by W. R. Benton
“Welcome, sir.” the guard said as he handed the card back.
“There will be others showing within the hour. Tell them we're meeting in room B for our briefing.”
“Uh, yes sir. How many are you expecting?”
“The usual for a board meeting.”
“Not a problem, sir, and if you need any help, ask Tom to assist you. He's currently in the break room having coffee.”
“I'll do that, and thanks.” the Boss replied and moved toward the briefing room.
Tom was not needed and one by one, members began to arrive. When Adolpha arrived, she met his eyes and licked her lower red glossy lip, but said nothing. Just her look made him remember the night they'd shared and how hot a lover she was. Today she was dressed in a dark blue dress that accented her shape and was short enough to show off her magnificent legs. As usual, it was cut low in front, revealing her attractive cleavage. He shook the thought of her off, because he was here today strictly for business.
When all were in the room, the Boss pushed a blue button in front of his seat on the table, and in seconds, a young man dressed in a black suit entered the room.
“I am Lester, and I'll be giving your intelligence briefing today. Before we start, anything and everything discussed in this room is classified by the NWO as at least top secret. All of you have a need to know, so I'll try to cover the information and answer any of your questions. If I cannot provide an answer to your question today, I will contact you by secure phone to provide you an answer at some point today.”
Everyone nodded and the Boss said, “Proceed.”
Lester pushed a button and a slide showed on a built in screen, but it only warned of the briefings security classification. His next image showed a UN aircraft on fire, but yet in the air.
“Our war against the CSA is not going well, and while we have plenty of aircraft and parts, our pilots lack the motivation to aggressively fight the enemy. So, we've recently added a monetary incentive, which we think will work like it did with an American unit called the Flying Tigers during the second world war who were paid by the number of Japanese aircraft they shot down. As everyone in the NWO knows, money makes the world go around. Each CSA aircraft downed is worth $50,000 to the pilot who downed the aircraft. It must have two witnesses or aircraft gun camera film for validation.
We've also sent a number of Surface to Air Missiles, or SAMs as they're called by the military, to help cut down on CSA raids into California. At last count, we had 5,000 of them in that state alone. Now, keep in mind the USA is made of Liberal states that in some cases may be completely surrounded by Conservative states. Our only successful transportation to those states is using transport aircraft provided by the UN. While we're improving their SAM count, we're also working on adding additional troops, because sooner or later, the CSA will invade them.”
He pushed the button again; a new slide showed the number of agents caught by the CSA, number killed, number wounded, and finally the number missing.
“Why are we losing so many agents?” Adolpha asked.
“It took us a while, but we now realize the agents cannot be embedded with the chip. The CSA scans at random roadblocks for all jobs and as a requirement to enter certain buildings.”
“Can the chip be placed, oh, in a foot or different part of the body?” she asked.
Lester smiled and said, “We tried that and it worked well for a few months, but eventually they discovered that, too. Now they do a full body scan.”
“So, what is suggested?” The Boss asked.
“Our chip gurus have come up with an implant that cannot be detected by any means. Uh, but at the moment, they have to be assembled by hand.”
“How far off are we from being able to mass produce them?” Adolpha asked, and then leaned forward, placing her large breasts on the table top. Her cleavage caught the eyes of every man in the room.
“Uh, well, I was told one year or maybe two. The problem is the plastics and metals used in construction of these chips are different, and the layout of the chip is totally changed, so new robots have to be designed and used to mass produce them. The metal used is rare and expensive, as well.”
“Expense we don't need to worry about,” The Boss said, “but try your best to get the equipment they need, so we can start mass production well within a year. Does the Big Boss know of this?”
“Yes, sir, and I personally briefed him.”
“How would you say he took it?” Adolpha asked, and then winked at Lester.
“He was obviously unhappy, but is smart enough to know as our technology improves so will the technology of the CSA. We must always remain one step ahead of them.”
“And the war?” a portly man with a red face asked. He was known simply as Thomas. “How is it going?”
“Illinois still remains in the hands of the CSA, but they've been forced to turn to brutal means to maintain control of the people there. Of course, with most of the world under the control of the UN, they really don't care what public opinion may be. Three days ago a flame-thrower was used against protesters and, as you might guess, the protesting has stopped. The CSA followed the flame-thrower with machine-gun fire and killed dozens. They left the bodies in the streets. Our agent in place states the killings have killed the desire to protest, but with enough money, he thinks they'll move again.”
“Money is no issue with us, so make it happen.” The Boss said brusquely, with his voice tinted with anger.
“It could cost as much as 5 million dollars, sir.”
“I don't care if it costs 5 billion dollars, I want protests in any areas controlled by the CSA. Each squad of men they pull to cover the protesters is a squad less on the front lines resisting our advancements.”
“I'll make it happen, sir. Now, we have word, which has been confirmed, that our agents tried to take out the President of the United States. There were a number of dead and wounded, but the fact is the President was only wounded, and he was there to speak about the citizens turning in their weapons. The Big Boss has decided since the man has seen the light and is evidently following our orders for now, we are to let him live. Sir,” Lester gazed into the eyes of The Boss and added, “you have been ordered to call the President of the United States and let him know all is well. You are to also inform him that we were not behind the attempt on his life. He will think the CSA was behind it then. You're also to see the money we paid him is placed back in his Swiss account.”
