“Same distance for me, Master Sergeant?” Olegovna asked.
“Yes, ma'am. Keep your eyes open, as well as your ears. One simple mistake and I will be sending you home in an aluminum box.”
“I understand, and will do my best.”
“Good, let us move, people, and keep the noise down too.”
Private Olegovna was good, and she spotted a few mines as they moved south. It was near noon and lunch when she stopped in place and scanned the ground. Something was out of place, but what? Looking down, she saw a trip wire stuck on her right snowshoe. She motioned the Master Sergeant forward.
“What is wrong?”
“I have pulled a trip wire, but no explosion or even a booby trap. Why?”
“I do not know, but let me find this trap first. If it had been an explosive, I think you would be dead right now.” He walked to the nearest tree and then chuckled as he returned to her.
“You are one lucky young lady. The weather is so cold, the limb that was to sweep the trail is frozen in place. I counted seven sharp stakes, all smeared with human dung, held back by the trip line. Since we had freezing rain and then subzero temperatures, the whole thing is frozen. Keep moving, and in about thirty minutes find us a place to eat and rest for an hour.”
She blinked a few times, then the simple fact that all that had saved her life was bad weather moved to the front of her mind. My God, if not for the freezing rain, I would be stuck on some tree limb to rot, she thought and then shivered. Slowly she began to move forward.
By lunch time she was useless walking point. She'd slowed down so much and was so cautious the Master Sergeant grew impatient with her. He placed another person on the position and knew in a day or two Private Olegovna would be back to normal. He'd expected this to happen too, the slowing down, but the best way to deal with a harrowing point experience was to climb back in the saddle and do the job.
After their “green frog” rations they relaxed for a few minutes and huddled close to the fire. The small flames felt good, and they all knew a larger fire was not needed and did little more than generate more smoke. By burning the dead branches and wood broken off the lower parts of trees, they were able to warm their foods and get comfortable. Private Olegovna saw no smoke at all when she followed the sparks from the flames moving toward the sky. They usually died after going up about five feet.
“Junior Sergeant Nikitakov, give the radio to Private Olegovna, and I want you on point. Take us straight back to the camp and stay off the trail. If you can, step in the footsteps of Olegovna on the way here. We know they are safe. Her tracks in the snow should be easy to follow.”
A private raised his right hand and said in a whisper, “Quiet, please, I just heard a noise.”
The sound of safeties switching off was heard and then everyone listened.
“I heard a voice call out and in Russian, I am sure.” He said a few minutes later.
“Spread out and take a look around. There was a big fight near here just a week ago, so it could be some of our missing troops.” the Master Sergeant said, hoping it was his friend.
“They might be trigger happy too, so call out to them as we search.” someone said a minute later.
After about ten minutes, Corporal Timya called out, “Over here! I have a Russian Captain and an American Colonel.”
Ruskovich neared a few minutes later and said, “I will be damned, Master Sergeant Kovarov! I mean Captain Kovarov these days. How are you, Roberta? I see you have been wounded and still have a prisoner.”
“This man is no prisoner, but I have been wounded.”
“What do you mean about the prisoner?”
He quickly explained how both of them had promised to leave the other, if either army found them. They'd grown close over the last ten days and neither had the urge to imprison the other. “Since we both helped the other survive, when we could have very well died, we established a truce of sorts.”
Swinging his Bison sub-machine gun toward Kovarov, Ruskovich said, “I made no such promises, sir, and it is my military duty to take prisoners, especially ones wanted by my commander.”
“I can order you to leave him alone.”
“It would not be an order anyone in command would think legal, sir.”
As the medic moved forward, the Master Sergeant whispered, “Morphine both patients.”
The man nodded and moved to the wounded Russian first. “I have to give you an antibiotic because you were the field all this time, sir.”
“Do what needs to be done, but give one to the American as well.What you do for me, I want done for him.”
Ten minutes later, both the Captain and Colonel were sleeping from morphine and were being carried on stretchers.
