The Fall of America [Book 7]

by W. R. Benton

  It was mid afternoon before Andy took a break for a 'noon' meal. He stopped later than usual because everyone, including me, had eaten breakfast in the dining facility. While not much, powdered eggs, bread, bacon and hot coffee beat a ration to hell and back.

  As we sat eating our meals I noticed some had Chinese rations, and I hated those things. What American eats a pickled turnip root or rice and squid? The closest I'd found to a real American meal were the Meals Ready to Eat and they were very good. We were eating some now that were over 20 years old.

  “Sir, if you have a second, I'd like to show you our objective, so if I'm killed or wounded you can take over.” He had a map opened in the dirt as he squatted.

  He then continued, “You okay'd the mission some time back and I got it late last night. Now, I want to do this job with no losses if possible, but we're to blow the Diablo Dam.” He pointed the location out to me on the map. I nodded but knew nothing of most of the dams in the state.

  “Located in the North Cascade range along the upper Skagit River, the Diablo Dam is absolutely beautiful, or so I think.” I said, having been there about ten years ago. It was one of two I could remember ever seeing before.

  “We'll visit there to take out the power generators, not take images, but the area is stunning. You must have seen it during the summer.” Andy said.

  “Actually, during the fall.”

  Glancing at his watch, Andy said, “Saddle up and let's move. I want to be able to see our objective before we stop for the night.”

  The trail soon turned rough and every mile or so we planted mines on our back trail. Close to dusk we looked out over a beautiful lake and to our left was the Diablo Dam. While it was larger than some it was smaller than many, but was gorgeous. I can still see that dam in my minds eye.

  We unloaded our packs, pulled out everything except for explosives and ammunition. We also took grenades, just in case we had to fight our way home. Leaving one woman with our gear, we moved closer to the dam, where we waited for full darkness. Near 2000 we'd hit the 129-megawatt facility and see if we could blow all the transformers. As we waited, I watched Russian soldiers, men and women, moving around the damn, with most at the top. I estimated maybe two squads of military stationed there. I envied them, because the view was beautiful.

  I had Andy give his pack to one of his troops and I did the same. We pulled our knives as I said, “Andy and I will silence the guards, then I want everyone on the stairs going down to the transformers. One way down is inside the building at the other end of the dam, but the exterior steps will be used by most of you. I need about half of you to follow me. Once we start, remember we do not want to be a prisoner of the Russians, because they are vicious and will mistreat us. On this raid, no quarter given or expected in return.”

  Silence.

  “Okay, check each others face paint and then let's go.” Andy said.

  A few minutes later I spotted the first guard near the road. I moved toward him, knife in hand, only I stayed in the shadows. He seemed to be about half asleep and kept shaking his head at times as if trying to stay awake. I paused when he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit a smoke. I gave him a few minutes to get comfortable with his cigarette.

  I was able to walk to the man, throw my arm around his neck, and then stab him four times near his kidneys with my 12 inch long knife blade. He attempted to scream a warning, so I cut his throat. I tossed his dying body aside, heard him choking, and moved forward, as his blood ran down my hands. I wiped my hands off on my trousers.

  I saw no other guards and waved my people to me. Once together, I led them down the exterior stairs toward the generators. The closer we got, the louder the noise became. Finally, I slipped ear plugs in as I entered the generator room alone. I saw a group of ten men sitting and working with computer monitors. All were dressed in sparkling white lab coats or Russian uniforms. I had no idea what their jobs were or even their nationalities, because just being here made them my enemies.

  I pulled the pin on a grenade, let the spoon fly, and held it two seconds. I then tossed it over the heads of the workers. A second later, I sent another grenade flying toward them. I heard a scream in English and heard what I assumed was a warning in Russian.

