The Fall of America | Book 7 | Airborne

by Benton, W. R.

  I sat as he pulled what I assumed were my records from his drawer and waited as he looked things over. Watch it, because he used your first name, I thought and almost laughed aloud.

  Finally, he said, “I must say, I'm impressed with your record, and think you’re just the man to command my units up north.”

  “Uh, how far up north, sir?”

  “Oregon, Idaho and Washington state regions. All three need a commander and I don't have enough Colonels to go around. I have good men or women running the states now, but they've little experience, really. None have been in the business as long as you have.”

  “Okay, but that's a lot of real estate to be responsible for, sir, and I'm just one man. When did they assign a full bull to your position, sir? I thought a General officer did Senior officer assignments.”

  “I have been selected for my first star.”

  “Congratulations on your promotion, sir, and may you have many more. I'm not sure I want to be reassigned.”

  He gave me a dry smile and said, “I realize that, but it's where you're needed. I see you are prior army and ran a security business prior to the fall. I assume you know weapons used on both sides well by now, right?”

  “My weapon of choice is a Russian Bison, sir.”

  “Let's do away with the formal bullshit, John. From here on out, I'm Bill and you're John, okay? I hate this rank stuff, because the way people die around here a man can go from Private to Full Colonel in a year. The Bison is a good weapon. Do you have all your field gear on hand?”

  “Uh, when do I leave? I have all or most of it, I think, but I've been in the hospital for almost two weeks. It sounds like you needed me there yesterday.”

  He laughed and said, “I did, but I plan to have you dropped in tomorrow night, around midnight or so. Now, these people I'm sending you to are unorganized, under armed, and needing gear. If you think back to your first year with the resistance, well, you have the idea what you'll find. Go over your gear tonight and let me know what you need first thing in the morning.”

  “Crude, huh? I learned a lot over the years, but not as much as I did the first year as a partisan.”

  “I can imagine. I need you to toughen these people up and make them want to fight, even if they lack the means to do so. I suspect there are some moles or spies mixed in with them, so separate the wheat from the chaff. This will not be an easy job, but Headquarters said if you do a good job of this, you'll be wearing a star when you return.”

  I laughed and said, “I don't give a rat's ass about rank in the partisans. I just want to stay alive and, believe it or not, longevity has gotten me promoted to Full Colonel. Most everyone I served with at first are maimed or dead now.”

  “You'll have absolute power and control of those three states, so use it wisely. The Chinese rarely go that far north since there are fewer Russians, but when they do, they always drop supplies. The areas have been clear of any Russian Special Forces, but as you know, that means little.”

  “I've fought Spetsnaz and they're a pain in the ass but good soldiers. I'd say they're better than our Green Berets, but not as good as our SEALS were prior to the fall.”

  “They're good, then. Now, you'll be jumping tomorrow night, weather permitting, at 20,000 feet where you'll free fall to 1,000 feet. At that point your parachute will open and you'll be met on the ground by partisans. The password and counter password are Chuck -Wagon. The man you'll meet is Lieutenant Colonel Bill West.”

  “Will my jump gear be on the bird when I board?”

  “Yep, along with three pallets of beans, bullets and explosives. After you are dropped, the aircraft will make a good dozen fake insertions and in the middle of all that mess a real supply drop will be made. If you have any questions between now and then, let me know.”

  “Sounds easy on this end, and I suspect it's much more difficult on the other. Any concerns you have I need to work on?”

  “Just get them to pulling their fair share and all will be fine. Right now they lack good leadership and a strong leader, so that's where you come into play. Promote anyone you want and demote anyone you want. This would be an assignment a man with a big ego would love, because you're totally the main man in charge.”

  “My ego is small and so are my desires and needs. I'm a simple man who tries my best on any job I'm assigned. Is that it?”

  Standing, Bill said, “If you need me, raise me on the horn but remember the time change. I'll help you all I can, but that won't be much, I'm afraid.”

