by W. R. Benton
“How do you know of this place? I mean, it's a bit out of the way and you drove some nice cars from what I remember.”
“I had an old car I was restoring. It' was a 1957 Chevy, but I quit after a while because the parts were too expensive. Most of the parts had to be ordered from California. I originally got the car from Mister Myles, who owned the junk yard.”
“Well, let's hope we can rest there a bit, because for some reason, I'm beat today.”
John gave a slight grin and then said, “I've not slept a deep sleep since the fall. Now, let's be quiet until we get to where we'll spend the night.”
About a mile later, Margie, who'd been on point, returned and said, “Spotted what looks like an old junkyard. The house has burnt down and the barn is on it's last legs. But on the top of a hill, maybe a hundred yards away is a garage, or so it looks to me.”
“Uh-huh,” John said, “that's the garage. Let's move there, because we can see the whole area from there.”
As they walked, Tom warned, “Stay off the road and in the grass.”
The road was dirt and Tom was checking the surface as they walked, looking for tire prints or foot prints, but saw nothing. Stopping half way to the place, he said, “John, take Sandra and check it out.”
John smiled at Sandra and then motioned toward the garage with his head. Handing Dolly's leash to Tom as he walked by the man, he said, “I suspect it's empty, but this is the best way to find out.”
They neared the building slowly, with John checking the dusty road for any sign as Tom had, but saw nothing. At the door, he pointed to himself and then indicated for her to wait outside. Sandra nodded.
The door squeaked on rusty hinges as it opened, so he waited a few minutes before entering. When he did enter, he was scanning the inside from side-to-side looking for movement, except he found it clean. He then check out back and in two sheds at the rear.
He walked back to Sandra and said, “It's clean and looks like nobody has been here in years.” He then waved to Tom and the others.
They walked inside and looked things over closely. There was an office, with a sofa, two chairs and an old wooden desk. The top of the desk was marred and discolored by cigarette burns. Cobwebs were in the corners and spiderwebs were seen near a broken window behind the desk.
The others soon joined them and Tom asked, “Find anything we can use?”
“Most of the tools are gone, but I did find some welding gear, scrap metal and a cutting torch. Overall, I have to say no, nothing we can use, unless you want to put a car together.” John replied.
“I'll stand guard while the rest of you eat something. Once you're finished, someone come and relieve me so I can eat.” Tom said.
“Will do.” John said, and then lowered his pack to the floor. His back ached, but it usually did after carrying a pack all day. He dusted off a water bucket and then turned it up-side-down. He sat on it and grinned when Dolly placed her big head on his thigh. He scratched her ears and rubbed her head.
Sandra moved to his side, sat in the floor and then pulled out a Russian ration. The rations were good, so she shared hers as they talked. Unlike before the fall, they chewed the food well, enjoying the taste as long as they could. Every minute or so, John would feed Dolly a bite, and he enjoyed having her near. The dog was the only thing, besides Sandra, he had of the old days and as a result, they were both precious to him now.
Tom ran into the building and said, “Have a tank with maybe twenty men heading our way.”
“How far off?”
“Quarter mile, maybe.”
“Which way are they approaching?”
“Straight down the road like they own the place.”
“Everyone get out the back door, while I rig some surprises for our visitors. Sandra, take Dolly with you.” John said and pulled out a hand grenade. “Go straight after you leave this place and wait for me, oh, maybe a hundred yards out.”
As soon as they left, he spotted some gas cans and walking to them, he was surprised to find a little gas in them. He poured the gas on the floor and then rigged his grenade to explode when someone tripped his thin fishing line. He hoped the added gas fumes would increase the damage by the grenade.
He could now hear the noisy motor of the tank and peeking from the door, he spotted the head of the tank commander sticking from an open hatch. He lined up the sights of his bison and fired, smiling as the bullets gave loud pings and zings as they struck around the man. Finally his head was struck and his body instantly fell from view, as blood and brains spattered on the turret behind him.
A machine-gun opened fire and started to riddle the wooden building. John ran with all his strength, suspecting a cannon shot, but it didn't happen. He flew out the back door and ran into the woods. Once with the others he noticed the machine-gun had stopped firing, so as they moved he listened for a cannon shot, but heard nothing. A few minutes later, he heard the grenade explode and knew he'd killed at least one more Russian.
John ordered, “Move at a slow jog and keep it up for a couple of hours. You'll run into a creek in a couple of miles; move downstream once there and stay in the water.”
After about a mile, John said, “Take everyone and keep moving with the stream. I'm going to double back and see if we're being followed. If so, I can get a look at how many are on our asses, see how they're armed and if they have a dog. I'll take Dolly with me.”
Dolly and John broke from the main group, went up the side of the creek and entered the woods. Then, at a slow jog, he moved toward the trail, but closer to the garage. He quickly identified the spot they'd entered the woods, so he moved back into the brush to watch. His wait was short and just a few minutes later, three Russians and a single dog moved down their trail. Since he was downwind, the dog never knew they were there.
