When the chopper went into a hover, about fifty feet up and a hundred feet away, Tom pointed at the radio and shook his head. The other aircraft was flying circles off in the distance.

  John raise his rifle over his head using both hands, unsure how Russian troops lowered a bird, but it was the only way he'd been taught. The pilot met his eyes and nodded. As John slowly lowered his rifle in front of him, the chopper started to descend.

  Tom noticed only one door was open and the door gunner was watching every move, ready to open fire any second. When the aircraft touched the grass, the gunner motioned for them to board, so the line moved forward. The barrel of the machine gun swung away from the group and the gunners attention was focused to the trees on the south side.

  Margie, who'd already pulled the pin on her grenade, as had Joshua, moved forward. When she was about three feet from the door, the gunner must have noticed something out of place, because the barrel on the machine gun began to move. Suddenly, as Margie watched the man, his head exploded, sending gore in all directions. Margie tossed her grenade inside the helicopter, turned to the right and started running. The second grenade landed a split second after hers and the whole line scattered and began to shoot at the aircraft as they fled to the trees. The plexiglass windshield exploded as a shot from Kate killed the pilot flying in the left seat. The bird wobbled a few times as the co-pilot took over the controls. John, moving toward the trees was blown off his feet as the aircraft exploded into a ball of flames.

  “Move people!” Tom screamed as the helicopter fell in a huge ball of fire to the ground.

  Secondary explosions were immediately heard.

  John stood and ran for the trees, where his dog waited, but glanced over his shoulder to see the second aircraft lining up to attack. “Spread out, spread out!” he yelled, knowing the gunship would be looking for blood.

  The attacking aircraft flew a straight approach, with it's guns spitting flames. The ground in the trees erupted into mini-explosions as the rounds struck, sending dirt, dust and clumps of soil six feet into the air. The noise was loud, from both the engines of the chopper and the cannons firing.

  No sooner had the aircraft passed overhead than John yelled, “Move deeper into the trees! Missiles wi
ll be next! Move and scatter!”

  On the next pass, the aircraft lined up and two puffs of smoke were seen as missiles were fired. The area they'd just left exploded, but the small group kept running. As the chopper passed off to the side, John saw two bullet holes suddenly appear near the cockpit. Kate is shooting. She needs to lead the bird a little more, he thought as he increased his speed.

  As the Russian aircraft suddenly broke left and broke off the attack, Tom said, “It's smokin' a little. I think Kate may have hit an engine or something.”

  All eyes were on the chopper as the smoke grew from light gray to a dark gray.

  “Keep moving!” Tom commanded.

  “What about Kate?” Sandra asked.

  “She'll catch up with us.”

  John, his eyes on the sky as he ran said, “The chopper is leaving.”

  “Don't stop, and I'll explain later.” Tom said, “Keep running.”

  They'd covered maybe a hundred yards when Joshua yelled, “Airplane!”

  “Run!” Tom yelled in fear, because he knew what would happen next.

  The aircraft, obviously not concerned about small arms fire, made a straight approach toward the woods. If anyone running had looked over their shoulder, they would have seen a container fall from the jet, spinning as it fell. It hit the ground with a loud swoosh and flames filled the edge of the treeline.

  Tom, running faster now, called out, “Move at right angles behind me! Now!”

  Margie's lungs were about to explode and then she realized the napalm had sucked a lot of air into the exploding flames. She ran in a mechanical fashion now, knowing to slow down meant to burn to death or suffocate.

  It was well over a half mile before Tom quit running and said, “Five . . . minute . . . rest.”

  Gasping and wheezing, the small group came to a complete stop. John smiled when he noticed all of them turned to guard their flanks as they rested.

  A couple of minutes later, John said, “This line of trees will turn north in a few minutes and so will we. Before we stop for the day, I want to be twenty miles or more away from this farm.”

  John was on drag when he spotted movement behind them. He stepped behind a tree and waited. A couple of minutes later, Kate walked up the back trail. He waited until she was almost in front of him and then said, “Welcome back, Kate.”

  She swung the rifle in his direction, but immediately lowered the barrel. “John, you just scared ten years off my life.”

  He gave a low chuckle and said, “Move forward and join the others.”

  As she moved forward, he scanned the rear, but saw no one. He turned and started after the others.

  The day was long and just before dusk, a light rain started falling and the temperature dropped fast. John, who was now in the middle of the group said, “Off to the right, maybe a hundred feet, is where we'll make camp. If you want hot chow, eat it now, because once dark, no fires.”

  Soon two sheets of tarp made crude lean-to shelters and everyone was eating, except John, who was standing guard near the trail, with Dolly. He saw and heard nothing, but that meant little. The Russians must be pissed, with a chopper and crew dead. Then there are the soldiers we've killed. They'll come, but hopefully they'll not find us. I wonder if that heat sensing chopper they have is the only one or do they have more? I know some of our gunships in Vietnam had the same technology, because dad talked once about how the heat from the North Vietnamese trucks glowed red to the sensor operators on the aircraft. I'm sure the technology has been perfected, but Lord, keep them away from us.

  His shift passed quietly and then he moved back to the rest to eat. All but Joshua were asleep. He pulled out a ration bag, cut it open with his pocketknife and since it was dark, tried to select his supper by feel. Locating the entree`, he tore it open and discovered vegetable stew. Feeling for the biscuits, he opened the pouch and removed one. He's just given a biscuit to Dolly, when he heard a chopper off in the distance and a few minutes later, he picked up the sound of another.

