“From now on, you will engage the enemy at all times you think you can win a battle. If you encounter a tank on a mission take it out, if you can do so with little loss to your unit. Always weigh your possible losses before any fight you start, and then decide. The idea is to bleed the Russians dry with seemingly small fights that eat up troops, supplies, and resources in the long run. Tanks, choppers, aircraft, and other high cost items should be attacked if found isolated or vulnerable. Make your presence known when you can. If you don't and I hear you passed up the chance to do so, I will have your ass replaced. I want fighters in this unit and if you have a problem with what I want, see me after this meeting.”
I met the eyes of every man and woman in the place and then said, “I want my intelligence folks working 24/7 looking for targets, and I want us out daily looking around and stirring up trouble with the Russians. I want snipers sent to areas near the Russian bases and I want them to start killing. I want hits on rail lines, airports, convoys, and even Russian bases. I want us to keep the Russians on their toes wondering where and when we'll hit next. I want strikes on isolated roadblocks, supply depots, and other places where just a few men would be assigned. I want to instill a great fear in our enemy and to the point they are afraid of the dark and to be left alone. If you feel you can't do this, then I don't want you in our unit. Any questions?”
“When is this to start, sir?”
“Right this minute.”
Silence.
I said, “Dismissed.”
A Sergeant Major yelled out, “Ten-hooouuut!”
“As you were.” I said as I left the room.
I was in my quarters a few hours later after supper, when I heard a knock on a tent pole. I walked to the door flap, opened it and found a middle aged Sergeant Major.
“Evenin', Sergeant Major.” I said.
“Evening, sir. I think I know you, but cannot remember from where.” he said.
“Come on in then, because I have a quart of good bourbon that will likely help you remember.”
He laughed and entered.
“Let me pour the drinks, Sergeant Major, as you take the only chair. I'll sit on my bed.”
Extending his hand, the man said, “I'm Gordon N. Byrd, Sergeant Major, and I'm your senior ranking enlisted man. I know you, but can't put your face to a place or date.”
Grinning, I said, “Come on Birdie, you can still jump from a perfectly good airplane, can't you?” I remembered Private 'Birdie' Byrd from Fort Benning, Georgia, and Jump school.
He smiled and said, “Sumbitch, jump school! I didn't have any officers in my class.”
“I was an E4 at the time. I'm a mustang and I tend to run things with an enlisted flair, which means either shit or get off the pot. I'm looking for men and women who want and will do any job assigned to them, or at least make an effort.”
“Damn me, are you the same John that ran with Mark Jones and his men?”
“The same. Look, that was a lot of years ago and both of us are older now, but when with me privately, drop the formal bullshit and I'm just John. Life is rough enough and I'm sure after a few weeks, I'll have few friends here. It looks to me like nothing is being done to hurt the Russians.”
I handed him a bourbon and he took a sip. He met my eyes and said, “I brought this up over three years ago and everyone told me to sit down and stop rocking the boat. You'll find few of our officers have any real backbone.”
“Then, I'll get rid of them, one at time. Did they expect the rest of the states to do all the fighting for them? If we can tie the Russians up all over the states, they'll be hard pressed to handle it all that well.”
“John, they were waiting for it to end, but I know as well as you do the end is not even close.”
“Well, I had a female Captain bring me here, and she's good. I don't know about how mean she is or if she's command material, but she damned sure had her troops under tight control.”
“That had to be Captain Cynthia Morgan, and she's good. I'd rate her right behind Carla Simmons and she's the best we have, male or female. Both are go-getters and run their commands as professionals. As a matter of fact, Morgan was just chewed out for taking on a Russian road block and killing four of them. Hall told her she was taking excessive risks.”
I took a gulp of my drink, enjoyed the way it burned all the way to my stomach, and then asked, “What was her response?”
“She told him bullshit, and it was in the middle of the night and all the Russians were sleeping on guard. She said only a fool would have passed it up. Hall then made it a requirement for all attacks to be requested by radio first. I can tell you right now, not a single request has been approved since then.”
“I'll soon change that. Birdie, I want you to take over the other half of my quarters and set your office up in there. From now on, you are the Command Sergeant Major and work only for me. I'll keep your ass busy, too. I think in the morning, at stand up, I'll turn honest on Major Hall and see how well he handles a good old fashioned ass chewing.”
“He's a good man, really, but a poor leader. Don't be surprised in the morning if he doesn't start crying.”
I took another gulp of my drink and said, “If he does, I'll remove him immediately. I want a list of those officers you think we should watch for promotions to leadership roles and those who aren't worth a shit. We'll play this by ear and give each man or woman an even chance. But, to be clear, I'm looking for men and women who'll be aggressive and maybe fit the old airborne mold we had.”
“I hear you, sir.”
“In the meantime, find me a person who is not medically qualified to go into the field to be my admin Sergeant. I want all able bodies in the field. If you can find me a trooper with a permanent disability that would be best, because I don't want them rotating in and out of here every few months.”
“I'll do that. Listen, I need to make my rounds and inform Major Hall I am not long to be his to work with. He'll have no idea that you and I have known each other for years and let's keep it that way.”
