The Fall of America: Fatal Encounters (Book 2)

by W. R. Benton

  Durchenko shrugged and said, “I'm a soldier and as such, I can drink any damned thing that does not kill me. Come, and I'll take you to the mess facility.”

  “How are the meals?”

  “Better than most bases, because we buy most vegetables from town, and have a small herd of goats, sheep, cows, and some chickens. The colonel wants to increase the size of our herds, and chickens, most likely to feed the prisoners. He is getting additional men who will care for the animals.”

  “Good, my men will be happy to hear that. Are the herds on or off base?”

  “Off right now, but that will change as soon as we string some more wire. The size of the base is to be increased, almost ten times, to allow the prison camp to be inside the base and to provide additional security. A squadron of helicopters are to be assigned here any day now.”

  “What do you mean, additional security?”

  “Pankov wants bunkers constructed, towers, sandbagged positions for heavy machine guns, and the list goes on and on. He wants mines up the ass and all around this place, plus more wire than you have ever seen before.”

  “Why? It almost sounds as if he is scared.”

  “He might be frightened, and he has reason to be. As the commander responsible for the prison camps that will soon spring up all over, he will be a wanted man. Can you imagine the anger the resistance will have when their mothers, fathers, sisters or wives are placed in a camp or killed?”

  “They will eventually come and try to take this place, or so I think. If not here, it will happen someplace else, because they will want to show their people we cannot keep them as prisoners.”

  “I hope like hell I am gone when that fight happens.” Durchenko said and then added, “It will be worth the cost in men for the propaganda they will get from freeing their people.”

  “The officers will just line up a group of hostages and shoot them in retaliation.”

  “But the damage will have been done already. My tent is here. Do you want to come in for a quick drink or two? I have some American bourbon.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Margie almost panicked, but was able to keep her composure as she asked, “Where will you take me?”

  “We take you to alley. There we will make you happy woman.”

  “What if I don't want to go?” She gave Dolly a stroke on the top of her head.

  The soldier who spoke English said something to his partner and both men pulled their weapons from their shoulders. Pointing them at her, the soldier said, “Come, now.”

  They walked a block up and then down a long narrow alley. Trash, empty bottles and other debris littered the broken concrete. Margie knew she had to kill the two men, but feared using the pistol. The noise would draw attention.

  One man placed his rifle against a wall and the other said, “Clothes off.”

  Margie decided there was no way out of the situation, except to fight, so she might as well go down fighting. If all went well, she'd survive, if not, then she'd die. I will not be used like a whore by these two, she thought.

  She slowly removed her blouse, teasing both men as she did so, and when she reached back, as if to remove her bra, she pulled the pistol and fired one round, catching the man holding a weapon in the middle of the chest. He fell to the ground unmoving and didn't make a sound. As the second Russian moved for his gun, Margie screamed, “Dolly, attack!”

  Dolly jumped for the soldier and he was pushed up against a wall, where he began yelling for help. As the dog suddenly lunged for his throat, the man made an attempt to stop her with his left hand, but missed, and Dolly clamped her strong jaws on her intended target. Blood began to spurt high into the air as the Russian fought with the dog. A few minutes later, the soldier lay still and Dolly turned away from him. The dead man's throat had been torn and ripped.

  Margie quickly dressed and pulling a shirt from one of the Russians, she cleaned the dog as well as she could without water. Then, picking up the foods, she walked from the alley and walked up one block before she turned left. This street, she thought, should take me out of town. Someone must have heard my shot or the screams of the last man. I have to walk slowly and not blow my cover, no matter how much I want to run. Good God, what a mess.

  All went well, until she could see the brush where John was hiding and then a truck pulled up in the road behind her and half a dozen men jumped from the rear. A loud shout was heard in Russian, but Margie only had about fifty feet to safety, so she ignored it.

  “Stop! Woman! We shoot!” A voice called out in poor English.

  There came a burst of automatic fire from the brush and she heard John yell, “Run, now!”

  Bullets struck the road in front of her and at her sides, sending chunks of concrete high into the air as the bullets pinged off into space. Just a bit more! She thought and then glanced over her shoulder to see three men racing for her. She pulled the pistol she'd stuck in her coat pocked and squeezed off two rounds. No man slowed, but then John fired once more and the men fell, with two of them screaming. He then called for Dolly.

  Just as she reached the bushes she felt something strike her left arm and the force of impact, and the fact she was off balance, knocked her to the ground. John moved to her and asked, “You okay?”

  “I think so; took a hit to my arm.”

  She watched as John pulled tape from a grenade, pulled the pin and then tossed it toward the truck. Bullets continued to clip the brush and bushes around them until the explosion, which set off the gas tank, engulfed the truck in a fireball. As the flames rolled inside of themselves, over and over, John stood and snapped off single rounds. Other explosions followed as ammunition, grenades and spare gas cans went up in flames.

  “Move, and let's do it now. We'll head east a bit and then swing north. I don't want to lead them straight back to our camp. As we move,” John said, and handed her a bandage, “wrap your arm up as tight as you can. We'll stop in a couple of hours to do the job properly. I'll lead, but keep up with me, because I won't be able to come looking for you. If you feel weak or faint, let me know. Come, Dolly.”