“I can do that easily enough.” Then glancing at his watch, The Boss said, “Do you have any other pressing information for us?”
“Uh, yes sir, I do. The Big Boss wants you, Thomas, and Adolpha to go to the CSA and meet with an agent we have there. He wants the three of you to run our in-country agents there smarter and better than they are doing now. Our agents are good, but need in country guidance at times.”
“When are we expected to leave?”
“Today, and your flights have been scheduled for this afternoon. You will remain for an indefinite time, but for at least a year. Your travel will be by military aircraft and you will all three parachute into the CSA, at the same location. Uh, the pilot said it would be a High Altitude Low Opening parachute jump. I have no idea what that means, but he said the three of you would know.”
“Oh,” Adolpha said, “HALO jumps are such a rush!”
Sounds like a good way to be killed, Thomas thought, but said nothing.
Chapter 8
James and the partisans lost the Frenchman when he boarded the aircraft, which they'd last seen smoking as it moved south. Once the UN aircraft left the area, they moved to the dead WSO in the field. Both shots had been killing shots, so the man was dead as they began to strip him of anything they needed. His pistol, ammunition, survival vest, boots and main survival kit were taken first thing, with his watch, knives and lesser important items taken as well. Like most UN pilots, he flew without a wallet. The lines leading from his parachute straps to the canopy were removed to be
used for other purposes. James noted the man's name from his identification disc around his neck. Similar to American dog tags, they were worn to aid in the naming of the body.
He wrote the dead man's name down in a small pad he carried, glanced around, and then said, “Let's move toward the center of town. I suspect the Russians will return, and we need to be there to give them a big welcome.”
As the small group donned their packs and picked up their gear, James added, “Ben, I want you on point and Lynch, you bringing up the rear. Keep an even pace, but keep your eyes and ears open. There is a good chance more UN aircraft may show or at least a bird to take photos for the intelligence section of the unit. Often post strike images help them see if the raid paid off or not.”
“Downtown must be all rubble, so why go there?” Nancy asked.
“Because I know the Russians will visit to assess the damages done by the aircraft and when they do, we'll send a few to hell. Now, let's quiet down and move. Ben, stay maybe one hundred feet in front of us.”
Less than half way to the target area, Ben returned to the group and said, “The area in front of us is covered in Russian PFM-1 pressure-sensitive blast mines; we called 'em butterfly mines in the Army. It's deadly around kids who think they're a toy and pick 'em up.”
James thought for a second and then asked, “What colors are these?”
“Brown and green, but we need to find another way to the heart of the city, because we can't continue this direction.”
“Quiet, I hear something.” Gator said.
“Tanks and a lot of them. We need to get the hell out of here, and do the job now.” Joda said, his voice bordering on panic.
“Listen, I hear something else.” James said, and twisted his head to hear better.
“Aircraft, look to the west.” Frank said, and then smiled. “They must be ours too, because they look like A-10 Warthogs, and F-16's.”
“Move, and let's return to camp. Once there, maybe we can figure out what in the hell is going on here. I might be able to contact Fort Leonard Wood too and see what the plan is, because I don't understand all this fighting for a small town like this.”
As they turned and moved cross country to the parked vehicle at Lions Club Park, Gator said, “I know the Yanks used this area for a supply depot during the Civil War, so could the UN be thinking the same thing?”
“I don't think so, but you may have a point. Rolla is half way, give or take a little, between Saint Louis and Springfield, Missouri. But the UN is still fighting near Bourbon, Missouri and isn't close enough yet to send in troops to occupy this town.” James said.
“Well,” Gator replied, “you can bet your sweet ass they have something planned for the town, or why all the expense in munitions we've seen spent just today on the place?”
“Maybe they intend to use the railroads along with aircraft to supply the town.” Nancy said, but hoped her statement didn't sound stupid or dumb. She knew nothing of war, except she hated it.
“They can't fly anything into the Rolla Regional Airport, because the runway is too short.”
“No, maybe they can't,” Joda said, “but they might be able to use a Low Altitude Parachute Extraction System (LAPES) to get pallets on the ground.”
“You have a point there, and I think there are a lot of places where that could be done around here. But what about all the mines they just scattered around town?”
“As you said, they're still fighting near Bourbon, so maybe they think over time most of the bombs will be detonated by one side or the other. Then they can use Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) to clear the area, once they reach Rolla.” Joda said, and then winked.
“I don't know, but I'll try to find out tonight with the radio if I can make contact with the Army. But, why bring in tanks now if the area is mined?”
“It may be just a show of force, because the mines won't bother the tanks at all, and infantry can walk in tank tracks without fear of danger or injury.” Joda replied.
“Hush and listen.” James said as he heard the A-10's striking the tanks. Gatling guns were heard, and in the distance explosions were noticed too.
