The Fall of America: Enemy Within (Book 3)

by W. R. Benton

  The radio came alive again and Rusak listened and then said, “The Colonel wants to speak with you, Lieutenant.” He handed the radio to the young officer, knowing a good ass chewing was about to be delivered.

  “Yes, sir. No, sir. I can explain, sir.” the Lieutenant was heard to say. A minute later he handed the handset back to Rusak and said, “No charges will be filed this time, since I am just a stupid Lieutenant, but he warned me.”

  “Pissed off, was he?”

  “He threatened to either shoot me or send me to a gulag in Siberia if this ever happened again.”

  “Listen well to the man, because he meant every word, sir.”

  “Oh, I will never make this mistake again, never. Prepare the men to move after the Americans, which we will do just as soon as the helicopters leave.”

  The wounded and dead were soon gone and the group started down the narrow trail again. The point man was nervous, having already marked a number of booby-traps and mines. When they neared the spot where the rockets had struck, they only found two bodies.

  Rusak counted over fifteen bloody spots in the grasses so he suspected at least that many were injured, but he knew from experience, it was likely many more.

  He reported his finding to the Lieutenant and watched as the man called the base. “This is Badger, and we have seventeen confirmed dead Americans. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The young Lieutenant handed the handset to the new radio man.

  It was then a loud explosion filled the air and those not knocked down by the blast fell seeking cover. Men immediately began to scream and yell.

  Elout ran to the bunch and looking over his shoulder said, “A grenade was left under a body that was face down. When a man rolled the body over to see the dead man's face, the grenade went off.”

  Master Sergeant Rusak counted five men bleeding hard and two stunned. Hearing a noise in the water near him, he glanced to see gators fighting over the remains of another man. Damn me, one grenade took out eight men, he thought and shook his head.

  “Three of the five will not make it, massive injuries. The remaining two will lose their arms. Hell, one already has, it is just hanging on by some thin flesh.” the Medic reported.

  The Lieutenant was already on the radio explaining what had happened. He shook his head and argued for a moment and then said, “Yes, sir.” He tossed the handset back to the radio man.

  “The base wants us to continue moving, and due to a weather front moving in, our wounded will not be picked up until in the morning, weather permitting. We are in for some rough rains.”

  Private Elout gazed into the eyes of the Master Sergeant, saw the older man nod, and fully understood what had to be done. He pulled his syringes and prepared morphine for the three most seriously injured. He doubled the morphine doses, so the men would not die in pain, and said a silent prayer as he killed each man.

  “Th. . . the three most seriously wounded just died, Lieutenant.”

  “Leave the bodies. According to Base, they'll send out a graves and registration team in the morning, after the weather breaks.” Lieutenant Markov said as he pulled a map from his pocket.

  “That will be a waste of time, sir.”

  “What is that Master Sergeant?” the young officer looked up from the map he had in the hands.

  “The bodies will be gone within ten minutes of us leaving, or did you forget about the alligators, sir? Once we leave, we can forget about burying these men.”

  “They are dead anyway, so it matters little.” the Lieutenant replied, and then went back to studying his map.

  It matters a hell of a lot to their families, Rusak thought, but kept his mouth shut. As the senior enlisted man, it was his job to help see that orders were carried out smoothly and the enlisted men were cared for, as well as keeping the Commander aware of any problems with the men. He always performed his tasks well, but it was times like this that pissed him off.

  “What of the wounded that cannot walk?” Elout asked.

  “Rig some stretchers using shirts and bring them with us.” Rusak said and then glanced overhead, out of habit, to check the weather. He saw dark, almost black, clouds turning into each other. Rain will visit us shortly, he thought.

  Once the stretchers were complete, Rusak stood and said, “We will all take a turn carrying stretchers, so I don't want to hear any bitching about the job. Senior Sergeant Turchin, get your point man to moving and let us move men. We have a date with some Yankees in a bit.”