  “They were going to rape me.”

  “Enough talk, move.” John started off at a slow jog, designed to cover miles and not tire a person too quickly. They'll come, he thought, but hopefully if we can make the swamps, we'll lose them there.

  They moved fast and, as they moved, Margie said, “Listen to me, I have some things I need to tell you. In case something happens to me, the information is not lost.”

  “Talk fast, because they'll be after us soon.”

  As she jogged, she handed the tow sack with the meat and vegetables to him and said, “Around a hundred men are assigned at Edwards, but they plan to make a prison for family members of those they suspect are in the resistance. Right now, the base is poorly defended, with no mines or much wire in place. During the day, we can almost walk up to it, but at night they shoot first, and then ask questions.”

  John met her eyes and said, “Good job. I can't believe you learned all of that in one visit. What's in the bag?”

  “Five pounds of beef, 3 cabbages, bag of carrots, two onions, and one stalk of a celery. The cost was high, which is why I handed the bag to you. I don't want to lose it.”

  “We'll stop in a few minutes, and then I want you to tie the bag to my pack. I need both hands free as we travel, in case of trouble. I've not had fresh beef or veggies in a long time.”

  “Looking at Dolly you'll see some blood on her, but it's not hers. I had to shoot one man and she killed the other. She's a fine dog and saved my life, I think. I might have killed the second man but I think another shot would have made my getaway impossible.”

  “Enough talking.”

  Hour after hour they ran until they reached the edge of the swamp. At times, to slow down any pursuit, John would stop and make a booby-trap or lay a mine.

  John grinned and said, “They'll never follow us far into the swamps, because it's too easy to get lost.”


  “Do you know this area?” Margie squatted to rest.

  “I've hunted gators in this part of the swamp, but we'll not go in but a couple of miles. There is an old mansion, oh, maybe two miles from here and we'll spend the night there.”

  There came a loud boom of thunder followed by a light wind.

  Standing, she said, “Let's move so the rain will wash our tracks away.”

  “Step where I step. There are places in here that look solid, but they're not and you fall into water. If you fall into the water, either snakes or gators will get you, understand?”

  “Oh, I hear every word, because I'm scared to death of snakes.”

  John chuckled and said, “Let's pray the Russians are, too.”

  When the rains came, they were gentle and not pounding. Glancing behind them, John saw the dirt turning to mud and knew they'd be impossible to track, even with dogs. He began to hum a no name tune as he walked.

  Fog began to move in and Margie said, “Damn, I don't like this. I mean this is a scene out of some horror movie. Rain, old house, lightning, fog, all we need now is for Dracula to meet us at the front door and say, 'Good evening.'”

  “Relax; if it bothers you, it'll bother the Russians, too. Just keep moving, because I'm going to place a couple of anti-personnel mines in case they follow us this far. You'll notice I've pretty much stuck to the left side of the trail when it forked or branched. If something happens to me, just lean heavy to the trails to the right to return to solid land again.” He squatted and began scooping mud from the center of the trail with his hands.

  Hearing a small noise, Margie turned and saw a large cottonmouth snake swimming toward the bank she was on. “Uh, John, we have a big snake heading for us.”

  “Flip it out of the way. I can't help you right now, I'm arming the mines. Use a stick.”

  She picked up a limb, broke off the branches and shivered when she saw the snake open it's mouth and it's long fangs were clearly seen. Lawdy, I hate snakes, she thought and then placed the limb under the snake and flicked—hard. The snake went high into the air and landed with a loud plop, right beside her.

  She almost screamed as John said, “Knock him out of your way, like this.” He then used the barrel of his AK-47 to flip the snake off the trail and into the water. Margie shuddered in fear.

  “Come on, it's about a quarter mile to the old house.”

  The rain increased in volume, the trail became slippery, and lightning flashed bright lines in the black sky, which exploded into many smaller lines with a loud crack of thunder. It was now late afternoon and the weather brought early darkness.

  Stopping, John said, “That's the place.” He pointed to an old broken down building off the right side of the trail. Part of the roof had caved in, the windows were mostly missing, and the door was hanging by one hinge.

  Margie chuckled and said, “When I was a kid and used to watch horror movies, when I'd see a place like this, I'd always scream, 'Don't go in there!'”

  John's laughter joined hers and he said, “It's spooky looking and if you don't like it, we can stay out here, but it has a fireplace and it's mostly dry inside. The choice is yours.”

  “Let's go in, because we'll drown out here. I'm a big girl and while I don't like the place, I'm sensible enough to know it offers us shelter.”

  “The last time I was here, the floor was rotted in a few spots, so follow in my wet footsteps once we go inside. Here, use this,” he said as he handed her a small flashlight.

  The first step to the porch was busted and fallen in, so they moved up the other steps slowly, expecting them to collapse. Standing on the porch, Margie saw the railing that once went around the front was missing. Stepping around the hanging door, John entered.

  Stairs were to the right, but there was no way she'd go to the second floor, because the structure was too old and it looked ready to fall in at any moment. John lowered his backpack to the floor, moved to the fireplace and removed his flashlight. He stuck his head in the fireplace and looked up the chimney with the light.

