by W. R. Benton
An attractive nurse, in any country, walked to his bed, read his chart and then using the PICC valve on his IV tubing, gave him another shot. It must have been morphine, because it made him sleepy.
He had no concept of time, so he might have been in the hospital a day or maybe more, when a Russian army Full Colonel came to see him.
“I am Colonel Gennevich and I'd like to welcome you to our hospital. I am currently the base commander here. I am delighted, Colonel Williamson, to have you and Captain Simmons as guests. I'm not sure of Major Xue, because he's a bit of an ass and has been causing trouble. I brought you something.” The Colonel tossed the American a bottle of vodka. “Don't worry, I gave all three of you a bottle because I think that will be your last booze until you are released. I also knew a man like you wouldn't take it if all your people didn't get one too.” He had a very slight accent to his English.
“When, uh, will we be going to one of your world famous gulags?”
“Well, according to your doctor, you can go there in about a month. The Major at about the same time, but the Captain will be much longer, perhaps six months or so. She lost her left arm at the elbow. All three of you will start interrogation within the next 3 days.”
“What are Xue's injuries?” John asked.
“Pretty much identical to yours, except he wasn't struck in the lower stomach like you were, but you do share a lung wound and head injury. His major injury was to his right hand, and most of it was blown off at some point in the fight. You won the fight, by the way, but your troops faded into the woods soon after. While we killed six of you that day and took three prisoners, we lost a few more than you did.”
“'That day? How long have I been sleepin'? I didn't know I had a stomach wound.”
“Well, this is Monday, so eight days. I think you took the belly injury when our helicopter crashed. The helicopter was there to pick up the Russians who ambushed your people. Some of your cell got away, but not many.”
Watch him closely, John thought, he's getting too friendly and will soon be asking military questions. The vodka was a nice touch though, and a different approach. I'll simply tell him the questions he asks are of a military nature and if he was in my place, would he answer them? They' ll end up torturing us to death anyway.
A doctor neared and said in passable English, “Colonel, I must protest you speaking with our patients at this time. They are here because they need rest, good food, and medical treatment. If you do not mind, sir, please leave now and come back in a week to ten days.”
“Do you know who I am?” the Colonel asked, suspecting the doctor had no idea, but he looked familiar.
“Yes, sir, you are Colonel Gennevich and the base commander. Now, do you know who I am?”
“I think I've seen you at my morning stand up meetings, why?”
“I am the Hospital Commander, sir, and all the staff and patients in this building work for me and I have absolute control over every one of them. By Russian Army regulations, sir, I do not report to you but to our Central Medical Authority in Moscow. According to the same regulations, I outrank anyone when it comes to a patient or member of my staff, understood?”
“Uh, yes, but surely you see the need for talking to and interrogating prisoners.”
“Yes, of course I do, but all in good time, my dear Colonel. Let the patients stabilize and heal a bit, and then you can have them to cripple and kill. Now, let this man rest.”
The Colonel turned and walked from the room. His quick step and the look on his face clearly indicated the Hospital Commander's comments had pissed him off.
“He is a bit of an ass at times, but overall a good man. Our last commander had POWs killed by torture and denied many of them medical care, which led to their deaths. We had twenty a day starving to death; now they get what a Russian soldier gets to eat. This one has discovered he can get more information by being polite and kind to POWs under his care. I am going to have you fed a good meal starting today and start reducing the morphine on all three of you.”
Williamson smiled and said, “Thank you, Doctor.”
“It is part of my job, and I would do the same thing for a Russian Private if he was being treated here. My patients come first, always. I'll see about getting the handcuffs off of each of you, as well, for at least daytime.” He patted John's left shoulder and then left the room. It was then he noticed a guard outside the door.
The doctor stopped at the guard and said something. A few minutes later the guard walked into the room and removed the handcuffs from each patient.
Later that night, he had a whispered session with Simmons and Xue. They had to escape before they ever reached a gulag or things would be harder there.
“The question really is when can we do this? We'll need to be strong and healthy when we make a dash for safety, or we'll not make it out alive.” Simmons whispered.
“I think I could make a run in a few days.” Xue said.
“Me too, but your arm is missing, Simmons, and I don't think you'll be ready when we are.” John said and then shook his head.
“Take me with you when you go. My legs are fine and if need be, I can fight with one hand.”
“What about your pain?”
“We start hoarding pain pills. Keep them, uh, in our socks or something. I know eventually the Russians will start raping me and I'd rather die than be raped by these bastards.”
Xue said, “Hey, that's really not a bad idea. Maybe we can hoard some food the same way, but only those things that are in small plastic bags or dry items. I think crackers, vitamin bars, anything that will be sealed we can keep. Not sure if the nurses will notice or not, and I'm sure some patients put food back to eat later. I know they're busy, and I'm sure many of the patients have special dietary needs. I don't think they'll notice, and we need to start cleaning our plates too, and of all foods. Like tonight, I dislike beets, but from now on, no matter what they serve, I'll eat it. We need to get our strength back.”
