Lowering his eyes, Skeeter said, “I know you're serious, but don't you have jobs some of these people can do and keep them out of the fighting? Some want to serve with us, but lack the skills needed to stay alive.”
“Where they serve is up to the Colonel, not me, so I have no say in it. However, if we get back, I'll voice your concern to the man.” John said and then added, “Now, move to each member of the group in line and tell them what I said.”
“Right now?”
“Why not? A minute from now we might be under fire and I'll start shooting people who don't follow orders.”
“Okay.” Skeeter replied but thought, This is a rough group I've run to for help.
The afternoon was uneventful and by dusk they were all seated in the old garage, discussing what to do with Skeeter's people. While they weren't his people officially, that's how they were referred to by everyone.
“We do have some technicians, administration, and medical staff held in reserve, but they move frequently to avoid detection by the Russians. While they're not fighters, not really, we'll use them if push comes to shove in a battle.” Colonel Tate said.
“Understood, sir,” Skeeter replied, as he handed the man a list written in pencil, and continued, “and I have no problems with that. The list I just handed you contains the names and work experience of most of the folks with me. Ten of the twenty-five have prior military service, two were cops, and the rest have various skills.”
“Those experienced with the military will be assigned to cells, the police officers too, but the rest, if possible, will go into none combat positions. While your people are appreciated, we need more fighters than we do those who cannot or will not fight. John, due to the losses you've had recently, you'll get Skeeter, Bill and Larry in your cell.”
“Ranks?” John asked.
“Well,” the Colonel chuckled and then said, “You are now a Major, Skeeter is a Lieutenant, and the other two are Sergeants. Oh, and Sandra has been promoted to our senior Captain. That means, uh, with the next opening, she'll be a Major.”
By opening, all knew he meant death of an officer. It was a cold hard fact of life for each of them, and while the military ranks had no pay, it settled squabbles as to who was in charge.
“Colonel?” a man named Wilson said as he neared the group.
“What do you need, Sergeant?”
“Just before we got here, one of my men was playing with the directional finder and picked up a strong signal coming from this structure.”
“Are you positive?” the Colonel asked.
“Oh, there is no doubt, but the batteries in the device are weak and we have no replacements.”
“Sonofabitch,” John said, and then added, “why all the traitors all of a sudden?”
“Fear, sir, plain old fear.” the Colonel said and then thought for a few minutes. Finally, he said, “I know little of electronics, except what I learned as a child, but if I remember correctly, if your batteries are low, and you wait an hour or so, when you turn the item on, you have a little battery time.”
“Sure, but only a minute or so, sir, maybe.” Wilson replied.
“John and Skeeter, make sure no one leaves this building. Here in about 30 minutes we will line everyone up and check them with the directional finder. Now, I want it understood right now, the penalty for all traitors is death, no matter who it might be.”
“Hell, that's why the Russians have discovered us so quickly over the last few weeks.” John said and then thought, Who can it be? I now trust everyone in my cell with my life.
“Yes, and it's why we will move out of here just as soon as we execute the spy. Unlike the killing of Mollie, we'll shoot this one.” Colonel Tate said, remembering the fouled up hanging of the woman.
Thirty minutes later, the Colonel said, “I want everyone to line up, all of you, and do the job now.”
There came mumblings of the sleepy, complaints from the tired, but they lined up and then Colonel Tate said, “Turn the locator device on now.”
Top held the device now and he flipped a switch and quickly said, “In the middle of the line.” He looked up from the machine and said, “One of those three people have a bug planted on them. I can tell no more, because the device battery has died.”
“William Shaw, Sandra, and Margie, stay where you are, but the rest of you move to the left side of this building right now.” Colonel Tate said as he pulled his pistol.
“W . . . what is going on?” Sandra asked.
“I'm no damned traitor! Hell, I killed the last bitch that was!” Margie said brusquely.
“All three of you keep your mouths shut!” Tate ordered and then turning to Esom he said, Undress each of them and check their clothing carefully. The device may very well be sewn into a shirt or even their underwear.”
“Yes, sir. Sandra, start by removing your coat.”
“By the way, do a cavity search on all three as well. The device may be shoved into an orifice for all we know.” the Colonel said.
Sandra said, “Esom, you'll find some rubber gloves in my medical bag, which will make your job easier and cleaner.”
Esom put the gloves on and slowly and meticulously searched each item of clothing, discovering nothing. He was embarrassed when he started to do the cavity search and Sandra put him at ease, “Esom, relax, all you have to do it insert your middle finger into each of us. You'll know right off if anything is out of place.”
“But, you're John's wife.”
“Right now, I'm accused of being a traitor, a name I dislike, and don't deserve. So, check me and let's get this over with. You seem to forget, I am a nurse.”
After checking Sandra and not finding anything, he moved to Margie. Margie was clean as well, so that really made everyone assume it was William Shaw. Will had been with the group for about six months and his loyalty had never been questioned. He was a tough fighter, a man of his word, and held the rank of Staff Sergeant.
“William, is it you?”
William lowered his head and said, “Yes, but the Russians shot my father and when they threatened to kill my mother too, well, I agreed to pack a bug. My mother is all I have left, Colonel.”
