by W. R. Benton
We will never win this war, no matter how many people die. The partisans have one thing the Russian soldier cannot be issued, and that is determination to win their homes back. Of course, voicing that would be suicide. Moscow thinks we are fighting farmers and they cannot be further from the realities of this war. Most of our enemies are educated prior service people who have been well trained in and out of the military, he thought as he undressed and headed for the shower.
The last thing on his mind before he fell asleep was how much he missed being home with family during the Christmas holidays and he knew he'd miss another holiday this season.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Operation Hurricane II will start tomorrow morning at 0500 hours. I want all units back into the field and we will hunt partisans. Intelligence has a number of safe houses, suspected Partisan strongholds, and travel routes. Working together, I want aircraft, tanks, and infantry all working as one big team. You will have full support of the base, including all facilities and artillery as well. Any questions?”
“Remember, there is a cold front coming, and it will hit us about four days from now. Make sure your troops have their cold weather gear and they buddy up to watch for frostbite. I expect some snow and high winds during the storm.” Major Yaskovich, the weather man, said.
The Commander said, “See to your troops. This meeting is adjourned.”
When Kovarov checked on his unit, they had gear secured on pallets and were checking parachutes in case they jumped into the conflict. There were only three airborne units currently in the United States and they preferred jumping into combat. The Russian commanders didn't mind, because the jumpers all received jump pay, so let them earn their pay checks. Besides, they could actually drop the airborne troops closer to the enemy than conventional troops could be placed.
“I want a meeting with all officers and senior NCOs in ten minutes in the briefing room.” he said to his secretary in passing.
He walked into his office, grabbed his cup and moved toward the hot tea. Minutes later he was in the room waiting for his people to show.
Ten minutes later he started the meeting.
“In the morning at 0500 we will be dropped north, near the state line. Once on the ground and organized, we will break up into squads, and hunt our enemy. We will have aircraft, tanks, and artillery for support. Our primary goal is to kill partisans and that we will do. Everyone must be active in their attempts to discover and kill the enemy for Hurricane II to be a success.”
“At what altitude will we jump?” a young Lieutenant asked.
“Right now it is a thousand meters, but I have asked for it to be cut in half. Less time hanging in a chute means less time in some rifleman's sights. I, along with two forward combat controllers will jump in first, a little after midnight tomorrow or later tonight. We will scout the area and the controllers will coordinate LAPES drops, as well as personnel drops. All aircraft movement will be done at the direction of the controllers on the ground.”
“Sounds well thought out.” Sergeant Rusyakov said.
“Oh, before I forget, be sure to wait for your share of ammo and other gear from the pallets before you leave the area to start your mission. I want all of you in leadership positions to check the listing on the wall and it will give you your targets, direction of your search, call signs, and other needed information. Now, any more questions?”
Silence.
“Now, prepare your troops for our mission and let us show the 'legs' how it's done.” Kovarov said with a smile, knowing 'legs' was a derogatory term for anyone who was not jump qualified, thus had to use their legs to walk to war.
Shortly after midnight, Captain Kovarov and his two combat controllers were on the ground hiding their parachute canopys. They then began to circle the area looking for base camps or any sign of the enemy. They found nothing, and before the jump he'd even checked satellite images for as far back as two weeks, and saw little, if any, movement around the place. In the images, most looked to be supply traffic moving through the woods.
“Cobra One, this is Eagle One.”
“Go, Eagle.”
“How do you read me, over?” Kovarov asked how well they could hear him.
“Five by five.” Base informed him he was loud and clear.
“Roger, understand five by five. Tell my 'friends' I hope they have a good 'breakfast.'” he said, with Base knowing friends were his troops and breakfast was the jump. He then continued with, “Beautiful day to eat outdoors, enjoy the new green grasses, and take a slow walk in the woods. All is peaceful and quiet, over.” 'Eat outdoors' was code for no one spotted in the area. The landing zone was green, with 'green grasses' meaning the area was clear of the enemy or he could have said the 'sun was red,' which meant the enemy was active in the area.
“Copy Eagle One.”
“Eagle One out.”
An hour later, three transport aircraft flew overhead and the sky suddenly filled with parachutes. Then, just minutes later, the men and women were arriving to start their missions.
“Eagle One, Mule Two, over.”
“Go, Mule.”
“I am lining up now to LAPES your supplies. The cargo will be dropped in a wide meadow approximately 100 meters to your west. Good luck on your walk in the sun. Drop should happen within two minutes, over.”
“Roger, two minutes. Thank you, Mule Two, over and out.” Kovarov said, and then looking around he sent a squad to collect the gear and supplies from the LAPES. As they waited for their supplies, they heard and saw the aircraft fly over them by about 50 feet, heading for the field. To Kovarov the engines made a lot of noise, but he also understood the crew would fake a number of drops before and after the real drop. The fake drops were to confuse their enemy.
Within 30 minutes of landing, the gear from the pallets was shared and the Russian troops moved toward the nearest trail, each man or woman now loaded down with about half their body weight in gear and supplies. Over time the amount of weight carried would lessen as ammunition, food, and other supplies were used a little each day.