  I stood from his bed, saluted, and said, “Bill, it'll be nice working for you.”

  A little after midnight, I sat on the orange nylon seats aboard a Chinese C-130 that obviously was purchased prior to the fall. We were flying right at 30,000 feet and the skies were rough that evening. I was bumped all around, but I was the only passenger. I was dressed warmly because it's cold at that altitude, and once I left the aircraft, I'd have no heater.

  I was also wearing an oxygen mask, jump helmet, parachute harness, and two parachutes. One of the parachutes was worn on my back and it was my main chute, 28 feet in diameter, nylon, while the second was attached to me in front, almost at my nipples. It was my emergency, or reserve, parachute. There was a green steel “bottle” of 100% oxygen to allow me to breathe as I fell to opening altitude. A canvas bag filled with gear I'd need for my new job was attached to my harness as well, and once my chute opened, I'd pull a lanyard and let the bag fall below me. It would be the first part of me to touch the ground.

  The pilot on the trip spoke excellent English, and he was discussing the latest weather with me and explained the ground winds were gusting where I was to jump, so he might land the plane and allow me to walk off the rear ramp. It didn't matter to me, no matter how I get on the ground.

  “We have reports of some Russians in the area, but not many. I have radio contact with the partisans and they report all quiet near them. If the wind gusts grow to high, I'll land, push the pallets down the aircraft rails and onto the ground as you walk off. However, I really don't expect that to happen.”

  “It doesn't matter to me, but keep me informed so I know what is going on.”

  “Roger, I'll do that. Our flight time to your jump zone is five hours, so you can eat or sleep if you want, sir.”

  “Understand, but I'm a bit too excited to do either right now.”

  “I understand, and I'll let you know when we're lining up to approach the jump zone.”

  “Copy.”

  As I sat on the seat and gave thought to my jump, I realized it would be my first parachute jump since I was on active duty and that was a couple of years before the fall of America. I was always nervous prior to a jump and felt any sane person should be. I felt there was a difference between being nervous and having a fear of jumping. I respected jumping and knew many things could go wrong, but usually didn't. I allowed my mind to relax and soon fell sleep.

  “Cobra One.” I heard my call sign and woke immediately. I was still on the aircraft, so it had not been a dream after all.

  “Go, Eagle One.”

  “We're about 30 minutes out, sir. The winds are now mild, with no high gusts. The jump is a go, I repeat, you will jump. After dropping you, I will circle around, report your condition and then LAPES the three pallets. You will land on a large field, but recover from your PLF quickly and enter the woods. The partisans will meet you on the west side of the open area.”

  “Copy, they'll meet me on the west side of the field.”

  “Roger that, and now please move to the rear of the aircraft. Once I give you the green light, simply walk off the open ramp. I am lowering the ramp now, too.”

  I heard the ramp opening and it suddenly grew colder. My ears popped as we lost cabin pressure and I could see nothing but darkness outside the ramp. With the help of a loadmaster, I stood and made my way to the wide open ramp.

  Minutes later, the light turned to green. I heard the pilot say, “Go, go, go.”

  I disco
nnected my communications cable, pulled the little green ball near my hip to activate my portable oxygen, and disconnected from the aircraft oxygen system. I then stepped off into the air.

  Chapter 2

  Russian Colonel Senkin Yakovich was squatting on a trail a good two miles from the drop zone, cursing because they'd lost the partisans they'd been following.

  “Do you hear that, sir?” Senior Sergeant Uvarov Victorovich asked, his tone barely more than a whisper.

  “Aircraft! I would guess a good 3 kilometers to our west. You?”

  “Yes, sir, about that distance.”

  “Vadimovna, I want you on point, and head due west quickly. Maybe, if they drop supplies, we can catch them unloading the pallets.”

  “Yes, sir.” the Private said, and took off at a pace just a little faster than a walk. He still had to look for mines and while wearing NVGs, that was hard to do while moving fast.