I tossed the remainder of the bottle to him and said, “Enjoy. I'll see you in the morning for stand up and pass the word, I want everyone there and on time. Remind them, it starts at 0800, not at 0801.”
He laughed and left after a quick salute.
At 0800 the next morning, Birdie called the room to attention and I entered. The tent was full this time, so I had an inner chuckle. The word was out that I played few games.
“Be seated.” I said as I walked to the table near the west side of the tent. I sat in the head chair and said, “Who is first?”
When all were done, I had a basic understanding of how well we were operating, our personnel status, and any supply issues we might be facing. Out of the blue, I asked, “How many missions did the three states run last night, Major Hall?”
The meeting was called stand up, because when the boss asked a question you stood up to answer him. Hall stood and I could see he was at a loss for words.
“Well?” I asked, “How many?”
“Uh, none, sir.”
“None!” I shouted, “And why not? Give me one good reason no missions were ran?”
“No orders, sir.”
I actually laughed, but didn't mean to respond at all. Once I was sober again, I said, “By God, Major, I want missions scheduled around the clock seven days a week. Allow down time for the troops, but otherwise, keep them all gainfully employed. No more sitting on your asses as others in the United States fight and die for us. We will, from this moment on, contribute our fair share of dead Russians. Am I making myself perfectly clear to you, Major?”
The man lowered his head and nodded. He actually nodded in response.
“By God, I asked you a question, Major, and you will answer me.”
I heard a meek, “Yes, sir.”
“I can't hear you!”
“Yes, sir.” he said, and it was still not loud enough.
“Major, do you think you can do your
job?”
“Yes, sir.” Same tone as before.
“Then answer me like a man and shout it out like a proper soldier.”
His face turned crimson and I caught him looking at his boots.
I stood, looked around the room and said, “Major Hall, you are hereby relieved of all duties and responsibilities until I can order a thorough investigation into the lack of military effort by this unit. If warranted, a court martial will be held. You are confined to your quarters until further notice and Captain Cynthia Morgan is your replacement. If Captain Morgan cannot do the job, I'll fire her too.”
You could have heard a pin drop in that tent.
After a minute or two I said, “Sergeant Major, please find three sergeants to escort the Major to his quarters. They'll remain there and guard him. He will be allowed all we can provide that is guaranteed under the UCMJ. He will be addressed as sir, Major, or Major Hall. He will not be addressed as prisoner because he has not been convicted. At this time he is considered innocent of any charges I may bring against him in the future. Until a court martial conviction he is still a Major in the United States Partisans.”
After Hall left, I looked around the room and said, “I will deal harshly with cowards or those who fail to take the initiative against our enemy. We are not here to duck out of the war. We are here to kill our country’s invaders and by God, kill them we will do.”
I stood and said, “Dismissed.”
I met Birdie's eyes and saw the humor. At the cost of one man with no spine, I now had me a unit I could form into something. Exactly what remained to be seen, but it was a damned good start and I was pleased.
Chapter 4
The Russians spent some time looking at satellite images of the area and overlooked the partisan camouflaged tents a number of times. As a result, they called in a few artillery strikes deep in the forest and called in bogus body counts. Calls were made, recommendations for medals sent forward, promotions handed out, and all was well in the tri-state area.
Full Colonel Igor Romanovna 's work day was done and he looked forward to an evening with his American mistress and a bottle of premium vodka. He worked as one of the many Full Colonels at the headquarters building and his job was the chief of partisan re-education. In reality, he ran the almost empty gulags for Mother Russia in all three states. Since the Americans had not resisted the Russian invasion much, not in the northwest anyway, little action was taken by the military against civilians. The resistance was a joke so things were quiet, and the Colonel loved his assignment. Besides his lover, he did a lot of trout fishing in the mountains.
He stepped outside and, just as he put his hat on, he felt a hard blow to his chest, center mass. Looking down as he fell, he saw blood on his jacket and knew he'd just been shot, but who would shoot him? He hit the concrete steps hard and the air was knocked out of him.
A Major neared, squatted and asked, “Are you okay, sir? I see blood on your tunic. Were you hurt when you fell, sir?”
Folks began to gather around as the Colonel laid whimpering in pain. Before anyone else could speak, four more people fell, all over the rank of Captain. The Major was the last to fall and he was struck by the sniper right between the eyes and at 500 yards. His spotter thought it was a fluke shot and whispered as much.
Finally, a Russian Sergeant on his third tour in war torn America yelled, “Sniper!”
Three more officers fell screaming and bleeding before they fully understood they were in danger. Folks scattered, and a couple of squads of Russian infantry moved from the base looking for a lone sniper.
Colonel Yakovich was briefed and exploded in rage.
“You mean to stand there, Major, as my chief of security and tell me eight Russian officers were killed, four more were so severely injured they are being returned to Russia, and two had light injuries and not one American died? How did this happen!”
“A sniper.”
“Sniper? Surely you jest? This is one of the oldest Russian air bases in the United States and we have never been under sniper fire before!”