Junior Sergeant Slavavich was a nervous wreck as she walked point, because she quickly discovered mines and booby traps. Even if the partisans didn't move on the trail often, they damned sure didn't want the Russians to use it either. She was sweating and the temperature was in the low 70's, hardly hot enough to sweat. Her hands were shaking too, because when she marked the last mine, she moved like a heavy drinker that had done without his alcohol for a few hours.
What I need is a bottle of cold vodka and a hot man to cuddle up with, she thought with a smile as she walked down the trail. I do not think any mission in the past has scared me like this one has.
While she knew she was no beauty, she wasn't ugly either. When wearing make up and some nice civilian clothing, she was as pretty as the next woman in a room. Lately she'd been wearing more face paint than make up. Her only goal was to finish her one year tour, get out of the army and go to college, since the Russian government would pay for the veterans to go to school. She'd banked the sign up bonus she'd gotten, intending to use it to live on while attending college.
She was five foot and nine inches tall, almost fifty kilos, with long red hair and green eyes. She had an attractive figure, but her breasts were too large in her opinion. Her teeth were white and even. Her best asset was her bubbly personality and ability to laugh loud and clear. She loved humor.
The army would pay for her education and provide a small amount in the form of a monthly check that was intended to go toward a room and share the cost of some of her meals. She had to pay for her books and any additional cost for her room or food. She wanted to be an elementary school teacher. She'd walked point a lot of times since she'd arrived in the United States, but never enjoyed the job. Some men and women enjoyed being on point, only she wrote them off as adrenaline junkies who enjoyed the high senses that came with the job. On point her senses of hearing, smelling, touching, and seeing were at their highest, because one w
rong move and she'd be sent home in a box. To her, the stress was too much, but she did the job because she had to pull her share too and she didn't want to be labelled a coward or complainer.
She suddenly felt a sharp pain in her left leg and felt blood flowing. Thinking she'd walked into a briar patch or maybe a stick was poking her calf, she looked down to see something metal in her leg. She stopped moving to check her injury out.
When she stopped, the Captain moved forward and asked in a whisper, “What's the matter?”
“Something in my calf and it looks like a fish hook.”
He moved to her and then felt something suddenly hit him in his legs too. The sun was just barely up and Kovarov smiled and said, “It is fish hooks. We have large fish hooks in our legs.”
Minutes later the medic arrived and squatting between the two, he pulled his pocket knife and cut the fishing line that was tangled all up on the trail. Huge hooks were on the line and they were to slow down an enemy and kill him or her over time. He then sliced open each pant leg that had a hook stuck in it so he could access the injury.
“You two need to leave the field and go to a hospital, especially you, sir. You have two hooks in you, one in each leg. The barbs on all of these hooks are brown, which means they were covered in fecal matter before being placed on the trail. Within 48 hour without treatment you will both have a fever. I am going to give both of you antibiotics, but you will need more and in high daily doses too. Believe it or not, if not treated, human waste will kill.”
“Kill?” she asked and then shuddered.
“Kill! And as dead as hell, too.” Captain Kovarov said and then added, “No hospital yet. Have Base send you additional antibiotics, so you can treat us as we remain in the field. I want the two of us to remain with the unit for 48 hours before we leave. Cover our wounds, after applying a triple antibiotic cream on each injury, and feeding us some antibiotics, so they stay clean. Now, from what I can see, you will need to push the barbs in deeper and then out of the flesh. At that point you can use wire cutters to snip the barbed ends off each hook. You can give her a local to kill her pain if you wish.”
“I am going to give both of you a local, sir.”
“I just told you I do not —”
“Sir, with all due respect, you may be the commander, but when it comes to injuries, I outrank everyone here except a doctor. I will work with you, but do not tell me how to treat my patients, even if you are one of them.” He then gave both of his patients a shot of penicillin.
Finally, someone who knows his job well and why he is out here, the Captain thought. The local will not affect my thinking, but I must avoid morphine. I have to stay here at least long enough to see how my troops are doing.
“We will send you out on the first chopper that delivers us any supplies.” the Captain said to her and then smiled. “These partisans know their way around killing. They can kill quickly or slowly. With this injury it causes the wound to turn septic because of the human waste on the barbs, and that kills as dead as a bullet does, only it takes time.”
A few minutes later, the barbs snipped off and the wounds treated, the Medic had the radio operator call in the names of the wounded and he requested a large quantity of antibiotics.
“What now, sir?” she asked.
“Back to what we were doing before we got snagged.”
“Yes, sir.” she replied, but hoped he'd replace her, only he didn't.
It was mid-afternoon when his radio operator had him listening to a fight between the partisans and another airborne unit. It sounded fierce over the radio. Finally the company commander, another Captain, said, “I request the next load dropped or fired on my position, over.”
Must have partisans in close or he is about to be overran, Kovarov thought.