  With a loud blam! the first grenade exploded, throwing shrapnel in all directions, then the second grenade went off. Screams were heard, and I saw one worker stumbling around with a cast iron fragment sticking out of his forehead. Blood streamed down his face as he kept promising his mother he'd be a good boy if she'd stop punishing him. It was then I realized I fully understood him and I'd just killed some Americans. By working for the Russians, I felt they'd deserved their deaths.

  One man was on the floor, his back against a wall, and his fingers were trying to stop the flow of blood from his neck. His lab coat had blood all over it, because it was spurting from his throat. He calmly met my eyes.

  Not a word was said by either of us as I shot him in the chest. Seconds later the light behind his eyes went out forever and he was dead.

  “Quickly, set the explosives!” I said to those who had entered after the blasts. I heard gunfire outside. “I want four men guarding the entrance to this place, because I don't want to be trapped inside here.” I said, as the men positioned two outside and the other two on the inside.

  My people were fast and I watched as the explosives were placed against the generators to cause the most damage, especially the huge turbine blades and engines. Within ten minutes the explosive were placed and timers were set for 30 minutes, I gathered up my troops and as we were leaving, the door at the top of the stairs flew open and Russians poured in. I fired and watched my bullets stitch the Russian troops at waist level. Some fool from my group tossed a grenade that exploded at the top of the stairs, sprinkling all of us with some shrapnel. We killed that batch of troops, with the loss of two men to serious injuries. Two of my larger troops threw the wounded over their shoulders and out of the building we went.

  I expected to be met by thousands of Russian soldiers, but no one was there, but I could hear fighting from where Andy was. I sent the men carrying our wounded to the trees and the rest of us moved for the building.

  Our attack on the Russians caught them by surprise. We struck their backs, and hard too, killing over half with the first pull of our triggers. Of course, like most experienced combat troops, they quickly recovered and began an organized withdrawal. They didn't enjoy being sandwiched between us. I'd estimate they lost over half their men within twenty seconds or so. Andy and his folks came out of the building like a flood, pouring out and looking for blood.

  “Link up on me!” I yelled. I moved to a dead Major and placed an ace of spades card in his mouth, then pushed his chin closed. My folks were already taking what gear they needed from the dead Russians.

  “Let's move, people!” I yelled to be heard over the shouts of victory and the turbine engines. “We don't have much time!” I took off at a jogging pace toward the trees.

  We no sooner got there and stopped to catch our breath when I heard a loud explosion and then heard a high pitched whining noise coming from the turbine blades. Dark black smoke mixed with diesel fuel rose for the sky from the shattered windows in the generator room.

  “Let's get back to our gear and make tracks. This will be a long night as we attempt to get far enough away so I feel safe.” I said and then thought, Usually, following an attack we would guess the mileage a group with, and without, injured would cover in ideal situations. In this type of terrain, twenty miles would be tops, most likely. I want to cover twenty-five miles, but that might not be possible.

  We moved at a steady pace and my wounded were able to move with the help of crutches or another person. They were weak, but I could not endanger all of us for the sake of two fighters. They continued to move knowing if they quit, I'd overdose them on morphine and leave them. I had little choice except to save as many of my troops as I could. I'm not a coldblooded killer either; I ate, lived wi
th, and knew these people, most by their first names now.

  The first four hours were brutal on all of us, but I needed the initial distance to feel safe. I was giving this thought when our woman on point went up in an exploding sheet of flames, rocks, and soil. I watched her come apart in the air. I felt it was a fast, clean, and better way to die than most. Here one second and gone the next.

  When it grew quiet again, Andy said, “We're in a minefield. We need to walk back the way we entered, and step in your footprints if you can see them.”

  “Colonel, I'm standing on a mine.”

  “How do you know?'”

  “I felt something snap under my foot and then heard a loud click. Jesus help me, I don't want to die.” a young Private said.

  “Just relax and let me get everyone out of this minefield and then I'll return to help you. Don't move at all, if you can help it, because if your weight shifts or becomes less, I won't find much when I get back. Do you understand?” I said.

  “Y . . . yes, sir.”