The dog handler carried a pistol, but no long gun and the other two were armed with AKM assault rifles. John knew the rifles carried 30 round magazines, and his Bison gave him more firepower than them. He carried 60 rounds in his magazine and being a submachine-gun, his 700 rounds a minute beat their 600, so he had them outgunned—only slightly. But I need to take all three of them out with the first burst or I'll lose my ass. I'm glad the dog handler has his animal on a leash and it looked like it was looped around his wrist. If I miss one or two, the shit will hit the stump, John thought as he stood and started moving at a jog to the spot where they'd entered the creek.
Twenty minutes or so after he'd been at the creek, he heard and then saw, movement toward him on the trail. The dog had his nose to the grass and was moving at a steady pace. Once they were in close, about twenty feet, John raised his Bison and fired. A storm of bullets struck the three men, but the dog got loose and moved right for John; Dolly lunged and met the dog head on.
Around and around the dogs went, flying into the air at times, as each made serious attempts to kill the other. John dropped his Bison, which hung from a sling around his neck, and pulled his pistol. He could see blood on Dolly's right shoulder and the other animal had blood on it's neck. Finally, the dogs broke free and Dolly stood giving a deep growl, her hackles up, and her bloodstained teeth showing. Blood tainted saliva dripped from her chin.
Raising his pistol, John fired two fast shots and the Russian dog collapsed to the grass, unmoving. John called Dolly to his side. Petting her, he checked her for injuries. It looks like a deep claw mark on her shoulder and a couple of bites that are bleeding on her legs, so she was lucky, he thought. He then moved to the three men, where he discovered they were dead. Returning to his dog and pack, he pulled out his medical kit and dressed her wounds. Of the three, the shoulder was the deepest injury, but the punctures from the bites would have to be cleaned and dressed better once he met the group.
He then returned to the dead Russians, took their gear and weapons, and booby-trapped all three.
“Come, girl.” He said and took off at a slow trot.
Sandra looked at John and said, “She'll be fine. I gave
her a local, sewed part of her shoulder together, and the bites I covered with triple antibiotic ointment.”
Tom asked, “Was that all you saw, just the three men on the tracking team?”
“Uh-huh, and they were alone.”
“What now?” Margie asked.
“We keep moving. We need some miles between us and the garage. We'll keep moving until close to midnight, then sleep for four hours, and start moving again. I want all ears in the air as we move. Since they know the general direction we were moving, they'll have birds in the air looking for us. Right now, we'll head due west, so let's get out of this creek and start in that direction.” John said, and then gave a weak smile.
“Why the smile?” Sandra asked.
“I was thinking of how much I loved this part of the state before the fall of our nation. It was so special to come out and hunt during deer season, you know?”
Tom said, “You're still hunting, only men now and not deer. Let's move. The longer we stay here talking the longer we'll have to walk tonight.”
Hours passed and it was well after dark when the group stopped to rest and eat. They all gathered under a huge oak to eat. The night was cool and the low clouds John had seen earlier could bring snow or rain. He knew if it snowed it would never amount to much, because Mississippi never got over two inches in all the years he'd lived in the state.
“John, do you know of anyway to protect ourselves from infrared or thermal detection?”
“Only stories and none that really work, why?”
“I've heard the only thing that really works well is rain. For some reason rain makes the screens look cluttered and hard to see the heat on the ground. From what I've read, the infrared systems in choppers are a handful for just two men to operate, and usually the chopper is used to find folks. They then radio troops on the ground to engage the enemy. Of course, if we run into a gunship, the party is over, because they're designed to kill.”
“I've heard wool blankets mask human heat, but it seems to me the wool would absorb the heat and make you a bigger target. I've also heard space blankets or casualty blankets work, but only for a minute or two, because after that the edges of the blanket will start to glow from escaping heat. I saw a movie once, while on active duty, and a guy tried to get away from an aircraft by swimming, but on the screen he was clearly seen, and his movements in the water glowed behind him, leaving a trail.”
“Let's just pray we never run into that problem. The next time we hook up with Willy, we need to find something for choppers.” John said.
“We're wearing mostly new BDU's from the batch Willy gave us and I heard, but can't confirm, that BDU's were treated with something that cut down on thermal image readings. I think it reduces the amount of body heat given off. I even remember reading something about it on a label sewed on a BDU shirt one time.”
“Well, even if it does, 80 to 90 percent of a person's body heat exits from the top of their head, so I hope our boonie hats were treated with the same shit.”
Tom laughed and said, “Then the feet will give a good clear reading and so will the hands.”
“The problem,” Sandra said, “is the human body is almost a hundred degrees and the surrounding areas are cooler, so your body heat would stand out clearly. The only place in the world where it might be easier to hide, might be on a hot road at night or in desert sand. They'd both be pretty hot, but you'd have to be one lucky sonofabitch to find a road at the right temperature.”
“I think a space blanket would be the best or just not moving. The risk with not moving is they might smoke your ass anyway, because they know something is alive.”
“I heard they don't get a reading in a house or under canvas, but I hope to never have to find out.”