  They were on a trail which both sides traveled a great deal and where few mines were ever planted, by either side, in the conflict so far. The Russians had only been active in the three states for a couple of years and they rarely left their bases. The Russian Colonel was hoping to leave America with a line number for General. Most of the enlisted men just wanted to leave alive and healthy.

  The first two kilometers were covered quickly and the aircraft engines were still heard. They continued at a fast pace. Then, suddenly, there was a huge explosion, a sheet of narrow flame moved for the sky and Private Vadimovna simply disappeared, replaced by a red mist of blood.

  “Mine!” the Senior Sergeant yelled. As he glanced around, all he could see of the Private was part of one foot laying beside a shallow hole in the trail. Smoke filled the air.

  “Private Igorievna, take point.”

  “Y . . . yes, sir.” The Private moved forward because the order was lawful and he wouldn't dare speak his thoughts. He was sure if the Colonel knew how crazy he thought the point job was, he'd shoot the big Private.

  Igorievna was six feet and six inches tall, 220 pounds of solid muscle, and his closely cropped hair was brown. He was cleanly shaven and an intelligent young man, with a year at a university behind him in Engineering. His pale blue eyes reflected his intelligence and his white even teeth were seen often in a big friendly smile.

  He wasn't currently smiling, but sweating, as he marked three more mines. He was nearing a field now and expected to run into the partisans at any second. He'd not been on point an hour yet and his nerves were shot. He noticed he was shaking as he took his Bison into his hands and stopped cradling it. By God, I may die, but I will take some Americans with me, he thought as he spotted movement ahead. He held his right hand up, his fist balled, to indicate danger.

  The Senior Sergeant was quickly by his side. A minute or so later, the Sergeant motioned for the Colonel to come up.

  The Colonel appeared, looked the area over, and then returned to the unit.

  “Radio.” the man whispered.

  As the radioman moved forward, the Colonel pulled out a poncho and flashlight. Pulling out his maps, the Colonel covered his head with the poncho, turned the flashlight on underneath it and, using the radio, reported the Americans position. Once the position coordinates were repeated, he requested artillery be fired at the Americans. His request was granted with the first round being white phosphorus to help him see where the explosives were falling.

  The first round was was too short and fell behind the Russian Company, bringing murmurs of anger and prayer. They adjusted and fired once more.

  This time the round landed right in the middle of the field so the Colonel moved the next rounds to the west a bit and then said, “Fire for effect.”

  The loud cracks and whistles of falling artillery was loud and most of the men were on the ground, as flat as they could get, because in training they always had a faulty shell land short. This time was no different and it just barely missed the Russian company as it exploded, sending rocks and dirt high into the air.

  “Medic!” someone in the group screamed, and their tone was of fear.

  “I am coming.” 'Doc' Yakovna, a Junior Sergeant and their medic, yelled to be heard over the shells.

  When Doc neared, a Private was seen through his NVGs on the ground and his chest was covered in blood. His whole body was shivering as if cold and the temperature was near 21.1 Celsius.

  The Private kept saying over and over, “I do not want to die.”

  “You are in no danger of dying, unless you do not lay still and let me bandage you. Keep moving like a fish out of water and I might kill you out of frustration. Now, be still.”

  The medic quickly administered morphine and after a few seconds, the shaking slowed and then stopped. Using a permanent marker, he placed a huge M with the date and time on the patient’s forehead. He then cut the front of his bloody shirt open, saw a single jagged puncture wound and rolling the man over, saw the exit wound. He pulled out his pea green bandages and gauze that he'd use to slow the bleeding.

  Minutes later, the medic stood, walked to the Colonel and said, “Sir, we have one man wounded by the artillery, but it is not life threatening.”

  “Can he move?”

  “Yes, sir, but not under his own power. Struck in the left side of the chest and missed his lungs. He is not hurt as badly as he thinks he is and if he were a stronger man, mentally, he could get up and walk.”

