by W. R. Benton
He started to make his presence known, but suspected Headquarters would tell him to return to base and not follow the Americans with the bomb, so he remained quiet. Soon after their drag man passed, they were back on the trail moving north.
They'd been walking a good hour, with the private in front, when the man disappeared in a narrow wall of flames and sound. The blast was so loud, it left the Master Sergeant's ears ringing. He moved to the fallen man to find him awake, scared, and trembling with pain. Both legs and one arm was missing, and he had a huge stomach wound, as well. Knowing what needed to be done, he pulled a syringe of morphine from the Private's first aid kit. He then injected a fatal amount into the Private and held his head in his lap as the young man died.
“W . . . will I die . . . a hero, Master . . . Sergeant?”
“A big hero, my comrade. You will get sleepy in a minute so get some sleep. Do you hurt now?”
“No, my pain is gone, and I grow sleepy.”
“Sleep, and I will wake you later.”
“Tell my wife I love her.” He began to quiver and shake. Finally he stopped moving, gave a loud sigh, and a rattling was heard deep in his body. Private Goreva was dead.
Damn this war and it's killing of innocent Russian boys! he thought. The Master Sergeant saw the radio was destroyed, so he started moving north, angry at the whole world.
Most of the gear carried by the Private had been damaged, except for most of his rations, which the Master Sergeant now packed.
Near dusk he moved into a thick grove of pine trees and heated a meal. Once the meal was eaten, he moved back on the trail and moved north.
Three hours later, as he was making a camp, he was discovered by a group of Russians dressed as partisans and gave his real name to them, knowing he had nothing to fear. He used the call sign Quarterback and contacted the partisan base. The Russian radio worked perfectly.
Twenty minutes later, he was cleared and authenticated by the partisan base as Tom Black. He'd reported all of his team was dead, including the Colonel and Captain Logan, and requested permission to continue the mission. He told them he had the key, but no code or didn't know where the bomb was to be placed. His message was sent in code, code taken from a dead radioman the day before.
Approximately fifteen minutes later, his activation code for the suitcase bomb arrived and with three words, “Pearl High School.”
He smiled at how easy it had been to get the code. All he needed to do now was kill an American Colonel and a female Captain, and then take the suitcase bomb to the airport.
“Master Sergeant, my team has been assigned to you and your mission. You will lead the team, even though I am a Captain. The mission must come first. I have no idea what this is about, but Russian Headquarters gave you the highest level of approval to complete this mission.”
“First, I must have rest. I have been traveling alone and under a great deal of stress. I will tell this group only one thing. My mission is more important than any or all of our lives and if we must die to complete it, then we have saved millions of lives.”
The whole team had heard of the stolen suitcase bombs and, of course, of the bomb the Russians had detonated. They all realized, right then, the Americans were attempting to detonate their very own nuclear device, to avenge the death of their people killed by the Russian bomb. Most shivered and a few said, “Shit.”
“Let me sleep for four hours, then wake me and we will start on our journey once more.”
“Eat first, and then you will sleep better.” the medic said.
“You are right, of course, so let me eat.” The Master Sergeant opened a Russian ration.
Thirty minutes later, he was asleep, as half the team slept while the other half guarded. From now on they'd take no chances.
The next morning was cold and wet, with a light drizzling rain, which folks in Mississippi are familiar with. They were soon tracking the three Americans in front of them. The tracks were easy to follow. They were able to move faster by stepping in the tracks of those they followed, so their speed almost doubled, until noon when a helicopter flew overhead. Suspecting all aircraft over them were Russians, they waved back. The aircraft circled and then started to return.
As the aircraft was turning, the Master Sergeant said, “Chinese, and those are Z-10 attack helicopters, so wave at them.”
“Chinese?” the Captain asked.
“Wave, they are on the side of the partisans. Wave, damn it, all of you.”
The chopper approached close enough the pilot and co-pilot were seen in their tandem seats. Sokoloff had heard the pilot was in the last seat and the weapons system operator was in the front, but he really didn't know. They waved, the Chinese waved, and then they gained altitude and flew away.
The Captain asked, “Did any of you see that 30 mm cannon on the nose of that thing? I imagine it would really tear a man apart.” He spoke in English.
“The last group I was with were dressed as Russians and out of ten, eight were torn to pieces and blown apart.” Sokoloff stated in a flat voice.
“What happen to the other man?”
“He later detonated a mine and died in my arms. He was a hero, too; one to make all our comrades proud.”
“Enough talking,” the Captain said, “we need to spend more time watching the trail than talking. Miller, you take point. Lee, you take drag.”
Miller was doing like they'd been doing all morning, moving fast by stepping in the tracks in the mud made by the three they followed, but he soon learned it was not always safe. As he moved, his foot pulled a thin 2 pound fishing line about two feet; as he stood there looking at the line in the mud, a grenade exploded. The blast knocked him on his ass in the grass beside the trail as shrapnel struck his head, face and chest —he began to scream.