As they talked, they ate a quick meal and were soon on the trail once again, moving west. As they walked, a light sprinkling of rain started to fall, so everyone donned a poncho. There were many bright flashes of lightning but no loud thunder, so they continued to move. After a couple of hours, the trail became slippery and more than one fell and regained their feet cursing.
It was shortly after midnight, when Sandra, who'd been on point said, “I have a house in front of me, and I see a light inside.”
“Did you spot anyone moving around?”
“Not outside, but I saw two different men walk by the window.”
“Well, it ain't Russians, or a guard would have been posted.”
Tom said, “It could be a different cell, so do we knock on the door or what?”
“You can knock on the door if you want; I don't think I'd try it, because they'll likely shoot your ass.” John replied.
“Why don't we stay behind shelter and call out to them? If we can explain who we are, they might let us stay the night.” Margie said, and then wiped the rain from her face.
“Okay, we'll do as Margie suggests, because I can't think of a safer way to do this. I'll go forward with Margie. John, you stay here with Mollie, Sandra and Dolly. Once we're inside, we'll come back for all of you. If you hear shooting, don't join us, because we'll try to withdraw.”
“When do you want to do this?” Margie asked.
“Why not right now? The longer we stand here the wetter we'll get, if that's possible.” John said and then added, “Come on.”
He let her lead and near the edge of the trees was an old farmhouse that was way overdue a paint job, and some of the windows were broken. The light was clearly seen in what may have been the living room.
John called out, “Hello the house. We're needing shelter from the rain.”
Minutes passed before a voice said, “Keep walkin', we're full for the night.”
“Do you know Willy Williams? If not, how about Top?”
Again, it was a couple of minutes before the same voice said, “One of you move toward the door. If we see more than one, we'll start shooting. I want no weapons on you, which means no pistols or rifles, understand?”
Handing his rifle to Margie, he stuck the pistol in the small of his back and stood. Even in the darkness, he felt vulnerable as hell. “I'm coming in, but keep your fingers off the triggers.”
“Come.”
He walked across the clearing, half expecting to be killed any second, and when he stepped on the porch and it gave a loud groan, he cringed at the noise. The door opened and short man with a shotgun said, “Get in here.”
John entered but remained by the door.
“Hell, James, that's John and I know him well.” Top said with a big grin.
“Can I bring my people in, Top? It's pretty wet out there.”
“Sure, John. You did it properly, James, but John's a good man and one of our cell leaders.”
John pulled the pistol from his back and placed it back in his holster. Top broke out laughing and said, “Still don't trust worth a shit, do ya, John?”
“Nope, never have and never will, I guess. How have you been doing?”
“Not so good. Here about, oh, a week back a chopper caught us on a hill in the middle of the night. I suspect they were using thermal imagery, because they shot us to hell and back. Out of twenty, five of us survived the attack. But, that was miles from here.”
“Tom and I were talking about the same subject earlier. Do we have anything to protect us at all?”
“Not really, not as far as I know. I'm to meet up with Willy in a couple of days, so why don't y'all hang around and go with us?”
“I think I'll do just that.”
CHAPTER 22
Lieutenant Dyomin stood looking at the garage where his men had set off the grenade planted by John, and the young officer was seething. He'd warned the first troops in the door to do the job slowly and to check for danger as they moved, but they'd kicked the door in and entered in a rush. A few seconds later came the explosion and he had three dead men to place on the truck beside the dead tank commander.
Damn fools. Do they think the Americans are idiots? I have stressed we are fighting well traine
d soldiers, but they cannot accept that in their small brains, Dyomin thought as he watched a squad of men returning from the woods. He'd sent them after the team tracking the Americans and from what he could see, they'd been killed or seriously wounded. Just the fact that bodies were being packed out and the dog was nowhere to be seen, added to his apprehension.
Senior Sergeant Delov, leading the group, walked to the Lieutenant and said, “Three more dead men and we lost our dog, too. I found where a single man waited to ambush them. The tracks indicate he had a dog with him. Our dog had blood on his teeth and head, but a pistol killed him. To me, it means we have at least injured their dog.”
“Vetrov will shit! We have seven dead men and all we did was injure a dog? We must have better results or the Colonel will start taking heads. I want these men to break into small groups and search for the partisans.”
“Which group do you want me to join, sir?”
“You stay with me. Make sure each group has a radio, plenty of ammunition, and rations for a few days. Stress to them we must find the Americans and the group that finds them will be greatly rewarded. I want your experience behind the communications, so we have some control on each group.”
“What kind of reward, sir, because they will surely ask?”
“Promise them women, vodka and a few days off. I have yet to see an infantryman who did not enjoy that sort of thing. Also, tell them Colonel Vetrov will mention them by name in communications with Moscow and a medal can be provided, as well as a promotion. We have got to start doing better or we will all end up in a prison someplace.”
Delov came to attention and asked, “Will that be all, sir?”
“No, contact the flying squadron and have them keep a helicopter in the air at all times, night and day. If possible, try to get a bird or two with thermal imaging capability, so we can go on the offense. We must be aggressive without being stupid, and thorough without being slow. The aircraft are not to attack the partisans, but radio the locations to us. I want us to get the credit for killing the Americans, not the helicopter crews.”