  Four hours later, the rains came. At first they were gentle and soft, but minutes later, just as the point man stepped from the swamp, the winds picked up and thumbnail size hail began to fall.

  “Get the men into the trees and do it now!” Markov yelled to be heard.

  Men were heard cursing as they broke and ran for the relative safety the trees offered. Shelter halves came out of packs and men quickly tried to get a shelter up. Master Sergeant Rusak didn't even bother, because with the wind gusting to 70 KPH, it was a wasted effort. He sat in the mud, leaned against a large Pine, and closed his eyes. His helmet would keep him from being knocked senseless and his pack went on his lap to protect his balls. Other than that, he'd wait the storm out.

  It was dark and still raining slightly two hours later, but the wind had disappeared and all the men had shelters up. A small community fire burned near the Lieutenant's shelter and the men took turns heating up a supper meal. Few had portable stoves for cooking and none, he knew, had the heating tablets for warming the food. Rusak didn't bother to heat his food and ate his meal cold, knowing ahead of time the food would give him indigestion. He pulled a flask, one of three he carried, and took a long pull of vodka. He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand.

  “Radio man, call in our exact position.” Lieutenant Markov said to his new radio operator.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The radio man was heard giving the coordinates and then said, “Sir, Colonel Sokol wants to speak with you.” He held the handset out so the Lieutenant could take it.

  “Yes, sir. Yes, we will be ready, sir. Out.” The officer then handed the handset back to his radio man and said, “Master Sergeant Rusak, we will be picked up by helicopters tomorrow morning, weather permitting, but we will not be returning to base. Intelligence has a spy working with the Americans and has learned there is a larger number of partisans south of Edwards. The helicopters will drop us off there. Our mission is to kill or capture anyone we find in the area.”

  “We will be ready, sir.” Rusak replied. It was nothing new to him and he was used to being flown here or there and ordered to make contact with the enemy. It is probable, he thought, that all we will find are booby-traps, mines, and snipers, but I will not say a word. This Lieutenant is a fast learner, and I hope he lasts longer than the ones before him.

  The Colonel sat in the metal chair, as Colonel Alvang picked up the gas can and neared. The Russian wore an evil smile, because the sadist he was, he enjoyed hurting and killing others. He especially enjoyed torturing women, who he always abused sexually before putting them to death. If Satan had a human equal, it was Colonel Alvang.

  “Colonel, I will ask you once more, who else knows of this organization you have inside the gulag? Who else knew of the escape plans? I want names, or you will die a most horrible death.”

  “Go to hell, you Russian bastard. You'll kill me anyway.” While the Colonel was a brave man, burning to death scared the hell out of him and this man was crazy enough to do the job.

  “I give you my word, as a fellow officer, if you name the people involved, I will spare your life.”

  I can't give him the real names or we'll fail as a unit. Damn me, I don't want to die by fire. If I give innocent names, then I'll have to live with the deaths of a half dozen people hanging over me the rest of my life. This is the hardest decision I've ever made, the Colonel thought as he watched Alvang remove the lid to the gas can.

  Giving the Colonel a questioning look, Alvang asked, “What is your fin
al answer? Your life for a handful of useless Americans? Perhaps I can get your attention by giving you a sample of death by fire.”

  “Private Budian, bring another metal chair out here and then get a prisoner from one of the cells. It matters little which one, but a woman would be best.”

  As they waited, the chair was brought out and positioned near the metal fence that ran around the perimeter of the camp. The Private then left to bring a prisoner.

  “I noticed the look in your eyes when I asked for a female prisoner, Colonel; does it bother you that you will cause her death? I understand it's a very painful death, too.”

  “Her death will be on your hands, you Russian sonofabitch, not mine.”

  “On the contrary, Colonel, because all you have to do is give me names.”

  “Go to hell!”

  “Oh, I imagine I will Colonel, but you will be there years before I arrive.”