When Colonel John Williamson next opened his eyes, he found himself in a cell of some sort and he could hear the Russian guards talking in an adjacent room. He wasn't surprised to find his left arm in handcuffs and they were connected to what he thought was a ten foot length of chain that led to the rough rock wall of his cell.
I'm not in a gulag or the jail cell would be wooden, so that leaves a military jail or prison, he thought as he closed his eyes to rest them a few minutes. He was so tired and sleepy, but surprised he was hungry too. He raised his head, which took all the strength he had, and looked around for any food but saw nothing. He fell asleep when he next closed his eyes and had no idea how long he slept. He noticed it was dark outside from the lack of light coming in the one small window near the guard. A clock on the wall showed it was 2000 hours.
“He does not look like much, just some nasty and dirty cowboy like in the American movies.” an unknown voice said in Russian.
“Do not let his cowboy hat and boots fool you, sir, he is the Williamson you have the reward posted on, and he is as mean as they get.” a Master Sergeant said and while he'd heard the voice before, John had no idea who the man was. It must have been when I was captured, he thought.
“Tell me, Colonel Williamson, how do you like your new quarters?” the Master Sergeant asked in a friendly voice.
“Since I am only here temporarily, they'll do for now.”
“You are correct, because I received orders to send you to Moscow on the next available flight. I hope you know that by capturing you, Kovarov was made a Full Colonel, and awarded two medals. It is hard to believe he arrived here a Master Sergeant and is leaving a Colonel.” the Russian Colonel said. “I am Colonel Ippolit, and I am the commander here. I made the decision to capture you, and you are a man that needs killing. You have caused my country much grief and money over the years.”
“Your new Colonel is a liar, sir. He'd promised to let me go free if the Russians found us first. I would have hoped a Russian officer could be trusted to keep his word. I can assure you, if our roles had been reversed, I would have let Kovarov go.”
Colonel Ippolit laughed and said, “You are too dangerous to let go. Soon you will be in Russia and once there, you will die there. You will never return home. Kovarov insisted that you be freed, but that will not happen as long as I am in charge here.”
“He tried to keep his word to you.” Master Sergeant Ruskovich said, “but morphine put both of you to sleep. Once you were asleep, I took you prisoner and brought you here. I was following Colonel Ippolit's orders. As far as our new Colonel knows, you were freed. If it makes you feel any better, I would have kept my word to you as well, but the Commander has dreamed of capturing you for years.”
“Do the Aces scare you, Colonel?”
“No, not at all. I will admit you always give us a good fight and I find your troops well disciplined. I do not compliment most of my enemies, but I have always respected the Aces.”
Undoing the lock to the chain, the Master Sergeant said, “Now you are going to meet Igor, and he is our interrogator. I suggest you give him fast answers or he will cause you great pain. He has killed more than one prisoner since arriving here, so killing another will mean nothing to him.”
�
��You won't kill me, because I am worth too much in propaganda for your country. You may have me in so much pain I wish I were dead, but death will not visit me here, not in America.”
“I told you he was a smart man, Master Sergeant.” Colonel Ippolit said, and then laughed.
“Move, Igor is looking forward to meeting you this day.”
John walked from the cell with a guard on either side of him and both held Bison sub-machine guns, so making a run for safety was out.
If I'm leaving for Moscow on the next flight out of here, I hope they don't break a bunch of bones and cripple me for life, he thought, but knew the Russians to be ruthless when they had the desire.
One man remained outside the door as they entered a small building. The other guard entered and stood at ease by the only entrance that John could see. The room had no windows and a low wattage light bulb burned overhead. There was a metal chair, a hospital bed with tie down straps, and a wall that had all sorts of straps and chains attached. Sitting on the metal chair was a huge man, sipping on vodka straight from the pint bottle. He moved when they entered and stood at attention for the Colonel.
“Igor, you may play with Mr. Williamson for a few hours, but do not kill him or permanently disable him. Just allow him to experience a lot of pain and suffering. He has killed many of our people, and it is only proper we return some of the pain he has given us in the past.”