“Xue, I want you to listen to these people closely and let me know if you can make out anything at all, and the same for you, Simmons. I'll listen also. I know none of us speak Russian, but just listen and see. Gulag is the same in both languages. I say we make a break for it four nights from now. We wait for the staff to get sleepy, one of us will kill the guard by the door or knock him out, and we'll go out the windows here. We're on the ground floor.” John said.
“I can kill the guard, but in some countries killing a guard by a POW is considered a murder and a war crime.” Xue said.
“Well, let's all three hope like hell we don't get recaptured, then. Personally, I'd rather be killed escaping than to slowly rot away in a gulag.” Simmons said and then added, “Except I'll not be of much help with an arm freshly removed.”
A few days later, Master Sergeant Kovarov came to visit Colonel Williamson because he was interested in what his enemy looked like. He walked to the hospital room door and stood watching the man sleep, but there was nothing unusual about him. Like all members of Spetsnaz he was fluent in a second language, with his being English.
Williamson was not asleep, but resting his eyes. After feeling someone was watching him, he opened one eye and spotted a Russian Spetsnaz Master Sergeant in the doorway.
“Do you speak English, Master Sergeant?” the Colonel asked.
“A little but not much. My name is Kovarov.” he said in lightly accented English, and then entered the room.
Reaching under his pillow, John removed the bottle of vodka the Colonel had given him and he took a gulp. Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, he asked, “Drink?”
“Yes, sir, because that is top shelf stuff.”
“Drink all you want because I'm not much of a drinker, and don't really care for the taste of vodka. I'm a bourbon man myself. Take the bottle with you.”
“I don't like American whiskey, much, but I, uh, love Russian Vodka.”
“What brings you to my room, Master Sergeant Kovarov?”
“I wanted to see my enemy up close and personal.”
“Well, you've had your look, what do you think?”
“You are human like the rest of us.” he said, and then broke out laughing.
“Oh, yeah, I'm human. Sit down, please.”
“Our intelligence has wanted their hands on you for years.”
“I'm here and we'll talk, but I promise they'll get little out of me.”
“For some reason I believe you. While you are my enemy and I have personally sworn to kill you, I don't like the idea of torture for any person.” Kovarov said as he sat in an overstuffed chair beside the bed. He then took a snort from the vodka bottle again. “They have ways to make any person talk.”
“Both sides use it. Sometimes, when information is needed right now to save lives, it's justified. I don't think every prisoner should be tortured, but at times it's necessary.”
“Stated like the professional soldier you are, Colonel.” Kovarov said, and then grinned. He's not the monster I expected him to be.
John nodded, but said nothing.
“When will you stop killing Russian soldiers, sir?”
“I will stop when you leave my country. I have nothing personal against any Russian, except you are here. Until you leave I have vowed to kill as many of you as I can, so the Russian republic will get tired of all the deaths and maiming here in America. I want the Russian people to march and protest this war, just like our people did over Vietnam. I can assure you, Master Sergeant, the resistance will continue as long as a single Russian soldier remains.”
“The demonstrations are happening already, but on a small scale. I think the protest marches will grow much bigger in a year or two.”
“When will I be executed?” the Colonel asked.
“I do not think they will place you against a wall and shoot you, but they might. You have caused us many deaths and a great deal of money. I know you are respected, and there are few enemies of Mother Russia that are respected. After interrogations, I suspect they will throw you in a gulag and forget about you.”
“Such is life.”
Glancing at his watch, Kovarov said, “I must run, but I wanted to see you before they start interrogating you, which I understand will begin tomorrow.” He stood and gave Williamson a salute, which John returned as sharp as he could. The Sergeant then left.
“Did you two hear that? If interrogations start tomorrow, we need to leave tonight. I'm sure if they get physical with us, and they will eventually, they'll use our current wounds to make us hurt even more.”
“What time do we leave here? I think early in the morning, say 2 or 3 when most of the staff is sleeping would be best.” Captain Simmons said.
“There is no time they're all really asleep. I know because when I called for pain meds in the early mornings someone was awake to give them to me.”
“Tonight at two we'll make a break.”
“Good, I'm getting tired of Russian chow.” Xue said and then laughed.
“It beats a Chinese ration by a mile, but regardless which country the box comes from, most of us like the American food the best. The Russian 'green frog' ration is far better than the Chinese one, I think.”
“I disagree,” Xue said, and then broke out laughing. Once sober again he said, “We Chinese are big into veggies, rice, and a piece of beef you would eat alone, but we would feed five people with it. Our meat servings are always small, which I think is why fewer of us have cancer.”
“Oh, be sure when we go this evening to take the weapons from the guard, all the small packets of cookies, and such we saved, and your water bottles. It's cold out too, so if the guard has a coat on or close by, try to get it. Bring your pillow cases and blankets too, which we can wrap around us as we look for more clothing.”
The afternoon passed slowly for everyone, but finally they all three complained of pain, and were given morphine, which put them to sleep. Just before he fell asleep, John remembered they all three had pain pills they'd asked for but kept in a sock in their night table. They'd not taken them, just pretended they had over the last week.