  I moved all of my people to a safe distance and then, as they ate a meal, I returned to help the Private on the mine.

  He was new, and this was not the way to start a move to a new unit.

  “I'm going to dig around the metal and see what kind of mine you are standing on. Some, like a Chinese mine don't even explode half the time, while the Russian or Americans have about a 95% successful detonation rate.”

  “Okay. I'm not going anyplace, so do what needs done. I'm about to fill my pants right now.”

  “Son, I think, in your place, most folks would be scared.” I squatted, pulled my sheath knife, and began poking and stabbing at the ground looking for metal.

  After I checked all around his foot, I said, “I want you to step off the mine, but then fall to the ground.”

  “Won't the mine explode?”

  “I don't think so, and you can't keep standing here for days. Now, I'm going no place, so I'll be right here beside you. If I thought it might explode, I'd not stay with you.”

  “Oh, Jesus, I don't know if I can do this.”

  I need to do something if he won't move, I thought, so I punched him dead on his chin and down he went. He fell a good 4 feet from the mine and landed flat on his back.

  “You're about a crazy bastard, do you know that?” he asked as he sat up.

  “I've been called worse.” I intentionally smiled at the man. He had every reason to feel as he did, because I'm sure my actions terrified the man.

  “How were you so sure it'd not explode?”

  “This mine is an anti-tank mine and requires more weight than you have to arm it. The click you heard was a triggering device moving down a little, but not down far enough to trigger an explosion. If it had exploded, about half of us would have disappeared. Now, lets get back to the group, they're expecting us.”

  When we returned everyone was glad to see the new man, who I learned was called Duck for some reason. Many members of the resistance use fictitious names or nick names to protect their families in the event one of us was taken prisoner. We couldn't get a man's family murdered if we didn't have his real name. Take me, very few people knew my last name, but I knew the Russians had it from the wanted posters. All of my family was dead, so as the family of a partisan, they would not be gathered up and placed in a gulag.

  “Smyth, you're my point and Madison, you bring up the rear. Let's move, folks.” King said and picked up his heavy pack.

  I heard choppers overhead as we moved through the trees, but some sections in Washington have large dense forests and you can fly over them and not see a thing. I knew we were safe from eyes in the sky unless we ran into someone who could radio for fire support, and then we were in trouble. So far, with the exception of the mine, we had no indicators anyone was around.

  It was just before we stopped at noon, when I ran into “Chief” sitting beside the trail. He was our point man.

  “We all just walked through an ambush. They were good but I spotted it about halfway past the Russian troops lining the trail. There was no way to warn you and it appears now, they didn't want us. It makes me wonder why they are out here, if not to kill us.” he said.

  “Maybe to follow us back to our main camp and then schedule it to be hit.”

  “Damn, I never gave that any thought.” he said.

  “Why settle for a few of us when they can kill hundreds?”

  “What now, because we can't lead them to our main camp?”

  “We ambush them, or overrun them first thing in the morning, just as they wake up.”

  “Now, that makes sense.”

  “Continue on now, but slowly take us in a wide circle.”

  “I can do that easily enough.”

  As we stood and he started walking, I realized I'd been breathing pretty hard and he wasn't even winded. Of course he was twenty-something and I was in my early fifties. Before the fall, not many men my age could hump all day in the woods with a sixty pound pack, and be able to get up in the morning and repeat the day. I could and did, often.

  I fell back to tell Andy what was going on.

  Andy understood, and liked the idea of ambushing the ambushers. It was about fifteen minutes before dusk when I had everyone line the trail for the ambush. Time to put an end to being followed, if we were. My drag woman said she'd seen no one behind us. Mines were placed and everyone was ready.

  Just as I stepped off the trail, the woods erupted into a battlefield and I mean in a split second. I heard screams for help, cries of pain, and yells of victory. I was shooting at shadows and quick movements but some shots brought a scream. Then it grew quiet. I could smell blood and human waste. I heard moans and groans, so some of my people were hurt. I crawled forward and moved behind a log.