The big man nodded and replied, “Yes, sir.”
Private Igor Timurovich was a sadist that loved inflicting pain on others, and he loved his job. His position allowed him to rape and kill freely as long as he gathered information. He was six feet and six inches tall, 250 pounds, and a quiet man. His brown hair was short, his face shaven of all hair, and his brown eyes appeared dead, completely without intelligence. The only time his eyes looked fully alive was when he was torturing someone or raping a woman. Often he'd rape a woman as he caused her severe pain, which seemed to increase his pleasure during an orgasm. He had no friends in the unit and most of the troops thought him a sick man, perverted and strange. As a result, he drank a great deal and spent as much time as possible interrogating his prisoners.
“Help me strap his arms and chest to the chair, sir, and I will start on him immediately. Do you two want to watch?”
“No, we have more important things to do, but this one needs a lot of pain. If you kill him or he escapes, it will cost you your life. Do you understand me?” the Colonel said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Igor has not played with a new prisoner in over a week, so you will be treated roughly, I suppose. Then, once you are praying for death, you will be carried back to your cell. In the morning you and I will go to Moscow where I will turn you over to my government, and then attend my promotion party. Seems by capturing you, I have been selected for a promotion to a General Officer.” Then turning to the Master Sergeant he said, “Help Igor get our guest in the chair and then come with me.”
John was pushed roughly in the chair and his arms were strapped down. Then a wide leather strap was secured across his chest. It was then the Colonel and Master Sergeant left, taking the inside guard with them.
They must have every confidence no one can escape Igor once in here. I'll need to act quickly, before I lose my strength, and he starts seriously hurting me. First chance I get I should act, if I can catch him off guard for a few seconds. I'll need to stay alert and watchful in order to kill him, and get out of here. If I just piss him off, he's likely to rip my head off, John thought, and his mind was moving quickly.
Captain Kovarov was promoted for the capture of John to the permanent rank of Full Colonel, and would be medically retired once he returned to Russia. He was unaware of the reason for his promotion, but the pay was much better so he'd not asked many questions. Since they'd kept him high on morphine, he'd not given much serious thought to anything.
He knew, once home, he would be given a couple of big medals and the government would officially announce him a hero, then the next day no one would remember his name. He'd ended up losing his right leg too, taken off at the knee, but it didn't matter to him now. He'd survived and many others hadn't. He'd return, buy a small farm, and sit on the porch and drink vodka when he wanted, day or night. He'd draw pay as a retired Full Colonel and it would be between 75% and 100% of his active duty pay because of the limbs he'd lost. Since he'd lost both an arm and leg, the doctor informed him they suggested he be 100% disabled, because he could hold no job, but it had to pass a medical review board in Russia first.
He gave thought to John, and hoped he'd made it safely back to his unit. He'd heard nothing about the man and wondered if he'd had the good luck to have been found. Surely, by now he'd be up and able to move around. He'd been surprised to learn the American was not much different than him, except language and foods. They both hated the war, fought as hard as they could, and wanted to survive. They were two honorable men, both striving to do all their country requested of them. The time Kovarov spent with John had shown him a side of Americans he'd tried not to think about before; they were human and desired only to be left alone.
He is probably back in his unit sipping on whiskey by now, he thought. As much as I hate to say it, he was a good man in his own way. I think what I learned from him would have prevented me from being a good soldier here. I was able to spend time with my enemy and I now see him as a good man, and that would have made me a poor soldier.
Chapter 17
John screamed as his right thumb nail was ripped off with a pair of pliers. The pain was almost unbearable, and blood flowed freely from the mangled digit. The pliers, now soaked in blood, slipped from Igor's hands and landed on the metal chair between John's open legs. His thumb ached painfully as Igor laughed at John's hurting.