“For months we trusted you! Why? You are responsible for the deaths of your own people, Will!” John screamed.
Sergeant Wilson stuck his head in the door and said, “I've got two tanks and about a hundred Russian infantrymen moving for this place. My guards report two choppers overhead and at least two jets, sir. If not for the NVG's we wouldn't know about the infantry.”
“How far away?” Colonel Tate asked.
“Maybe two hundred yards, but distances are hard to guess with NVG's on, sir.”
“Bring the guards in and break up into your cells. Four days from now we'll meet on the Pearl River, down by the freeway. But, you,” the Colonel said as he raised his pistol, “will not be with us, Will. You have thirty seconds to pray and then you'll be standing in front of God.”
If Will prayed, he did it silently, because he stood glaring at the Colonel. Suddenly, a shot rang out, loud in the small room, and a bullet struck William in the very center of his chest. He screamed, grabbed his injury and fell to the floor. Colonel Tate walked to the downed man and placed the second shot in his head, spraying the floor under him with bone and blood.
“Now, break into your cells and get the hell out of here. Those of you who were Skeeter's people, stay with me for right now, except for those already assigned to a cell. Good luck to all of you.”
There sounded a cannon and the door to the garage flew off it's hinges and a loud explosion was heard just outside.
“My cell, form on me!” John yelled and ran for the rear door, holding Dolly by her leash. Quickly donning his NVG's he said, “If you have NVG's get 'em on now. If you don't, team up with someone who does.”
When the six others were behind him, he ran from the building for the security of the dark woods. As he ran with his group behind him, Russian bullets kicked
dirt, grass, and rocks high into the air as they struck all around him. Once in the trees he stopped and grinned when he noticed no one had been hit. “Margie, you take point and Sandra, bring up the rear. Get a good pace leaving and we'll slow down at some point later tonight. Until we can find three more pairs of NVG's for the new men, we'll do point and drag at night.”
The evening was uneventful and around 2200 a bright light danced across the black sky, followed by a sharp crack. A gentle breeze appeared and all knew it was only a matter of time before rain visited.
“If you have ponchos, now would be a good time to put them on.” John said during their break. “It's going to start raining shortly.”
Skeeter and his men removed rain gear from their packs and as they were putting it on, Dolly gave a low growl and looked to the north, the direction they'd been traveling. They'd moved off a narrow trail to rest, but John figured someone was near and walking south. Looking in the direction of the trail, he spotted a squad of Russians, well armed, moving south. By the green light of his NVG's he noticed all of them wore the goggles as well.
The man in front stopped, looked down at the trail and said something John did not understand, then he realized they'd found a track. He flipped the safe of his Bison off and stood ready.
Skeeter tapped his shoulder and when John looked at the man, he held two grenades, pins pulled, with spoons held in place. He nodded and the Sergeant threw both grenades, one at time at the Russians. One exploded near the Russian point man and the other near the end of the soldiers. The loud blasts were followed by screams and yells. John opened up with his Bison, shooting low and knowing he was hitting his target by the shrieks.
Once his cell fired a few rounds, John yelled, “Cease fire! Cease fire!”
It grew quiet, except for the moans, groans and cries of the Russian wounded.
Skeeter started to move forward, but John grabbed his shirt sleeve and said, “Give them a few minutes to bleed. Right now adrenaline is all that's keeping some of them alive. We'll check them in about fifteen minutes or so.”
The cell all knelt or squatted as they waited. Finally, John said, “Take no chances when we near this group. Keep in mind, we don't know if we killed all of them or even injured all of them. I suspect they had a man on drag and if so, he may be around or he may not. A smart man would run for home. If it moves, put a bullet in 'em again.”
As they moved toward the downed Russians, John paid close attention to Dolly, who would alert him to any danger. A man tried to stand on the right, but a blast from Margie's twelve gauge shotgun blew the man off the trail. Then a pistol shot was heard and Bill said, “Playing possum, but he ain't now.”
Five minutes later, John said, “Skeeter, you and your men go over these Russians and take what gear you need. Be sure to get their NVG's, spare ammo and weapons. Each of you should have a good pistol, sheath knife, and other gear you need. You'll also find Russian rations, which taste like shit, but they'll keep you alive.”
Bill said, “I need some new boots and a jacket, if I can find something that'll fit.”
“You'll find them, if you don't mind a little blood.”
Skeeter said, “The sleeping bags and mats will be good too, so take those as well.”
Bill asked, “What's that noise?”
“I don't hear anything.” John replied.
“I do.” Sandra said and then yelled, “Choppers!”
A long row of machine-gun fire stitched the center of the trail, killing Bill immediately and knocking Larry, Margie, and Skeeter from their feet. Bill's headless body was squirting blood high into the air as Skeeter screamed in pain.
“Sandra, Esom, drag a person into the woods and then cover both of you with a poncho! Hurry, because the chopper is coming back around!” John yelled.