  I saw movement, but it was too dark to see which side it was, so I remained still. I didn't want to be a guest of the Russians. I heard someone praying in English and another talking to her mother, then a choking sound from both.

  A pistol fired and a body fell with a thud.

  I heard a command in Russian and watched as black shadows moved against the dark gray sky. Minutes later, they were gone. I thought it might be a trick, so I waited a good hour before I stood.

  Chapter 14

  Colonel Slava woke in his car as medics and doctors were screaming orders, and all it did was add to his confusion. He hurt and knew he'd been shot, but was unaware it was by a sniper. His mind was dulled and confused. The Americans had a sniper near the hospital too, to kill those Colonels the other snipers missed or only wounded. It was a long gamble, but today it paid off.

  The Colonel was pulled from his car and placed on a gurney. Just as a doctor came over to check his patient, his head exploded, throwing gore on Slava and splattering those nearby with blood. The doctor fell, his body jerking and shuddering as it shut down.

  “Sniper!” someone yelled.

  He must be using a silencer, Slava thought, because I hear nothing.

  As everyone went to ground, leaving the injured Colonel exposed and on the gurney, Slava's driver pushed the injured man away at a run, toward the emergency doors. The driver suddenly dropped, a bullet to his left arm, but he stood again and finished pushing his boss inside the building.

  Once inside the driver yelled, “I have the Base Commander here; someone assist me in seeing he's treated, and do it now!”

  Folks were returning from outside and three of them were packing the dead doctor. The dead man's body was taken to another room. He'd be home in Russia within 48 hours, and then he'd become just another number, a statistic if you will, in the Russian American War.

  The Colonel was wheeled into surgery instantly, once they saw who he was. As the ranking officer on the base he had a lot of power. It took them over four hours to fix his shoulder and all prayed he would mend and recover quickly.

  Across the base, Senior Sergeant Victorovich was dispatched into the field to find and kill both snipers. Knowing the snipers could kill at gr
eat distances made the members of the cell with the Sergeant nervous. But, each knew to disobey an order in the Russian army would lead to being hanged or shot, so off they went. Each member of the squad was apprehensive of leaving the relative safety of the base. Having hunted down and killed his share of snipers in his twenty-two year career, the old Sergeant didn't give this mission much thought.

  “You people in the middle, spread out more. One bullet would kill two or three of you.”

  Some mumbling was heard, which was normal for any army.

  They moved slowly, checking for mines. If nothing else, the war had given each soldier a healthy respect for mines and their destructive power. All of them had seen legs and arms blown off, or seen a careless victim die as they attempted to hold their guts in.

  While the weather was mild, everyone but the old Sergeant was soon sweating. There is something about looking for a killer who happens to be an excellent shot that bothers a man. These soldiers were veterans, all serving honorably, but snipers worried them all. Each soldier wondered, Which of us will die next?

  A shot rang out and a woman dropped, struck hard in the thigh. The medic grimaced and ran forward, fully expecting to die, only he didn't. As he bent over the wounded woman, he felt a bullet strike him in the shoulder, so he dragged her behind some brush and rocks. He was bleeding like a stuck pig, but her bleeding was even worse. Her femoral artery had been hit and if he didn't get it to slow or stop, she'd be dead in a few minutes. As he worked, Sergeant Victorovich spotted the sniper.

  “He's in the huge pine, straight ahead of us, maybe 200 meters, half way up the tree and on the right side. I want everyone to fire at that location now, especially the machine gunner, because your rounds will go completely through the tree. Now, fire!”

  The blasts of the various guns were loud and even a grenade launcher was fired. Bark and wood splinters flew in all directions as the tree was shot to hell and back. Removing his binoculars, the Sergeant viewed the tree. He could see a chunk of bloody meat in the tree, but nothing else. The meat did not move.