Then an A-10 flew overhead, the rear of the aircraft trailing a long line of flames, and the canopy was seen leaving the aircraft. Then, the ejection seat fired and the pilot was seen rocketing away from the aircraft, right through a cloud of smoke. James saw the man and seat separate, and then the parachute deployed. The A-10 suddenly dipped to the left, nosed down, and crashed some distance away —the explosion seen and heard.
“Hurry, he's going to come down near highway 72, just north of the cemetery.” James said as he broke into a slow jog.
Minutes later, they neared the highway and saw the pilot standing in the long grasses of what was once someone's yard. He was collecting his parachute, plainly going to hide it, when the small group stopped on the other side of highway 72.
“A-10 pilot, we're American partisans! We can help you!” James called out, but from behind a thick oak tree.
The pilot dropped the parachute, pulled a pistol and replied, “Just one of you come to me.”
“Who's going?” Nancy asked, concerned the man might be so nervous he'd start shooting.
“He heard my voice, so I'll go.” James said and moved from the tree toward the man, walking slowly.
The pilot watched him closely, his pistol in his hand, only it wasn't pointed at James.
When he was about twenty feet from the pilot, the partisan said, “We need to hurry and clear this area. I suspect the UN will have ground troops and choppers looking for you. I'm James, a retired United States Air Force E-8, and I ramrod this small group.” He offered his hand.
Placing his pistol back into the holster on his vest, the pilot said, “I'm Captain Eaton Cook.”
As they shook, the rest of the small group moved south, crossed the road one by one, and shook hands with Cook.
“Sir, we have a van parked near here at a small public park. The vehicle is over the hill past the cemetery you see to the south of us, and we'll be there soon, or close enough. I'd guess it's less than a mile away.” James said.
Nancy asked, “Did you receive any injuries when you ejected?”
“I don't think so, but I'm so high on adrenaline right now, I have no clear idea. I know I have some bruises, because I feel them all over my body.”
“I don't see any blood, but once back at camp I'll look you over and give you something for the pain. You'll have a choice between codeine or whiskey.”
The pilot gave a dry laugh and replied, “Whiskey, because I don't like the idea of drugs too much.”
“Alright, people,” James said, “saddle up and let's move. I want in the van and on the road within the hour. Dick, you take point and Frank, bring up our rear.” He scanned the skies, knowing a chopper would come looking for Cook. A pilot was an excellent source of information, if the UN could get their hands on him. Knowing this, he was growing anxious as they moved slowly toward the hill.
All went well until they passed the old Fort Wyman grade school. Dick, seeing something on the ground, bent over, picked it up and was looking at it when it exploded. He fell to the ground screaming.
As the main group neared, Ben said, “Russian PFM-1 mine and they're designed to maim, not kill, only I've known them to do both.”
“He's lost that arm.” Nancy said as she applied a tourniquet and gave Dick a shot of morphine to ease his pain. She had her medical bag open, and knew exactly what she was doing.
“Why would they be scattered here?” James asked.
Joda scanned the area and said, “If you look at a map of Rolla, the roads into town are north on Highway 63, or south on the same road, or east and west on interstate 44. I suspect they mined all four of the main roads knowing partisans use those paths to come and go. The mines are cheap to make, easy to sprinkle along fields or roads, and are very effective.”
“I . . . I didn't . . . know . . . know . . . what it . . . was.”
Dick managed to say, just before he passed out.
Squatting beside the injured man, James said, “You'll be fine, buddy, and we'll get you back to camp and let you sip whiskey until you're recovered.” When Dick's head fell back and he was unconscious, the leader asked, “Is . . . is he dead?”
“No, he passed out is all. I need to get him back to camp and now. I've got the bleeding slowed, but I'm worried about shock killing him. He's some shrapnel in his left side, injury to his left leg, and I think his left eye is permanently injured as well.” Nancy said, as she worked on him, without raising her head.
“Ben, I want you and Shaw to fetch the van and drive here. Right now, move to the roadway and don't step on anything you see out of place. Ben, you lead the way since you know what the mines look like.”
“There's one maybe ten feet in front of you on the road. See how it's shaped almost like a butterfly? They're nicknamed Butterfly Mines. They can be painted for special missions, but most come in green, brown or white. Those three colors allow them to be used in most weather conditions and geographical areas of the world. For kids they color them brightly, so a child will pick one up.” Ben said and then started for the van, with Shaw stepping in his footprints. Once about 25 meters out from the group, the two men broke into a run.
Twenty minutes later, they were rolling over highway 63 South, moving for camp. Dick was looking pale and feverish, and his blood was now puddling under him, only he actually was bleeding very little now. When Nancy checked him, she looked at his nails and touched the skin on his hand.
“What are you doing?” Gator asked, because his injury was pretty plain to see. The man had an arm missing and small injuries to his chest and possibly his stomach.
“Checking him for internal bleeding. With internal bleeding, the white crescent shaped moon on our finger nails disappears and the skin, if pushed in, doesn't bounce back into it's normal position, or it moves back very slowly.”