“Well, we were today. Our people were so lax, they thought the first few victims were clumsy and tripped on the steps to headquarters. It was a sharp eyed veteran Sergeant that brought the sniper to our attention.”
“This sniper is dead now, right?”
“Uh, no sir. No American died.”
“And, why not?”
“Uh, he has not been found yet, sir, but we will get him.”
“We must make an example of him.”
“I fully understand, sir, and we will.”
Less than a mile from the conversation in the colonel's office, Senior Sergeant Victorovich was cursing as he made his way in a run between trees. As he moved, the man beside him suddenly jerked to the left and fell, the hole in his back big enough to stick a hand in. The sniper had been located but was in no way boxed in or trapped. He already had four dead and two wounded.
Pulling the handset for the radio, the Sergeant said, “Mission support, I am requesting artillery.”
“Wait one, Blue Three.”
A good minute passed and then, “Uh, Blue Three, you are after a sniper, correct?”
“Affirmative.”
“Uh, Blue Three, Guns Five denied the mission. He will not spend the money the shells cost to take out a sniper.”
“I have people dying out here! Get your damned junior grade officer on this radio and do the job now!”
“Copy, Uh, Blue Three, wait one.”
Sergeant Yurievich neared and said, “Cancel the fire mission.”
“Cancel? Why?”
“The sniper is gone.”
“How do you know this?”
“I am standing beside you and in the open, right? Cancel the fire mission.”
“Uh, Guns, cancel the mission.”
“Roger that, mission request canceled.”
“The old man is going to be so pissed the sniper got away.” Sergeant Yurievich said.
“I have been here 18 months and this was the first time I have heard a shot fired in anger on the base. He has little to complain about.”
“Let us load up our dead and wounded and return to the base.” the Senior Sergeant said. He was tired and frustrated. His troops lacked good training, most had no idea how to remove a sniper, and while they tried, they lacked the knowledge. Some of that was his fault, because like everyone else, he never expected snipers to shoot at the base. They'd been living with a false sense of security and now that feeling was gone, replaced by fear.
The walk back to the base, carrying the dead on stretchers, was a sober affair and when they crossed onto the base at the entry control point, everyone knew the sniper was not under one of those ponchos. The walk to the unit was short, but once there he had the dead on a truck so Sergeant Yurievich could take the bodies to Mortuary Affairs, as he went to speak with the old man.
Walking down the hallway he caught sight of himself in the mirrors at times and he was filthy, covered with dirt, stains and blood. He wondered if he should shower first, and then decided to hell with it and made his way into the Commander’s office. The receptionist looked up, twisted her nose and asked, “How may I help you?”
Not in the mood to play, Victorovich met her eyes and said, “How may I help you, Senior Sergeant Victorovich? You know who I am.”
He continued to stare until she said, “How may I help you, Senior Sergeant Victorovich?”
“I wish to report my after mission results to the Commander. See if he has time for me and do the job now, Junior Sergeant.” he said and thought, I bet you think you are special because you sleep with the old man once in a while. Hell, the whole base knows. I am surprised he has not promoted you to Master Sergeant by now.
She got up, left the room, and then returned a few minutes later and said, “You may go in now, Senior Sergeant.”
He walked to about three feet in front of the Colonel's desk, snapped to attention, saluted and said, “Senior Se
rgeant Victorovich reporting, sir. The sniper was not killed, but I did suffer four more dead. Additionally, I have some wounded, but they will all recover. My troops are hardly trained, sir, and part of that problem is mine.”
“You mean to stand there and tell me one sniper, just one man, a peasant American farmer or cowboy, killed over fourteen Russian soldiers and sent even more to the hospital? One man did all of this?”
“No, sir, there were two Americans. One was the sniper and other man was his spotter.”
“Seven lives per man is good, huh? And, they still are free to kill again in the morning.”
“Starting tomorrow I will begin to train my people to be smarter and deadlier in the field, sir. Something has changed here, sir. I am not sure why, but I feel our days are about to take a turn and they will be rougher in the future.”
The Colonel waved his hand as if the man was crazy and then asked, “Why should today be different that yesterday?”
“I have no idea, sir, but check with your intelligence section. Surely they must have had some hint a sniper was near, or some kind of attack was due, or was he sent out just to get us stirred up? Sort of a lone wolf attack.”
“I think if there is one team of snipers, then there are others as well.” He picked up the phone, dialed the number to his police and said, “Ivan, Senkin here. Fine. Listen, starting tonight, I want patrols inside and outside the base at all times. I realize it will stretch your manpower, but we took a good dozen or more dead today from a lone sniper. If needed, round up some cooks and bakers to man the gates and other places on base. I do not want my personnel on base too scared to leave their quarters to walk to work.”
The Colonel listened for a minute and then said, “Consider it an order and make it happen. I have bodies now and Moscow will have questions. Cover your ass, Colonel, and get people in the field, and do the damned job now. Goodbye.”
“Sergeant, give me my Intel Section.” He yelled out.
The Fall of America | Book 7 | Airborne Page 4
