by W. R. Benton
“Sir, we have teams on the ground right this minute, searching for the killers. Our soldiers were found naked, their uniforms gone, and yet the dead from the weather were still wrapped in their ponchos. The other helicopter stated the lost aircraft told him the men on the ground were having radio problems. There were no indications anything was wrong until the aircraft exploded.”
“And, the cause of the explosion?”
“Our initial reports suggest grenades, but it is being looked into very thoroughly right now.”
“So, did the other aircraft do nothing? I have dozens of dead men and not a single body of a responsible American!”
Pankov, feeling the stress of briefing the commander, was sweating in the cool room as he said, “Yes, sir, he attacked with full force, using both his cannons and rockets. Once that was over, one of our jets dropped napalm on the area. Our estimates are ten members of the resistance killed.”
Exploding from his chair, Vetrov screamed, “Moscow does not want estimates, but bodies! I want you and your entire staff to go out to the place we lost that helicopter this afternoon. You will stay there until your estimates turn into cold dead American bodies, or so help me, I will relieve you of command and send your ass home shamed. Do you understand me, Colonel Pankov?”
Snapping to attention, the colonel replied, “Yes, sir.”
“Now, get out of my sight. Next, I want the weather briefing.”
Pankov cursed as he entered his office and sat at his desk. Opening the top right drawer, he pulled out a quart of vodka and took a long drink. The rough alcohol burned a trail to his stomach and kicked him hard. Standing he said, “Sergeant, prepare the entire staff for the field. Full combat load and gear, including you.”
“Yes, sir, I will get the word out.”
As soon as the sergeant left, Pankov put the quart of vodka in his pack and began to gather up his gear.
The aircraft tipped a bit to the left as it touched down just a few yards from the destroyed one, and the intelligence team moved from the aircraft bent over at the waist. This was their first deployment to the field since the unit had arrived in America and all were nervous, with some more than others. The senior NCO had a lot of years behind him and he'd been a line troop before moving into intelligence. He was the least concerned, but the privates were terrified by just the thought of the American resistance. They'd heard many stories, although most were lies, about how inhumane the enemy was to those they captured.
“Sergeant!” Pankov yelled to be heard over the engine of the chopper.
“Sir?”
“Move our troops into the woods and get a tent up. Then, place guards around.”
“Sir, I think one guard near the door to your tent is enough. There is a whole company of men here and guards are all around us.”
“Take care of it, and do as you wish with guards.” Pankov pulled a flask from his coat and took a swig. He walked to a Major who was with the infantry and asked, “Have any of the teams made contact yet?”
The Major saluted and then extending his hand, said, “I am Major Galkin, sir. Let us move to my tent, because I do not like discussing business out in the open.”
A few minutes later, seated in folding chairs, the Major pulled a quart of vodka from under his pillow on his cot and asked, “Drink, sir?”
“Yes, please.”
He picked up two canteen cups and poured about three fingers of the clear drink into each. He handed one cup to Pankov, and then said, “The American's have been very active. We have a Sergeant of yours named Belonev with us. As far was we can tell, he is the only survivor of this mess. We discovered him on our way here, but down by a secondary road. When we found him he was mumbling about 'all dead' and needing help. He is sleeping now, but from what little we gathered from him, he had been in the woods taking a pee when the attack happened. Along with a lieutenant, something or the other, I have it in my report, and they fled toward the road. The officer died and we discovered the Master Sergeant when he flagged us down yesterday.”
“Any other attacks I should know about?”
“Well, this one was carried out by the same group that carries the ace of spades. One of our teams searching ran into a small group north of here. Our men were pretty well shot to hell, but three out of the ten lived. Our initial report shows Claymores were exploded and,” Galkin walked to a map on his wall before he continued, “we have had attacks here, here, here, and here.” As he spoke he pointed to circles drawn on the map.
“What's the time difference between attacks? I mean, could one unit be doing this much damage?” Pankov took a big chug of vodka, knowing Vetrov would shit when informed.
“Impossible for it to be just one unit. The distance and time involved has ruled that out. What we have here, in my opinion, is a number of small cells carrying out random attacks, with no coordination. See, two of the attacks were within a mile of each other, but happened close to five minutes apart. I suspect two different units.” Galkin threw his drink back.
“Do you have any idea how many cells there may be?”
Galkin laughed and replied, “No, sir, and there is no way to know, other than just guess. We have a total of four American bodies, which were taken back to Colonel Vetrov by the same aircraft that delivered you.”
“Taken back? Why?”
“The boss no longer wants a count, my good colonel, he wants to personally see the bodies. Another drink?”
“Sure, I will have one more. If he wants to see the bodies, he must not trust his commanders in the field.”
“Well, just between you and I, my uncle is general officer and he told me on his last visit here that Vetrov has just one hundred and twenty days to clear this area of all resistance or they'll remove him. I was told this about a hundred days ago, so the pressure must be getting rough for the man.”
Good God, that explains his behavior. Hell, if they do not shoot him, he will end up in Siberia alongside me, Pankov thought, but said, “Can he do the job?”