The medic moved toward him, stepped on a toe-popper and took most of a 12 gauge shotgun shell in his groin and lower belly. He fell to the mud screaming in pain. The Captain, knowing both men needed a helicopter to survive, pulled his .22 pistol with a silencer, moved to the medic's side, and shot both of the severely injured men in the head. Headquarters would not send an aircraft for them, not on a top secret mission. They were expendable, just like all of them were.
“Go around the dead men.” the Captain said, as he removed the medic's first aid pouch, and then he added, “Mike, take point.”
Near noon, they started running into more and more Russian patrols out looking for partisans and it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain unseen. Finally, out of frustration, they contacted Edwards and asked them to recall most of the units within five miles of Pearl. Of course, it would take time for them to return to base, so Sokoloff decided they'd spend the day where they were. He figured most of the units would be back at base by dusk.
Albert was wearing his dress uniform, complete with his rank and medals, when the General's driver arrived. The enlisted man placed his bag in the trunk of the staff car, opened the door for the Lieutenant Colonel, and then crawled in behind the steering wheel. He had a bottle of vodka chilling in the back seat between the two officers.
Since it was evening and the night belonged to the partisans, they joined a convoy of about a dozen vehicles of various sizes going to Jackson. Two motorcycles rode in front and two at the rear of the convoy. Their speed would be low and constant, about 80KPH, or close to 50MPH, all the way to Jackson. If a vehicle broke down, a repair team would work on it, as they were guarded by a team of soldiers. The convoy, however, would continue to move, so the vehicle being repaired would be on it's own.
Off in the distance, a flight of three Black Shark attack helicopters flew circles in the air, and would escort the convoy once they began moving. A helicopter escort was rare, but was in place to protect the General and his passenger.
Right at the appointed time, the front motorcycle started moving and eventually so did the General's car. He was in the safest spot of a convoy, in the center, with fuel trucks or other large vehicles behind hi
m. His car flew no flags and had no special markings to identify it as a special target.
They soon roared out the gate and onto the highway toward Jackson. It was then the attack choppers began to move. Their infrared systems were turned on, they tuned in the convoy's radio frequency, and did a radio check. Once satisfied, they began to weave over the line of vehicles, searching for hot spots along the road.
In the General's car, Matveev opened the vodka and poured a drink for himself and Albert. Albert was uncomfortable traveling by car, because he knew the partisans often ambushed convoys.
The General's glass tapped his as the man said, “May your mission in Moscow be a great success.”
“To success, sir.”
It was then the radio came alive, “Convoy leader, this is Eagle 1. Be advised we are picking up hot images about two miles further down the road.”
The General's radioman was in the front seat with the driver. “Copy, Eagle 1, what is your estimate of the number of images?”
“Unable to get an accurate count, because some IR images are blended together, which means they are side-by-side. Uh, my guess is well over a hundred.”
“What do I tell him, sir?” the radioman asked the General.
“Instruct him to hit the targets hard, with all three Black Sharks, and we will speed through as they are fighting them.”
The Black Shark leader was informed and then said, “Copy, Convoy Leader, but be advised there will be considerable risk to you and the convoy. I will start my first run when you are within 200 feet of the first images. Do you copy?”
“Copy, Eagle 1, good hunting. Convoy Leader out.”
Albert felt his stomach come alive with a small animal chewing on him and wished he had a gun. It was then the radioman handed both the Lieutenant Colonel and General a Bison along with an ammo belt with pouches containing magazines. Russian pistols were handed out as well, but only with a half-dozen magazines.
“Uh, Convoy Leader, we are beginning to line up for our first pass. We will pass one behind the other. Good luck to all.”
“Copy, Eagle 1, and let us get the show started.”
Chapter 19
I dried my eyes and realized the past was over and couldn't be changed. Here I was, a big bad partisan, crying over the deaths of both of my wives, the collapse of my country, and the fact Liberals denied the country was in trouble all the way to the gallows. First, the army turned against the President, mounted a military coup, and took over. I remembered watching the President, the First Lady, and all his cabinet members hanged or shot on national television. The trial had been short, less than 30 minutes, and they'd all been found guilty of corruption, murdering witnesses to their acts, and pocketing money from the tax payers.
The President and First Lady were both found guilty of treason by allowing millions of refugees into our nation that were totally dedicated to killing us, and some were even on the international terrorist watch list. The illegal aliens were all allowed to stay and given citizenship by the government. Each of these new “citizens” were provided with a free place to live, provided free food, given good jobs and given $200,000, of which they paid no taxes. What irritated the general public was they also received free medical and dental insurance, while our veterans died from the lack of treatment or mistreatment that often led to death. Soon after these “refugees” arrived, the bombings and murders started.
Then evidence was presented that confirmed our President was dedicated to the same goals as our enemies and had made millions of dollars in donations to terrorist groups over his 8 years in office. The First Lady had been active in laundering the funds, physically making some small cash deliveries, and even providing some wanted terrorists safety by allowing them to come to the United States on Air Force One, the President's aircraft.