Give me a minute unstrapped from this chair, you big sonofabitch, and I'll rip your damned head off! There must be a special place in hell for bastards like you, you sadistic ass! John screamed in his mind as his warm cerise blood dripped from the armrest to the floor.
When the man leaned over to pick the pliers up, John brought his right knee up as hard as he could and caught the man square on the nose. He struck him with so much force the shattered bone and cartilage in the nose was pushed into his brain, killing him instantly. Igor fell toward the floor a dead man, not five minutes after removing John's thumbnail.
As the big man's body jerked and shivered in his death throes, John smiled, and thought, At times in life God does allow some justice to be given out. How many people before me suffered under the tools of torture this bastard used?
He'd fallen half on John, so after some time the captive was able to remove the sheath knife Igor wore on his side. Then, he shoved the dead man clear of him. On the desk he spotted a rifle and pistol, neither of which did the dead man keep near a prisoner. Igor had unstrapped his right arm to remove the nail, so John quickly removed the straps from the rest of his body. He then dressed in Igor's uniform, which was way too large, and picked up the two weapons from the desk. He moved to the dead man and carved a crude ace of spades on his forehead. Then, pulling a first aid kit from the wall, he cleaned and bandaged his thumb.
He then picked up the interrogator’s backpack, web gear, and hat. He removed his boots and placed Igor's on his feet, smiling at how much larger they were. He wasn't worried about the poorly fitting uniform, because in all armies, some men get clothing that is too large or too small. Over time they purchase or are issued the proper sized items. The helmet fit him like an oversized coal-bucket. He'd change back to his clothing once away from the camp. For right now, he pushed his clothing down deep into the backpack.
He moved to Igor's body, pulled the sheath knife, and cut the big man's throat. I have to do this to make sure he's dead. He's tortured too many to risk his death or not, but this way I know he's gone for sure, he thought.
He cautiously opened the door and discovered the guard gone, so he exited the building and made his way toward an open gate where a
large number of men were working. His heart was beating loudly as he gave thought to how he'd escape. Finally, he decided to simply walk out of the gate. When he neared, most of the men were stringing barbed wire, so he took a long section of wire in his hands and pulled it outside the gate and placed it on top of the other wire that had already been placed there. Since it was dark, he simply stepped into the darkness and disappeared.
He ran until his legs would run no more, then he settled down to a fast walk. He removed part of his filthy white tee shirt and wrapped it around his left arm, to indicate he was a partisan. At one point he tossed the helmet in the brush and pulled his old cowboy hat from the backpack. His chest wound was hurting him, but since the bullet had not remained in his body, he ignored the pain. The burning wound to his side, from a passing bullet, had almost healed and didn't bother him at all. It was near dawn when he felt blood running down his chest from his wound. His breathing was labored as well and he suspected, as he had from the first minute he'd been shot, that a lung was injured. The exit wound from the chest injury was not bleeding, only the entrance. He placed some plastic from the first aid kit on the wound to make it air tight, so he could breathe easier. He then put a bandage on the bullet hole, taped it in place, and kept moving.
He was glad the earlier snow was gone, but he'd have to keep an eye out for traps and mines now. It was near dawn so he crawled into some brush to rest for the day. He'd travel only during the hours of darkness. He opened the pack to see what he'd find.
He wasn't surprised to find a fifth of vodka, along with two green frog rations, two grenades, some clothing, socks, a full canteen with more alcohol, four packs of cigarettes, two lighters, a small camera, two blankets and a poncho. He opened one of the rations, because he'd not eaten in about 48 hours, and as he nibbled, he looked the first aid kit over.
The contents were pretty much standard for most combat first aid kits, except the contents were labelled in both Russian and English. He found morphine, codeine pills, antibiotics, various ointments, and lots of bandages and gauze. He smeared some antibiotic ointment on his wound, bandaged it well, and then swallowed a codeine pill because of his pain. His thumb got the same treatment and he was surprised how much it hurt him. A few minutes later, he was asleep.
The Fall of America | Book 8 | Operation Hurricane Page 19