The Ka-60 approached the trail again, hovered over the dead, about ten feet above, and sent bullets blindly into the trees, from both open side-doors. The aircraft banked sharply and a side-door gunner sent a row of bullets down the trail again. Bodies danced madly as the big slugs tore into them and at times a bloody limb was knocked high into the air.
Damned infrared detection gear on the chopper, John thought, and then remembered he'd left without getting another LAW or two.
Margie, still packing the flamethrower stood, pointed it at the chopper and pulled the trigger, sending a long flowing stream of bright flames to the windshield of the hovering aircraft. John saw the flames splash on the glass, fly toward the engine cowling and watched, fascinated, as she sent two more squirts toward the big metal bird. The pilot, blinded by the flames, twisted the aircraft to the side and as he started to go up. The Mollies flames struck the left door-gunner, who fell from the aircraft, but remained attached by a wide nylon strap as he burned.
With the fire still burning on his windshield the pilot, now flying by instruments alone, raised his chopper higher into the air. At about 500 feet the nylon strap holding the door-gunner must have burned through, because the man fell from the aircraft, landing someplace in the trees. The chopper then limped home, minus one gunner.
Once the sound of the chopper were gone, John stood and yelled, “Check our injured and do the job now. We need to move and do the job as soon as we can. Those Russian bastards will be back and I don't want to be near this place when they get here.”
“Larry is in sad shape, with his left leg needing amputation and his neck spurting blood.” Sandra said, as she neared covered in crimson.
“Any chance he'll live?”
“None.”
John walked to the unconscious man, pulled his pistol and a single shot echoed through the trees. “How about the others?” he asked.
“I'm fine, just lost my balance.” Margie replied.
“I had a bullet graze my thigh, but I have it bandaged and I can move.” Skeeter said and moved toward the group. Once there he asked, “What was the purpose of hiding under our ponchos?”
“For a few minutes it blocks our body heat from the infrared on the aircraft screens. After about five minutes, heat is released from the edges and it's no longer effective.”
“I see.” Skeeter replied and then looking at Margie he asked, “What in the hell made you shoot that thing at a helicopter?”
Margie gave a dry laugh and then said, “He pissed me off.”
“Damn,” Skeeter said.
“Actually, I wasn't sure it'd work or not, but we didn't have time to resupply at the garage, so I suspected John didn't have any Law's. My goal was to blind the pilot by brightness, but never dreamed the fuel would stick to the chopper so well.”
“Well,” John said, “you killed a door-gunner too, only we don't have time to look for his body. Saddle up and let's move. Sandra take the point and Skeeter, you're on drag. I want to move fast, almost at a trot for a couple of hours.”
“Not a problem.” Sandra said and took off at a fast walk. John gave her a minute or so and then started moving.
Esom moved to John and asked, “Why were those Russians out here?”
“Most likely they were placed in position once we scattered from the garage to trap us, only it didn't work out that way, not in our case anyway. I suspect the chopper was pulling infrared duty when it picked up the body heat from the men we'd just killed. From that point on, it was us against them.”
“Well, we won.” Esom said and then grinned.
“Yep, we surely did, but what about the next time?”
Esom's smile disappeared and he moved back into line.
At the Pearl River, slightly south and east of Jackson, the partisans met under an old overpass from the highway. A guard was positioned to view any traffic moving on the road, moving either east or west.
John had been assigned a second sniper, a young man named Curtis, and another woman named Amy. Both were veterans of years of struggle. As his group mingled and talked, meals were heated on an open fire, and all had their first hot meal in days.
Curtis explained he had over 2
00 confirmed kills as a sniper, but knew a man in Alabama with over 500. He said, “'Bama is full of Russians and the rednecks are giving those Russian sonsofbitches pure-Dee hell.”
“What you say may be true,” John said, “only it's not taken any pressure off of us.”
“It's hard to say really, because if 'Bama was pacified, we'd have more Russians on our asses over here, huh?”
“Well, that's true, I guess. Nonetheless, we've more of 'em in Mississippi than we need.”
“Gentlemen and ladies, I need all of your cell leaders and Sergeants to meet with me. We've a mission to plan.”
“Mission?” Skeeter asked, “What kind of mission?”
“I plan to hit the gulag at Edwards.”
John felt the little critter that lived in his stomach come alive, gnawing at his insides. Certain missions scared him and this one did. How are we going to rescue more than get killed? he thought.
Colonel Tate said, “Previously we've discussed hitting the camp and what I am about to propose includes the gulag in that attack. We've lost many people over the last month, so we have to slow the Russians down a bit.”
“We still hitting the fuel tanks as you once suggested?” John asked, and Dolly lowered her head to his lap.
“That is the key to our overall success. We must reach the fuel tanks, open the petcocks and release the fuel. Once the area is saturated good, we do our damage using grenades.”
“When?” John asked.
“Tomorrow night. I know it's soon, but the Russians are now screening people for job skills and putting them to work, much like the Nazi's did in World War Two. Most are returned to the gulag each night, but they have folks with computer skills that we need, and they're to be sent to Jackson next Monday. If we can hack a Russian website and gain access to the classified documents, we can play hell with their plans.”
The Fall of America | Book 3 | Enemy Within Page 19