I remember watching their executions on the television, and neither died bravely. She was crying and was a broken woman when they placed her on a trap door and placed a black bag over her head. Then the noose was placed around her neck, with the knot slightly behind her left ear. She looked drugged, which I think was the case.
The President was not much stronger than her and kept screaming, “You cannot do this to me, because I am the President of the United States! I demand you release me, now! I have changed America for the better!”
He was soon gagged, dragged to a trap door, and his feet and hers were tied securely. Another rope, attached to ballast weight was tied to their feet, so they'd die quickly, with broken necks. Then the Chief of Staff, an Army four star General read the charges, the decision reached by the all military board, and then the death sentence—signed by all members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
The General moved back near the railing and a preacher moved to the First Lady, he asked “Do you know our Lord, Jesus Christ?”
The First Lady screamed, “Go to hell, because there is no God!”
When he neared the President, he asked, “Shall we pray?”
The President gave an insane laugh and said, “All my life, everyone has assumed I am a Christian, when in fact, I am a Muslim. I have always been a Muslim. I have no use for your false God, preacher, so leave me alone.”
When the preacher stepped back, the General nodded.
An army E-9 pulled the trap door releases and both prisoners quickly fell to their deaths. They were probably both in hell before they realized they were dead. The weight attached to the President's legs must have been too heavy because when he reached the end of the rope, his head popped off and rolled across the floor, as his torso fell to the ground, spurting blood from his neck. The television station had gone to a commercial then.
I brought back to the present as I scanned the countryside with my NVGs and spotted movement heading north. It was a Russian team, so I woke Carol and Alford, and we crawled deeper into the brush. Over the next two hours, I counted 5 Russian teams moving north. My goal, if I could, was to avoid the Russians, plant my bomb and get the hell out of there. I had no desire to die in the resulting explosion either, so I'd have to move quickly. The timer would be set for one hour and once programed, I'd be making tracks.
Then, hearing a low rumble of thunder off in the distance, I glanced up to see rain coming and it looked to be rough weather, with dark almost black clouds. I felt a light breeze as trees and brush began to sway. The rain fell gently at first, so I moved to the trail and we began moving north. As we moved I was always looking for trees we could stand under in case it hailed.
There suddenly came a blinding flash of light, followed by a sharp crack, and a tree off our right burst into flames. It was close enough to us I felt the energy of the lightning bolt as it struck. The lightning strike scared the hell out of me, and I'm not a man easily frightened. I felt the hairs on my arms and at the nape of my neck stand up, and it took all I had to keep from running.
I did keep moving and once within a half mile of the school, I went into hiding in deep brush, hoping to stay out of sight. A year back I'd run into cannibals near the school and the year before that the Russian Army had troops living in the classrooms of the high school. I wasn't sure what I'd find there now. I decided to look it over during the daytime.
We'd been having trouble with our radio, so Alford changed the batteries and checked for loose connections on the inside. Once done, he tried to transmit.
“Base, this is Quarterback, over.”
No reply.
“Base, this is Quarterback, over.”
Silence.
“Base, this is Quarterback, over.”
“Go, uh, Quarterback.”
“Radio has been out for a couple of days, since we left the main group. How do you read, over?”
“Have you five by five. Uh, wait one, Quarterback.”
“Quarterback, this is Coach, over.” I knew the coach was the General so I took the headset.
“Go, Coach.” I said, and wondered what was going on.
“Your game is unusual with two quarterbacks in the ga
me. Tom Black notified us that all of you were killed. He has a copy of the play book, so be advised.”
“He may have thought we were dead. Much going on here, with the Russians moving in all directions but mainly north.”
“The Chinese are our Cheerleaders now, and things have changed, but your mission has not.”
“Glad to hear this, Coach. I will alter a few plays and perhaps move my team forward a few yards.”
“Copy and understand. Call 'em as you see 'em, Quarterback.”
“Roger, will do. Quarterback out.” I said, and then handed the headset to Alford.
“Why would Tom report us as dead?” Carol asked.
“Good question, but I don't like the answers I'm getting in my mind. It's either one of two reasons. He really thinks we're dead or two, he is a Russian spy. I'm more inclined to think he believes us dead.”
“Why?” Alford asked.
“I don't really know, unless he's been monitoring the radio frequency and has noticed we stopped sending messages a couple of days back. But even then, we have the suitcase bomb, so he'd have to find our bodies to activate the bomb.”
“If he's a Russian, they won't have to find a thing.” Carol said.
“Huh?” I asked, confused by her comment.
“The bomb is harmless unless the key is turned and the code punched in. You can be sure, if he's a Russian, he'll not want the bomb to explode. I suspect, right now, he's looking for us.”
“We remain where we are the remainder of the night. Then tomorrow, during the day, I'll scout around the school. The last thing we need is to blow this mission, especially when we are so close. In the past, I've seen cannibals and Russian troops at the school. I've not been here in well over a year, so I need to look around in the daylight. If all goes well, we'll have this baby in the school by tomorrow night and be gone from here.”