  The Colonel glared at the Russian, knowing he would burn a guiltless person alive, just to scare him into talking. Lord, God, please forgive me, but I can't talk, he silently prayed.

  Private Budian returned with a woman who'd had the hell beat out of her. He pushed her roughly into the chair and began shackling her in place. From what the Colonel could see, she was in her early fifties, had once been a beautiful woman, but now she was covered in bruises, small cuts and burns.

  Alvang glanced at the Colonel and asked, “Well?”

  “No!”

  The Russian officer took the gas can and doused the woman well with gas. He grinned as he moved away and removed a box of matches. Glancing at his prisoner, he asked, “Do you have any final words to say, my dear?”

  The woman met the Russians eyes and shouted, “United we stand!”

  “Tsk, it is such a shame to believe in such foolishness.” Alvang removed a single match, struck the head against the side of the box and when it flared, he tossed it to the gas puddled under the chair.

  A loud “swoosh” was heard and the gas burned clear. Almost immediately the woman began to give a hideous scream and shake her head from side-to-side as the fire consumed her. The sweet smell of burning flesh filled the air, causing the Colonel to puke. Her screams grew louder and louder, until suddenly they stopped, her head fell forward, and she was dead.

  Alvang neared the Colonel and said, “You, sir, are next if you still refuse to give me names. What will it be Colonel, your life or the lives of people who mean nothing to you?”

  “I . . . I'll talk, but only on the condition I live.”

  “I'll do better than that, Colonel, I'll let you go free.”

  “Free? Do you mean to leave the camp?”

  “I mean exactly that. Just give me the names and I can have you out of here within the hour.” Alvang said, knowing full well he'd not ever let this man live.

  The Colonel quickly gave the names of six people he knew that were strongly against escapes and that had liberal views. By no means would he give the names of those really involved, and if killing these six would help the organization, so much the better.

  “As soon as the prisoners are locked in cells, you'll be a free man, Colonel.” Then, turning to Budian, he said, “Private, when the six are locked up, take the Colonel to the main gate, open it and allow him to leave.”

  Coming to attention, the Private replied, “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, Colonel, if you'll excuse me, I have some new guests arriving soon and must prepare for them, especially the two ladies you named.” Colonel Alvang then walked back inside the building.

  The Colonel could not believe the Russians would set him free, but Alvang had promised he would walk from the gate a free man. Unknowingly he smiled.

  CHAPTER 5

  Mark, Lewis, and May were lost. While May knew the area, it was dark and she was hopelessly turned around. In their effort to get as far away from Edwards as fast as they could, they'd continued walking after dark and now a storm was brewing. They were standing deep in woods and Mark said, “This is silly. With the skies overcast, we have no idea what direction we're walking. I think we'd be smart to spend the night here, because if we keep moving in the dark one of us is eventually going to fall and get hurt. In another hour or so it'll be daylight.”

  “That's fine with me,” May said, “I'm tired anyway.”

  “Move to the big oaks off our left.”

  “No fires, huh?”

  “Lewis, I can't believe you'd even ask that question. No, no fires.”

  “We need to get a shelter up and I think by using two ponchos from the Russian gear we can get one up pretty fast.” May said.

  A long bright line of lightning filled the western horizon, followed by a loud crack of thunder, and rain began to fall. It was a light rain, but all suspected heavier rains were coming.

  Earlier in the evening they'd opened the Russian packs and inventoried what was available. Each had a canteen, poncho, two rations, a long blade knife in a sheath, extra ammo, two blankets and a crude foam sleeping mat to keep them dry when sleeping on the ground. They'd been sucking on hard candies from the rations, but now they needed a meal, once a shelter was constructed.

  It only took them a few minutes to make a simple 'A' frame shelter and then they opened a tin that looked like a sardine can, using the small opener from the rations. As the tins opened, they could smell the beef, spices and flavorings. While in the prison they'd eaten poorly, a cup of soup twice a day, and now with real food in front of them, the aroma was overpowering.