Many long minutes passed when a new voice came on the radio, “That did the job, Black Shark One, they are pulling back. I know few people who enjoy being on the receiving end of a Gatling gun. Give them a minute or so to enter the woods and then hit them with napalm, over. The Commander is wounded, on morphine, and I am in command now. I am Geronimo Two. I need at least a half dozen medical helicopters at my location, over.”
“Copy Two and I understand One is down for the count, over.”
“Roger that. I estimate seventy dead partisans and while I am not sure, I would say my killed are about fifteen and I have around thirty-five or so wounded, including myself. Over.”
“Copy, Two, and medical evacuation helicopters, call signs Angel, are in route. There is a five minute estimated time of arrival of the first medical aircraft.”
“Copy, Base, and Two out.”
“That pretty much proves the partisans are out here in force.” the radioman said.
“Good God, you men remain where you are and do not even breathe hard!” Master Sergeant Lev Ruslanovich said, his tone indicated deep concern or even fear, maybe.
One of the Privates, who'd stepped off the trail to pee asked, “Why?”
“You are in a mine field. Next to your left foot is a bouncing Betty and if it goes off, it will kill all three of you.”
Chapter 14
The chopper flew over them, then repeated his flight pattern, only stopping off to the side this time, and nearer the partisans. John had a sudden uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and was sure then he was being picking up on the chopper’s thermal sights. He knew then they were all about to die!
“Scatter, and then cover up with whatever you have!” He yelled and they broke in all directions.
He heard machine gun fire coming from the helicopter almost to the second they began to scatter. Private Smith, a new man, was running beside John when he just blew apart as the huge cannon shells struck him. His head had been the last part of his body to detach before the dead man fell to the ground
Screams were heard as a long line of bullets threw clumps of dirt six feet into the air. And, some of those bullets had already passed through partisans before they struck the ground. People fell and continued to scream. John never slowed and then threw himself over a small ledge, crawled up close to the top and pulled his poncho out. He then listened for the chopper. Two other partisans jumped over the same ledge and began hunting a hole. The chopper flew over them a couple of times, very slowly and as they moved, the partisans covered or uncovered their bodies. Each time the chopper neared, they covered up and as soon as it moved away, they uncovered to allow the trapped body heat to leave the poncho.
Then the whop-whop-whop grew fainter and finally it was gone. Both of the other two had slight injuries, but neither was bleeding heavily or in great pain. John dreaded looking for the rest of his folks, because he was sure they were dead. Never had he experienced such gunfire in his life, and he knew he was very lucky to be alive.
One of the men who'd survived by the ledge was Xue and another was Fetters. They soon discovered three more people alive; all the rest were dead. It was the first time in the war John had no wounded following an attack. An attack helicopter wasn't designed to wound, but to kill, and it did a damned good job of it, too.
He found the radioman, or what was left of him, and he was surprised the radio worked. John shook his head as he looked at the mangled bodies of his friends and each death was hard for him to accept. Tom Fetters, LTC Simmons, Private Allen, Xue, and Staff Sergeant Duke were still alive, but the rest were dead. The bodies of the dead were torn apart by the cannon.
“What now? There aren't enough of us left alive to attack a shit house.” Xue said with his usual bluntness.
“We head back. Something is going on, because the number of helicopters in the air and the contacts I've heard over the radio just today are much more than usual. There were even reports of paratroopers on the ground and in the air this morning, but I blew it off as too much imagination by someone.”
Xue asked, “Well, that attack chopper was sure as hell not our imagination. Do you think the Russians have a special operation going on or something else?�
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“I wish I knew, but if I had to guess, I'd say yes they do.” John said as they walked around gathering up gear they could use. Much of it was damaged by cannon fire and good for nothing. John carefully documented the names of the dead in his small address book.
Xue said, “If I remember correctly, there is a safe house near here.”
“Huh? I don't remember anything about a safe house around this place.” John said.
“It's more like a safe barn, or so I read about the place. It used to be run by a couple of quarter horse people who made good money selling horses before the war. Of course, since the fall, all of the horses have been eaten or killed.”
“How far from here?”
“Uh, maybe a mile or two. I didn't pay much attention to what I was reading because, like the dumb-shit I am, I never expected to need a safe place this close to base.”
“Let me call Base and inform them of our change.” John said as he wiped the radio clean of blood.
As John used the radio the others circled him and pulled guard. There was always a chance the Russian chopper pilot might send ground troops to count and verify his body count.
“Base, understand. Once in place I will let you know. Copy, base. Badger 1 out.”
“Let's move! And Xue, you're my point man. I hope this barn is manned. After that attack, we all need to unwind a bit. That had to be the closest any of us have ever been to death.”
“We need to head west by north. Follow me.” He gave a weak grin and John knew he was trying to cheer everyone up, but when you see half of your group killed, that's hard to forget quickly.
As they walked, everyone's mind was on the ambush and how quickly the chopper killed.
When they neared the barn, no one was seen and John glassed the house twice with his binoculars.
“Xue, you and I will check out the house and then return. I want the rest of you to remain here, until one of us comes to get you. I have an uneasy feeling about this place. Something is not right or I'd not be this cautious. Okay, let's go, Xue.”