  He moved to Tom and whispered, “Choppers.”

  His eyes flew open, he sat up and listened. After a while he said, “One of three things is happening. They're hunting us with heat sensors, dropping teams off to look for us, or they're scouting and looking for campfires. Let's hope it's fires they're looking for. Any difference in the pitch of the birds?”

  “Nope, continuous so far.”

  “I think they're looking for campfires, because it's cold and good hypothermia weather. I think we're safe enough, for now anyway.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Nothing, and we'll stay where we are. They may not catch our heat but if we move, all it would take is one Russian wearing night vision goggles to see us, especially if we're out in the open. Listen and let me know if the pitch changes.”

  “Will do.” John said and then went back to eating his meal.

  The night was uneventful, but wet. At dawn, John allowed a modest fire, about the size of a coffee cup, so they could have some hot drinks and food, if they wanted to take the time. Margie was guarding near the road and all were huddled close to the fire, when they heard a laugh.

  Everyone scattered into the trees, so John used the toe of his boot to push mud onto the flames of the small fire. The smoke blended well with the fog, but he worried about the smell. He knew the smell of a fire could be carried a long way by winds. He then took Dolly and moved behind a large oak log.

  He heard what sounded like a question in Russian and then silence. He whispered to Dolly, “Stay and hush.” John slipped the safety off his weapon and waited, his tension growing by the second. If they smell our smoke, we're goin' to have a fight.

  Two Russian voices were heard near the trail and by the tone used, they seemed to be arguing over something. It must be the smell of our smoke, John thought.

  A third voice, louder than the other two was heard and the talk stopped immediately. He heard the sound of metal hitting metal, but they moved south.

  Ten full minutes passed before Margie appeared and Joshua went to take her place by the trail. Moving to her, John asked, “What'd you see?”

  “Squad of ten Russians moving down our back trail. I'm not sure why they stopped, but I could smell the smoke from our fire, only it was faint. I suspect they picked up the smoke smell, too. They stopped, a couple argued about something, and then an officer must have told them to shut up, I guess. After that, they continued south, away from us, without another word. They had one man on point and another bringing up the rear, for a total of ten men. I'm tellin' you, it scared the living hell out of me.”

  Tom gazed into John's eyes and said, “I suspect the choppers we heard last night served two purposes. One, to deliver men to search for us and two, to look for campfires. I think they must have dropped teams in advance of us, hoping we'd run into them.”

  “If we'd left at our normal time, an hour before dawn, we'd have ran right into them.” John felt a shudder go through his body.

  “Well, we didn't, so don't worry about it. I suggest we stay off the trails, move west, overland, and try to find a staging area.”

  Joshua asked, “Near Edwards?”

  “Yep, why?” John asked as he donned his pack.

  “My daddy owned some land near there and we grew cotton. The roof of the house has caved in, collapsed the same year as the fall, but there is a cellar there. Not huge, but plenty big enough for us, all our gear, and then some. That is, if it's not been destroyed already.”

  “Close to Edwards?”

  “I'd guess three miles south of the place and then east a bit, oh, maybe two more miles.”

  Tom pulled a map from his coat, opened it and said, “We're right here. Edwards is here, so where is this plantation of yours?”

  Grinning, Joshua said, “It ain't a plantation and never was, but the place is right here.” He pointed on the map.

  “Maybe five hours west?” Tom asked.

  “About that,” Joshua agreed.
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  “Okay, folks,” John said, “saddle up and let's move. I want Sandra on point and Margie on drag. After three hours, I want Josh on point. Once on point, Josh, try to lead us to your place. Keep the pace slow and keep an eye on the weather.”

  He nodded and said, “Will do.” He started out at a slow walk, west.

  “Weather?” Tom asked, looking confused.

  John laughed and said, “This is the season for tornadoes, in case you don't remember. Spring and fall, we get 'em both times. If we spot a twister, move at right angles away from it and hunt a hole.”

  “Let's move.” Tom said and started out after Josh.

  The morning passed slowly and over time, John grew less apprehensive over the Russian patrol that passed so closely to them. That didn't mean he lowered his situational awareness, but instead his mind moved on to other things. It was late afternoon when Joshua stopped and waved John forward.

  From beside the man, John asked, “Is this it?”

  “Yep, off to the right, about a hundred yards, you can see the remains of the main house. The barn has fallen in and the outbuildings are in sad shape, too. The cellar is about a hundred feet from the house and a bit north.”

  “We'll check it in the morning, after light.” John started to turn, then he heard a jet flying overhead and when he glanced up, it was maybe ten thousand feet and straight and level. He grinned when he saw Dolly looking up as well.

  CHAPTER 8

  At the Russian base camp, Vetrov was in another of his vicious moods. It seemed to those who served under the man, all he did was go into a rage about one thing or another, and with no other emotions shown. Some even thought the man had lost his mind, and those who'd known him the longest were the most assured of his insanity. He'd taken to drinking much more vodka than usual, and he'd always been a heavy drinker.

  Lieutenant Colonel Pankov stood at attention in the room they used for staff meetings, and he'd been explaining the loss of the helicopter, when Vetrov exploded, “How in the hell do a group of peasants kill ten Russian soldiers and then blow up a helicopter, killing the whole crew? By God, I want answers! And, I want answers now, Pankov, or I will personally see you spend the rest of your worthless life in Siberia!”