  “It's clear this time. About a year ago, I had to clear out a nest of pack rats.”

  Wood was stacked up against a wall near the front windows, so in a few minutes a small fire was burning. Removing a Russian ration, which was designed for two people, he opened it and shared it with Margie.

  As they ate, she asked, “Why are the Russians making a prison?”

  Wiping his mouth off with his hand, John said, “They have a history of locking up those that are criminals, insane, or political enemies of the state. They'll be treated poorly, fed a starvation diet, and most will die of diseases or firing squads.”

  “It sounds rough to me, but how will the resistance react if their families are imprisoned?”

  “Well, how do you think they'll take it?” He took a bite of biscuit and then a bite of goulash. This stuff is better than our rations, more variety anyway, he thought.

  “Be hard on a man or woman knowing their family was being treated like that. But, if you're really asking me will it change anything, then no. If anything it'll bring more unity to those resisting the Russians.”

  “Willy Williams once old me, 'The Russians are a hard people and they only respect brute strength.' At the time, I thought he'd lost his mind, because he was in the process of burning a Russian to death. Now, after fighting them a few times, ambushing and being ambushed, I realize he was correct.”

  “Do you think we'll make an attempt to bust people out?”

  Taking a sip of his instant coffee, he looked over the rim of his metal canteen cup and replied, “It all depends on the defenses they have and how it looks. We've attacked bases, supply depots, small camps and ambushed convoys before, so anything is possible.”

  There came a loud crash near the front door and John scooped up his AK-47. He moved behind some ancient furniture and waited. Margie moved to the other side of the room and from the firelight, her eyes were huge. Dolly was ready to lunge, but after a few minutes her ears dropped, and she sat on the floor.

  Suddenly John laughed, stood and moved forward. He was lost for a minute in the darkness and then said, “The door is no longer hanging by a hinge, it's fallen to the porch.”

  “I almost filled my pants.”

  “I suspected if it had been Russian troops, we'd have known it immediately. They would have tossed a grenade in and then entered, shooting anything that moved. I've heard other noises while sleeping here, so get used to it. I think you handled it well.”

  Moving back to the fire, she asked, “What do you know of this place?”

  He walked to her side, sat and asked, “Do you want the legend or the truth?”

  “Both.”

  “Well, the legend is ole man Packerman went crazy one night back in 1865, took an ax and hacked his family to death. That's all a lie.”

  “Oh, who killed them then?”

  “History tells a different story. It seems in early 1865, March is as near as I can remember, the South was losing the War of Union Aggression, and Packerman knew it, because he was a full colonel in a cavalry unit. He disbanded his troops and told them to go home; for them the war was over. His family, who'd been in Jackson for the duration of the fight, joined him here on his return. Within a month, Colonel Packerman was dead of an unknown fever and one-by-one his family died in this very house. The last living relative attempted to get rid of this place, only who wanted a home in the edge of a swamp, where a whole family died mysteriously?”

  “I wonder why the house is even here.”

  “Packerman was wealthy and had little use for others. He was a recluse, if you will, and some say the death of his first wife, following childbirth, lead to some strange behavior. He often sat up all night, in this very room, sipping whiskey and reading his Bible.”

  “Did they ever determine what disease killed them?”

  “No, not officially, but it could have been malaria, bad water, or a dozen other fevers that a swamp can give a person
. It's important to remember, doctors in those days knew very little real medicine, when compared to today. They thought illnesses were all related to 'bad blood' so they'd bleed a patient, or blister them, and that surely didn't help. If anything, it made the patient weaker.”

  “How do you know all of this stuff?”

  John gave a lopsided grin and said, “My great-great-great grandfather was Moses Packerman, on my momma's side. He'd sit in this room, drink whiskey and shout Bible scriptures when angered. Now, I don't want to make him sound insane, because he wasn't, but he had his ways. Momma told me after his first wife died, he mourned her death for two years. Finally, he remarried and I've seen old tintypes of his last wife and she was beautiful.”

  “He sounds pretty damned strange to me.”

  “Oh, he was at least strange, but he was rich and made his money in shipping, but his cargo was humans, not other goods. He made his fortune in the slave trade. You know, I should hate him for that, but I don't. Over the years I've come to realize his world and my world are totally different. Now, I'm not saying what he did was right, we both know better than that, but at the time it was legal. He broke no laws, imported what was in high demand, black humans, and was a respected member of society.”

  “I don't like it.”

  “I never said I liked it, or respected it, only that he'd broken no laws. The rich in the South wanted slaves and he had ships he inherited from his father, so, being a smart man, he delivered. You're thinking with a mind that has been conditioned to think like a modern human being and the social issues, you see, were different back then. I don't think it's fair to judge him using today's standards when they were so very different then.”

  Leaning against the wall, Margie said, “God has judged him.”

  “I'm sure he has. Listen, we're going to have to stand guard, one of us anyway, all night. So, do we do this in three hour watches or a single full six hours?”

  “Let's do the full six, because I hate going to sleep knowing I'll have to get up again in a few hours.”