Galkin sat on his cot, took a drink of his vodka and replied, “I do not think anyone could do the job. My uncle told me that no one in Moscow had considered, not seriously, the number of guns the Americans had when they decided to come here. When you consider the number of hunters, military veterans, and those that just had a gun to protect their homes, damned near all of these people were armed.”
“The last intelligence report I had stated there were an estimated 270 million guns registered, or 89 guns for every 100 people. That is a hell of a lot of weapons, even if some of them are small caliber or old shotguns. I think it is important to remember, some additional guns may have been passed down from father to son and many may not have even been registered. Also, what happened to all of the weapons the Americans had in gun stores after the country fell? I suspect all were stolen, but how many were taken? Who knows? Our intelligence has no idea.”
“Interesting Colonel, but the resistance we are fighting has a full arsenal of weapons from pistols to automatic weapons, including Russian and American machine guns.”
“Of course they do and will continue to collect weapons each time they kill our men. I am sure your men found no working weapons near our dead, right?”
“Not a one.”
“Well, from now on, if you find any ammo, guns, grenades, anything, return it to base camp, because a number of troops have been killed using gear gathered after a fight.”
Galkin looked confused, so Pankov continued, “The American explosive C4 was placed in cartridges which exploded when fired, our hand grenades had the delay setting changed, and some other rather deadly modifications to other gear has occurred. Use nothing after a fight.”
“I understand, sir.”
Standing, Pankov said, “I enjoyed our small chat, Major. As soon as my tent is erected and I am back in business, I will have a staff meeting.”
Snapping his heels together with a loud click, Galkin replied, “My pleasure, sir. I look forward to the meeti
ng.”
“I must see to my men.” The colonel walked from the tent and thought, Sonofabitch, no wonder Vetrov is about insane. There is no way he can clear this area of partisans in the time given and he must know that. Hell, he is on borrowed time, but I suspect when he goes down, the top brass will allow him to take many of us with him. I cannot allow that to happen. I'm too close to full colonel and then just a short step to general officer. I must survive to be promoted.
He was near the woods when his sergeant ran to him and said, “Sir, one of the helicopter pilots caught a large group of Americans in an open field and estimates over forty dead! He shot them to pieces with his guns.”
“Contact the base and report this and have the pilot report to me immediately. Also have helicopters sent to the kill zone to pick up the bodies in nets. Then, have the nets dropped in the grass in front of base headquarters.”
“Sir?”
“Do what I said, Sergeant, and do it now.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the sergeant hurried away to complete his tasks, Pankov thought, If Vetrov wants bodies, I will give him bodies. I have got to make this look like I had a hand in it or I will go down with the commander. If I have forty dead delivered to him, he will have to recognize my efforts with a medal or at least in a letter to Moscow. That alone may save my ass.
The pilot arrived at the Colonel's tent thirty minutes later, looking tired, but happy. It wasn't often a chopper pilot caught that many of the enemy out in the open. The guard at the door asked his name, told him to wait, and then went inside. A minute later he heard a voice say, “Enter. Private, wait outside by the door.”
The pilot entered, saluted, and said, “Lieutenant Yevseyev reporting, sir. I was told you wanted to speak to me.”
“Please, sit down, Yevseyev. Would you like a drink?”
Sit down? Drink? This man wants something, so watch him closely, Yevseyev thought and then said, “No drink, because I have to fly back to the base, sir.” He then sat in the chair Pankov offered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
“Yevseyev, I understand you killed forty Yankees in an open field today. Is that report true?”
“Yes, sir, I did. The last I heard, other aircraft were inbound to remove the bodies.”
“You must be glad I gave you the information on where to find such a large number of the enemy?”
“Sir?”
“Do I need to ask the question again, Yevseyev, or do you want to stay a lieutenant the rest of your career?”
Damn, he is wanting credit for my kills, but the last thing I need is a senior officer after my ass, Yevseyev thought and then said, “I might take one finger of vodka, sir.”
Pouring the alcohol, Pankov asked, “Well?”
“Oh, I am very glad you briefed me on the mission, yes, sir. Without your assistance I would not have made a single kill today. Your intelligence section is excellent, Colonel.”
“I'm glad to hear that, Captain Yevseyev, well maybe not captain yet, but you will be when the next promotions come down.”
Throwing his drink back, Yevseyev said, “Is that all, sir?”
“No, I want an after action report written by you now and left with me. I will see copies are sent forward. You will make sure my name is mentioned, understand?'
“Yes, sir.” He's either covering his ass or hunting a medal. I do not care who gets credit for the kills, because I know it was pure luck. I could fly here ten years and never have the same thing happen again. I will write you a wonderful report Colonel, but not for a promotion. No, sir, I may need a favor from you one day and when I do, I will come to you to collect.
The flying maintenance commander gave his briefing to Vetrov and waited for the response. He had close to 25% of his aircraft grounded due to maintenance updates or needed fixes and while he was doing the best he could, the Colonel was never happy, not with anyone. Vetrov lowered his head to his hands and asked, “When do you expect to be back up to full strength?”