  “Sergeant, prepare the men to attack the pallets just as soon as the shelling stops.”

  “Yes, sir.” He left to inform the drawn out line behind them.

  Once they were informed, he'd move them into position, and have them ready to attack as soon as the last shell struck. He knew many were frightened since it would be their first combat, but he thought this would be a limited and quick engagement. The partisans would run, as usual, and the Russians would claim what was still on the pallets as their own. Two hours from now he'd be back in his tent drinking vodka.

  “Three more rounds will fall, Senior Sergeant.” the Colonel said, and then pulled his pistol from his holster. He made sure a round was in the chamber and then smiled. Fighting the resistance was like fighting kids, or so he thought. However, in the past they'd not had the gear or supplies for a sustained fight so the Russians had only experienced hit and run. Soon, the length of the fights would change.

  “One more shell.” Yakovich said as he looked at his watch, 0100 hours.

  The last shell struck and lit up the night as it exploded. When the noise of the shelling ceased, it became surprisingly quiet and still. Using his NVGs the Colonel saw the partisans on the field and yelled, “Attack, now! Onto the field!”

  Almost 100 Russians attacked less than thirty American partisans and this time the resistance wasn't going to leave until the pallets were clean.

  A machine gun began a tat-tat-tat from the woods and Russians fell. Then another one opened up on the opposite side of the field with deadly accuracy. Explosions followed with screams and rifle shots as the stillness of the night was shattered by full blown combat. A Russian RPG zipped through the air, struck close to the machine gun in the woods sending the dead crew tumbling, and it grew quiet. Minutes later, with a new gang in place, the gun started once more.

  “Uh, Base, this is Tolstoy One Actual and I am currently pinned down by an unknown number of Americans. What do you have to assist me at this time?”

  “Wait Tolstoy.”

  “Roger.”

  A minute later, “Colonel, this is Base Actual, what is going on? Did you run into some boy scouts tonight?” The man at base heard the firing but didn't believe it. Usually partisans ran.

  “Sir, I am losing men and we are pinned down. If nothing else, drop some smoke by artillery and I will withdraw.”

  “Smoke on the way, and I want to see you immediately when you return. Do you understand me?”

  “I fully understand and look forward to the meeting.”

  “Six smoke shells on the way, uh, now!”

&n
bsp; “Copy and Tolstoy out.”

  “Senior Sergeant!” He yelled to be heard over two machine guns and who knew how many small arms firing.

  “Yo!”

  “When the first shell hits, we pull back into the woods and return to base.”

  “What? Just like that, sir?”

  “Those are our orders.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When the smoke shell hit, the Russians fought an orderly retreat to the woods, and then gave first aid to their troops. Once the injured were treated, they started the long walk back to the highway where trucks waited for them. Unless the trucks were attacked; then they had a long walk home.

  As they moved, the Sergeant said, “Sir, we have ten dead, twelve wounded, three seriously enough they are on stretchers.”

  “Headquarters did not believe the partisans were fighting for a change. In the past, they have always avoided contact.”

  “There must have been something on the pallets they wanted badly, sir. But what?”

  “I have no idea, Senior Sergeant, but I suspect our enemy has changed and is more aggressive. Something they got their hands on tonight has changed how we fight a war here from now on and we can expect wounded and dead. I have been here six months and never had ten men killed in one mission before.”

  “If the trucks are gone, you will have more dead, sir. Those on the stretchers are seriously wounded.”

  The Colonel shrugged and kept walking.

  They found the trucks waiting and they were never in any danger. They'd heard the firefight and knew their comrades were in combat, but they were guards and drivers, not infantry men. Some of their eyes grew large when the ten bodies were placed in the back of a truck and the stretchers with the seriously wounded were loaded. Even the walking wounded attracted attention, because it was unusual for a Russian unit to experience a bloodying as these men and women had. It made most of the drivers realize a person could get killed in this country.