by W. R. Benton
“So, how does Dick look?” Gator scooted closer to look at the injuries.
“If you look at his hand,” she held it up so it could be seen, “the whites are still on his nails and when I push his flesh in on the same hand, it bounces right back into position.”
“Does that mean he'll live?” Gator asked, and then blinked in confusion. While he understood what she'd said, his only medical experience had been first aid training in the army, and he found the subject difficult at best.
“No, it only means he is not bleeding internally yet. Or if he is, it's a very small wound. His biggest danger is the loss of the arm. I don't know exactly how I'm going to treat it, because I don't have all the supplies and gear I should have to do the job properly.”
“I see.” Gator said, but he had no idea what she meant by supplies and gear. He then thought I just hope he lives, because he's a damned fine man. Who would have dreamed five years ago we'd be involved in another Civil War? I could see big differences between the conservatives and liberals, but never thought we'd go to war over our beliefs. I think the New World Order is behind most of this crap, and I know the UN is their private army.
James was driving and Cook rode shotgun, mainly so they could talk as they moved. The road was in good condition, but they met no vehicles on the road, coming or going. They'd just reached the bottom of a long hill, crossed over Beaver Creek, and were beside the VFW when Frank said, “We're being followed. I just saw a vehicle crest the hill behind us.”
“Set up the machine-gun in the back, open the two rear doors, but close them enough to where they don't look open. If it's a threat, we'll know soon enough and you can take it out. I'm pulling over by the static display of the tank.”
“Do we all stay in the van?” Nancy asked, hoping not to move Dick if possible.
“I want all of us, except for you and Dick, out of the van. Lynch, you handle the machine gun and Ben, you be his ammo man. The rest of us will find cover behind the tank and fire as needed. The vehicle may not be following us at all.” James said, and pulled up next to the tank.
As everyone unloaded and prepared for visitors, Joda, using the binoculars, said, “It's a Russian UAZ-469 off-road vehicle, sort of a cousin to our old Jeep.”
“What is it doing out of town like this?” Ben asked.
“They may have seen us leave the park.” Captain Cook said and then asked, “How many people fit into one of those vehicles?”
“If I remember correctly, seven men can fit into one, but I may be wrong. It's been years since I've been briefed on them.” Frank said, as he loaded a round in his sniper rifle.
Hidden as they were, totally blocked by the huge static display, the Russians drove right past them and then disappeared moving south.
“Everyone stay in your positions, because I think they'll be back as soon as they realize we're not in front of them.”
Five minutes later the UAZ-469 drove back toward town looking for the old van. James wasn't surprised when the vehicle pulled up behind the van. The driver's door was facing the rear of the van, so Shaw pulled the charging handle back on the machine-gun and waited.
When the Russian driver stepped from the UAZ-469, Frank put two rounds into his chest, the rear doors of the van swung open and the M-60 began spitting lead. At such close range the Russian troops never stood a chance. The machine-gun moved from side to side and then the gas tank exploded, sending debris and body parts in all directions. The vehicle was close enough that the people in the van shut the doors, due to heat from the fireball.
Joda, seeing movement, lined his scope up on a Russian Captain, who was attempting to crawl away. He was keeping the burning UAZ-469 between him and the van, but Joda had climbed on top of the tank and was positioned behind the turret.
“Do we take any prisoners?” he asked as he placed the cross-hairs on the middle of the man's back.
“No.” James replied and then asked, “What do you have?”
“Russian Captain trying to crawl away from the fire.”
“Take him out.”
The distance was short, just a bit over a hundred feet, but it was late afternoon, almost dusk, and the oily fire and smoke made it hard to see the man at times. However, like most snipers, Joda was a patient man, so he waited for a clear shot.
Lynch remained in the vehicle, but had the rear doors to the van open again, now that the flames consuming the UAZ-469 were less. He sat ready, his finger near the trigger, and his eyes scanning the area around the vehicle. He saw nothing and hoped the Russians had all died quick deaths from his weapon, because he'd want no one to burn to death.