“Ten days at the maximum.”
The Colonel shot from his chair and exploded in anger, “Ten days! That is totally unacceptable, and I want the job finished in half the time!”
“We'll try our best, sir.”
“You will do it in that time, or I will remove you and get someone in that can do the job. I want no more excuses from any of you. I grow tired of threatening and will take action the next time.”
The Major who worked for Pankov, stood and was shaking when he walked to the front of the room and said, “Sir, I am happy to report, Lieutenant Colonel Pankov contacted us a few minutes ago to inform us that forty resistance fighters have been killed.”
Vetrov raised his head from his hands and said, “That's impossible, he just arrived there. Has he personally seen the bodies?”
“Well, no, sir, but the bodies should be on their way here, right now. We dispatched three helicopters to retrieve the remains and they should be here within the hour, or so.”
“I do not believe a word of this. It cannot be possible. How did these forty Americans die?”
“Sir, a Lieutenant Yevseyev, working on intelligence provided by the Colonel, caught the Americans crossing an open field just after dawn. Using his guns and rockets, he was able to complete his mission successfully. A detailed after-action report is on its way here.”
“I will be damned. That must be the largest kill for a single man to date.”
“It is, sir, but it is yet unconfirmed. The bodies will add credibility to the report.”
“When are these bodies to be delivered here?”
“The Colonel didn't say, sir. He just instructed me to pass the kills on to you during the staff meeting.”
“Well,” Vetrov said, “finally some good news. Sergeant, bring us a few bottles of vodka, this deserves a celebration!”
I hope there are at least forty dead Americans or Vetrov will have me and Pankov hanged from the highest tree, the Major thought, as he gave a false smile.
Glasses were handed out, drinks poured and then Vetrov stood, and said, “To a quick Russian victory over the Americans!”
“To Mother Russia!” A Captain responded as he held his drink high.
The drinks disappeared and then the Sergeant said, “Sir, I am to inform you of three helicopters due here in five minutes. According to the message I have, the aircraft are carrying dead Americans.”
“Here? Why here?” The Colonel asked.
“I have no idea, sir. Your captain asked me to inform you.”
That damned Pankov is doing this on purpose, so he can show me the dead, he thought and then said, “Gentlemen, shall we go outside and watch the delivery?”
Due to his rank, no one refused, but most didn't really want to see the blood and gore. They were members of the commanders staff, not combat troops, and few had served in combat. They left the room, went down a flight of stairs and out to the lawn.
It was a nice day, with a few clouds hanging high in the sky to the west, but otherwise clear. The air was warm, but not overly hot, so most of the staff enjoyed a light breeze that blew.
“To the west, I see three aircraft.” Someone in the group said. As all looked in the direction the small points gradually grew larger. A few minutes later, three helicopters were seen, and each had a big net hanging below.
The first aircraft flew to the center of the big lawn and slowly descended until the net touched the ground. It continued to lower, until a private on the ground disconnected the net from a thick cable. The aircraft started up and in a matter of a minute or two, it was gone and another started toward the lawn. Ten minutes later, the three aircraft now gone, the staff stood in shock. Blood covered the bodies and dripped to the grass, pooling in puddles. Arms, legs, and heads had been thrown onto the net loosely, so many had rolled off once the net was released from the aircraft. The heat, while only warm, intensified the coppery smell of blood, urine, and human waste. A young lieutenant turned his head to the left and puked.
&nbs
p; Vetrov was smiling as he walked to the first net and saw the devastating damage done by just one helicopter. He then turned and said, “I want intelligence to pull these bodies from the nets and count them. I want an estimate on ages, determine the genders and any other intelligence you can gather from the remains. That means going through their pockets and gear. I want an exact count of the number dead. Major, you will give me a detailed briefing as soon as the information as been gathered. For the rest of you, dismissed.”
CHAPTER 9
John liked the cellar, but knew if they were all caught inside they'd be easily killed. The top was covered with dirt and grass had grown high on top, along with brush. No one had walked around it in years. The trees from the forest, over the years, were slowly moving toward the cellar. From the forest proper, John guessed it was fifty feet, which was a short run, but if trapped inside, the same run could take a lifetime. The two doors were hinged with a cross bar of metal that held the door securely against high winds, but it offered no protection at all against weapons, not even small arms fire.
As they worked, Joshua said, “Me and my daddy, God rest his soul, grew a lot of cotton here one time, way before the fall. Cotton paid my way through college and made me a good living for a long time. Then, one day when I was about twenty-three, I got me an idea to join the Army. Just like that, I was gone. Daddy did fine for a couple of years without me, then due to his age, he had to quit.”
“Did you grow up here too? I mean in the house?” Tom asked.
“Nope, but my daddy and grandpa did, and his father before him.”
“That's a lot of years in a piece of land. I'd imagine your folks put a lot sweat into this place.”
“I've never given that part much thought. We made a better than average living from this land, so I think we got out of it what we put into it. We were all hard workers and I can remember many a day coming home tired and beat. Those were good days, only they're lost forever now, because this country will never be what it was before.”