It was slightly after two in the morning when John woke and looked around. He found Xue awake, and then he woke Simmons. It was time to make their break for freedom. He hoped they had the strength to overcome the guard and then move to safety.
The Major stood and made his way to the guard by the open door. He stood by the door frame and made a light tapping noise against the wall. The Russian Private stepped inside the dark room to check the sources of the noise. The small Chinese gave the Russian a series of wild Karate chops and a kick to the face. The Private dropped almost instantly. In the dim light, John didn't know if the guard was dead or not.
Within a minute or two, the guard was stripped of his rifle, pistol, two grenades, sheath knife, coat, bayonet, and hat. His ammo belt was taken as well. The last items take was his uniform and a wool trench coat on the chair just outside their door. The Major gave the pistol to Williamson, the grenades to Simmons, and he took the rifle and knife. Then, rolling up all their blankets and sheets, along with a little candy and snacks they'd hidden, they were soon out the window and moving toward the first woods they saw.
They ran until they hit a perimeter fence. Off in the distance flood lights were searching the ground below the towers they were mounted on. By using the Russian bayonet and sheath, he had a bolt cutter affair that was designed to cut barbed wire of different thickness. Five minutes later they were free of the base grounds and trotting beside a trail that lead deeper into the forest.
Captain Simmons was in front when suddenly she stopped and said in almost a whisper, “Mines.”
It was dark, the moon not up yet, as the two men used the Russian bayonet and sheath knife to feel for mines around them. It was cold, below zero, and all had blankets wrapped around them and the only shoes they wore were flimsy hospital flip-flop looking things. But, escape was on their minds and they were determined to get away. Each had three pairs of socks on, which was what the hospital supplied the day they arrived. Some snow covered the ground but mostly in shady places, or under trees.
Ten minutes later, three mines were dug up, and John moved to Simmons and asked, “Okay now?”
“I'm standing on one, I think.”
“Damn me,” Xue said and then continued, “it’s so dark there is no way to determine what kind of mine it is either.”
“I might be able to feel what kind it is. Xue, you move away and watch our back trail as I try to free her. Ain't no reason we should all be in danger.” Williamson said.
As soon as the Major was gone, the Colonel said, “I'm going to use a knife to stab the soil around your foot. If it's a mine, I'll know, because I'll hit metal with each thrust. Are you ready?”
“No, but I never will be, so do it now. I don't want to die.”
“Let's find out if you're on a mine or not before you panic.” He began to stab into the ground at an angle with his knife and so far, he'd found no metal at all. Then he felt and heard his knife hit something. He stabbed around her foot and then said, “it's a big mine.”
“By God, that's really nice to hear.” she replied, the sarcasm obvious in her voice.
John chuckled and said, “You don't understand. This, I think, is a tank mine, not a personnel mine.”
“What . . . what damned does that mean to me?” The tone of her voice indicated she was terrified, but handling it well.
“It means you are not heavy enough to set the mine off. I want you to take one step forward.”
“You sure?”
“I'll be right beside you the whole time. Now, take the step.” John said and then thought, I sure hope I called this right or we're both dead.
She stepped away and there was no explosion, so he had her move into the trees and he called for Xue.
Then, turning to Simmons, John said, “We both just got off easy and used up a years worth of luck. I was wrong, it was an anti-personnel mine, bu
t Chinese made. They fail to explode around 80% of the time and this was one of those times. It was a Chinese copy of our bouncing Betty mine. If you're a praying woman, now would be a great time to thank God you're alive. I know I've already prayed.”
“I was praying the whole time I stood on the thing.”
“Move now, and no talking. Xue, take a northerly direction and we'll make changes once the sun comes up.”
Near daylight a chopper flew over, slow and low, and as far as they could tell they were not seen, but John had the direction they were moving changed to the west. He worried about a chopper with infrared radar finding them, then placing a dog team in front of them. Each time an aircraft passed within hearing range, they'd change directions once the bird moved on.
It was near noon when Captain Simmons said, “The stub on my missing arm hurts. Should I take a pain pill now?”
“Yep. Did the two of you save the vodka the Colonel gave us? I drank most of mine and gave the rest to a Russsian Master Sergeant.”
“I still have mine.” Xue said. “I don't care for the taste.”
“Mine is here too, and unopened.”
“Sip on the drink a few hours after the pill stops working on your pain. I figure within 24 hours we'll run into one side or the other out here.” John said.
“Good, because my socks are starting to fall apart, and I'd guess I have another hour of use coming from them.” she said.
“Do the best you can, Captain. Now, move north, Xue.”
The morning passed slowly, with snow falling lightly, and the winds cold at about 10 degrees. While warmer than the night before, the wind was hard on them. All they wore were the hospital open back pyjamas, blankets pulled around them, and hospital disposable slippers. They took turns wearing the Russian guard’s coat and hat, so all got warm at some point in a given hour.
The afternoon was uneventful and they heard no aircraft. About an hour before dark, John moved them deeper into the trees, away from the trail, and they established a rough camp with a small fire. Supper was saltine crackers and shot of vodka.