There he is, Joda thought, and noticed the man had moved slightly to the left taking advantage of the smoking vehicle to cover his movements. He lined the cross-hairs on his back once more and took a deep breathe. As he slowly released the air, he gently squeezed the trigger. A few seconds later, the sound of his lone shot was loud, the Russian screamed and began jerking on the ground. The bullet passed through the man, struck the pavement and then ricocheted back through his chest, exiting his right shoulder, and then disappeared.
In his scope, blood was seen pooling under the man, so Joda knew the wounds were fatal. No one could lose blood that quickly and not bleed to death within minutes. That must be the first time I've shot once and made two serious injuries to a man, he thought as he grinned, turned to James and said, “He's dying.”
“Gator, you and I will check for survivors. Take no chances, so if they move, take 'em out.”
“Will we take prisoners?”
“No, because we have no place to keep them. It's over 30 miles to Fort Leonard Wood and a risky trip at best. Now, if we have a Colonel or General, I'll say yes.”
Moving slowly toward the fire, Gator said, “I just wanted to know, is all.”
Five minutes later, James returned to the van and said, “It's clear now. Most got out on the other side, but the M-60 turned them into hamburger. I only saw one body in the flames and I suspect he was killed before the fire started.”
Some of the Americans moved toward the dead Russians looking for things they needed to survive. Grenades were found, some ammunition, a pair of binoculars, and other small items. Joda moved to the Captain he'd killed, took his pistol, Bison sub-machine-gun, ammo, and stripped him of anything useful. Looking at the beret on the ground, he said, “Russian airborne troops here, or at least the officer was.”
“They all have these sky-blue berets. You don't think they are Spetsnaz, do you?”
“No, I don't. Spetsnaz is too valuable to be running around on the back roads in a UAZ-469 chasing partisans. I could see them hitting our main camp, but not all bunched up in a vehicle.”
“James, we need to hurry, or we'll lose Dick. His blood pressure is dropping and his heartbeat is irregular.” Nancy said from the van.
“Everyone in the van, and now.” James ordered.
“I don't think he's going to make it through this alive.” Nancy said as she felt Dick's pulse.
Chapter 9
Colonel Gamble had started his attack into Rolla this afternoon only to have the A-10's arrive, and they tore his unit to pieces. His tank support was down to almost nothing now; the munitions carried by the ugly American aircraft had made short work of his tanks. Of his attacking forces, his losses were estimated to be slightly more than 60%. As a fighting unit, he'd been fundamentally wiped out.
He was ordered to pull back toward Saint Louis to resupply, refuel, and get fresh armor, along with personnel replacements. He knew once past Bourbon he was as safe as it gets in America. He gathered his troops and remaining tanks in close and they began to move east on Interstate 44. Near Bourbon, he'd go around the small town and eventually link up with more UN ground forces.
“All units have formed with us, sir, except for a Russian UAZ-469 that reported they were following a suspicious white van South on highway 63. We have lost all contact with them.” Lieutenant Colonel Thomas said.
“Write them of
f as dead. I can't see anyone remaining behind when they have all been informed we were leaving today. Have mines been planted and spread over much of the ground around here?”
“French C-130's dropped hundreds of thousands of Russian PFM-1 mines, and where you wanted them, too. All four major roads are mined, as well as portions of highway 72. We also have some deadlier and bigger stuff planted all over the town, and most intact buildings have been booby trapped to deny the partisans shelter.”
“I want you to see to our wounded and their comfort, if you will.”
Snapping to attention, Thomas said, “Yes, sir, I'll take care of it immediately.”
“Dismissed; oh, and ride with our surgeon, so you know what is going on at all times. I want our ill and wounded taken good care of on this trip.”
As Thomas moved away to complete his assigned tasks, the Colonel was informed by radio that of the three A-10's shot down, only one pilot had been captured. The other two were assumed to have died in crashes. He ordered the captive brought to him, so they could share a bottle of bourbon as they traveled in his staff car. He'd learned years ago, you attracted more bees with honey than violence. He'd treat the American well, and hopefully the strong drink would loosen the man's tongue. Besides, as a British gentleman, he saw no reason not to treat his captive as a gentleman, as well.