  “There isn't a fork or spoon in my ration.” Lewis said in surprise.

  “I don't need one.” May said and scooped out some meat with her finger. She stuck her finger in her mouth and then said, “Not too good and tastes mostly like fat or grease.”

  “We'd better go easy eating this, because if we don't, we'll get the squirts. I can't remember the last time I ate anything with fat in it, can you?”

  “Nothing in the last six months. Watered down soup has been the main course, twice a day.” May replied and then gagged.

  “You sick?”

  “No, I can't eat this nasty ass stuff. It's like eating lard or fat. I'll puke if forced to eat it.”

  Lewis said, “Hand it to me then. I'm starving.”

  Mark tasted the meat and said, “Awful, ain't it? I ate U.S. military rations years ago and they were better than these.”

  May said, “I almost threw up. How in the hell can a soldier live on those things and fight?”

  “I imagine it's around 2,500 calories and from the taste, most of the calories are from fat.”“Here,” Lewis said, “have my crackers.”

  “What I'd love to have, is a cup of coff—”

  “Hush!” Mark said.

  Off in the distance a chopper was heard.

  “Do you think the aircraft has Infrared gear?” Lewis asked.

  “How in the hell am I do know? I do know we're lucky it's raining because we'll be harder to detect if they do have the gear on board.”

  “Huh?” May asked.

  “Infrared gear sees the heat released by the human body, allowing someone with a screen to see us, or rather our heat. Falling rain plays hell with the gear and most of the time, from what I heard, they shut the system down. Rain is our ally in this case.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “I can't tell where it's at, can you?”

  “Off our left as near as I can make out. The rain is messing up my hearing a little.”

  May said, “The chopper is getting louder.”

  “I don't see any running lights.” Lewis said and then crawled out of the shelter.

  “I don't think they'd use lights in a war zone. I know damned good and well I'd not want to use them.”

  Lewis said, “It's getting closer.”

  The sound of the chopper passed overhead and then move away from them. Then, three more choppers flew over them within the next hour.

  May said, “I know there are some helicopters posted at Edwards.”

  �
��If so, it's likely they're returning to base. I can't imagine them going out in weather like this, when we know it's gonna get worst before it gets better.” Lewis said as he stood in the rain, his hands on his hips.

  “Get back in here and out of the rain. There's nothing we can do about choppers.”

  Lewis crawled into the shelter and said, “We know the path Russian choppers use to approach the base and that might come in handy some day.”

  “Maybe, but first we have to find the resistance.” Mark said.

  “The hardest part,” May said, “will be finding food to stay alive long enough to reach them.”

  “Like I said, maybe, only I don't think so.” Mark said.

  “Let's get some rest,” Lewis said, “because in four hours we need to be moving again.”

  “What about a guard?” asked Mark.

  “We should have a guard, so let's say you, me, and then May. How does that sound?”

  “It'll do.” Mark said and then sat up and leaned against the trunk of an old oak. He placed his gun in his lap, had two grenades beside him and an extra magazine was beside the explosives.

  It became harder for him to stay awake and with daylight the sun broke his fatigue. At some point on his shift the rains stopped and the clouds moved on, but he'd not noticed it. He was just about to awaken Lewis when he spotted movement. He tapped both of his partners on their legs and when they opened their eyes, they saw him with his index finger extended and against his lips. Both sat up slowly, as if yet drugged from sleep and May rubbed her eyes.

  Out of the blue a man dressed in a mixture of Russian and civilian clothing walked into view.

  He was of average size, carried a Bison and Mark could see three grenades hanging from his belt.

  Mark said, “Stop where you are, and I mean now.”

  The man froze and his eyes scanned the countryside, while his head remained still. “We're off your left side and you'd better be part of the resistance or you're a dead sonofabitch.”

  “My name is Tom and I am part of the resistance. Who are you?” Tom turned his head to meet the eyes of Mark.