An hour later, with the American in his staff car, they drove north out of Rolla, turned east on Interstate 44 and moved along at a bit over 50 KPH, due to the governors on the vehicles. Mines were quickly spread over open areas as soon as the last vehicle entered the highway, which they'd left cleared for their departure. Now the town was sort of ringed in mines, or at least the main roads were.
In the staff car, Colonel Gamble turned to the American and asked, “Would you like a drink, Major?”
“No thank you, sir. As a POW I will not accept any special treats offered by my enemy.”
“I say, old boy, your warrior spirit is alive and well. Look, this will be one bloody long and boring ride without refreshments. I have many American friends in the states, and I dislike none of them over this war.” the Colonel said, as he opened the bottle of bourbon and poured about four fingers worth in a crystal glass. He then handed it to the A-10 pilot.
“What is your name, Major? I am Colonel Gamble and the commander of this affair.”
Taking a sip of his whiskey, which the Major rationalized was needed for the bruises and pain he had, he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. He then said, “I'm Major Jeffery W. Turner.”
“Splendid, and under different circumstances I think we'd maybe become friends.”
The pilot shrugged and knocked his drink back, which Gamble quickly refilled. The quick refill warned Turner that the Colonel wanted him to become intoxicated, so he could 'interview' him in an unofficial and friendly manner. Right then, he decided he'd drink enough to kill his aches and pains and then stop.
The convoy radio frequency came alive, “This is the radar van and I have unidentified aircraft approaching from the west. They are approximately 100 Kilometers out, but closing fast.”
Gamble said, “Give me the radio.”
When the mic was handed to him he said, “Try to make contact with the aircraft, but I think we're fairly safe because it's dark now. Once they're within, oh, say 20 kilometers, we'll pull off to the side of the road and let them pass. They can't hit what they can't see.”
Major Turner heard the whole conversation, and hoped it was a flight of American aircraft with heat sensing radar. The infrared sensors would locate each vehicle by showing the heat from the vehicles engines in red. Also, the radar worked so well that if the men ran from the trucks, the aircraft would be able to pick up each person's individual body heat. He prayed hell was coming to visit this convoy.
Smiling at him, Gamble asked, “Another whiskey, Major?”
“Yes, sir, and make it a bit more than the last two drinks.” Turner said and then thought, If the aircraft strike this convoy, then I may be able to escape when things turn chaotic during the attack. First, I'll have to kill the Colonel.
Five minutes later, Turner heard the radio come alive with good news for him. “This is the radar van and the aircraft are not ours, repeat the aircraft are enemy aircraft. They must know our exact location, because they are lining up to attack.”
Taking the microphone once again, Colonel Gamble said, “All vehicles, this is the commander. Pull off the road and turn your engines off. These aircraft cannot hit what they cannot see. Make sure all lights are off and no smoking.”
Slowly the trucks, cars and even the tanks pulled on the side of the road. The driver of the staff car turned the ignition off.
You fools, Turner thought, if the aircraft have IR detection capability on board, you've just made killing you that much easier.
Captain Félix Gueguen, was in one hell of a big mess. The fast movers had not returned yet and they could see the enemy approaching what was left of the chopper. The flames were higher, and he expected the fuel tanks to blow any second. The chopper pilot was out of it due to morphine and as the ranking man, Gueguen took command.
“Any station, any station, this is Rescue One, over.” All he heard was static. He switched the survival radio to beacon, knowing any aircraft around him would hear the beeps. Then he tried voice again, with no response.
“Listen, we do not fire on the partisans until they are near the chopper.” Gueguen said.
The surviving door gunner said, “That's pretty close, don't you think, sir?”
“The closer they are, the more of them we will kill when we first fire, and we will confuse them too. No one fires until I do.”
“The burning bodies stink, don't you think?” the wounded medic said.
“Our stink may join them in a few minutes, if we don't get some air support. I have counted over 100 partisans against the four of us, five of us, if you count the injured helicopter pilot.” Gueguen said and then winked.
“All I have is a 9mm pistol with two clips of ammunition, so maybe I can handle all of them.” Mad Dog said as he gave a weak grin. Gueguen liked the man, because things were rough and he still managed to smile.
The medic said, “We could leave the pilot and escape and evade back to safety.”
“I'll not leave my pilot,” the door gunner said, “because he kept us in the air a long time when the aircraft was falling apart around us.”
Not liking the words of the medic, Gueguen said, “I am in command here, and we stay. We will fight and die, need be, but we will not leave this injured man.”
Looking down at his feet, the medic said, “It was just an option.”
“Not for us.” the Captain said, and then added, “Everyone get into positions, they will soon be near enough to fight.”
The door gunner placed his machine-gun on a log, smoothed the links of bullets out and sat ready to kill. The medic moved off to the left and carried his M-16 as he did so, a cloth bandoleer over his shoulder. Gueguen stayed where he was, right beside the wounded pilot, and he'd operate the second machine-gun.
A point man was now walking straight to them and he was less that a hundred meters away, only he didn't seem concerned about the occupants of the downed aircraft. He must think we have all disappeared and are moving overland at this time. He will be in for a big surprise in just a few more moments, Gueguen thought.
The charging handle on the door gunner's machine-gun was pulled back and the point man stopped. He then dropped to one knee, but he, along with the rest, were out in an open field. He was suspicious now and didn't want to move at all. Knowing they'd not come any closer anytime soon, Gueguen, opened the dance by firing his machine-gun, stitching the point man down the middle. He fell to the pasture screaming, as the line of bullets were moved to the main group. The door gunner was giving short, 4 round spurts, but the French Captain was firing double that, knowing his enemies had to die before they got behind cover.
“Uh, Rescue One, this
is Mad Dog Three, with Four, and we're back.” a familiar voice said suddenly over the radio.
“Mad Dog Three, I have unfriendlies about a hundred meters south of my position. I am currently about fifty meters straight north of the burning aircraft, over.”
“Uh, Rescue One, be advised I have a rescue chopper inbound and they should be over you in approximately five mikes, over.”
“The Landing Zone (LZ) is hot, I repeat, the LZ is hot.”
“Roger that, but get your heads down, because we're both rolling in hot from east to west.”
“Copy, Mad Dog Three, over.” Gueguen said and then yelled, “Everyone down now!”
The jets moved in fast, firing pod mounted Gatlin guns, and they tore the field to hell and back. Horrible shrieks and shouts were heard as the two aircraft pulled up to make another pass. The partisans took to running as soon as the pass was completed. They ran into the trees, west of the chopper.
“Mad Dog, drop what you have left on the trees to our west.”
“Get down, we're dropping napalm.”
Once again the jets came over low, jettisoned the napalm canisters and then pulled up hard, twisting as they climbed. The containers hit the trees, right where Gueguen had seen the partisans enter. Screams were heard, but they were faint.
The men from the chopper screamed with joy as the partisans died.
“Rescue One, this is Rescue Six, over.”
“Go, Six.”
“I'm coming to pick you up, so get ready to move. I will land east of the burning helicopter and need all of you on the aircraft as soon as you can. It's dusk now, so if this attempt doesn't work, you will have to stay where you are overnight.”
“Copy that. Be advised we have a man with maybe a broken back.”
“Can you move him?”
“Roger, we can move him, but may kill him in the attempt.”
“Understand, but we have no choice. When you come, bring him with you.”
“Copy.”
The loud whop-whop-whop of a helicopter was heard as the aircraft neared. All watched by the light of the burning chopper, as their ride home landed in the field. The machine-gunner pointed his weapon towards the trees that were still burning, and began to fire short bursts. The four of them carried the injured pilot to the chopper, pushed him on the aluminum floor and then climbed on the aircraft. As the engine speed increased, Gueguen saw two holes appear in the windshield, heard a scream, and then the chopper began to move in the air. The nose lowered and slowly they gained altitude. A line of holes magically appeared in the floor, just missing the medic working on the pilot. A bullet struck something, bounced down and struck the machine-gunner from the first helicopter in the right thigh, while another zinged and struck the door-gunner standing in the left door in the back. He was held in by a nylon strap, but he was in deep pain as he sat down in his own blood. The medic moved to him and began working. They were with a unit out of Saint Louis, so once high enough, everyone but the aircraft commander relaxed. He had his eyes on his gauges and lights.
