“Sir, do you realize the time?”
“Get them up and get their asses in the air! Do it now, and this is a direct order.”
“Yes, sir! I will also put the base on standby in the event the dam goes.”
“Get a move on, because the dam is about to be overrun by the resistance!”
Less than 30 minutes later aircraft were hitting the partisans, who'd managed to crack the base of the dam using explosives but it was in no danger of bursting. The more effective aircraft were those loaded with machine guns, cannon, or 20 mm rounds. The damn was saved, but it was close. Once the resistance broke and ran, three fixed wing aircraft had a field day dropping napalm, 500 pound bombs, and hitting them with Gatling gun fire and cannons.
Colonel Senkin Yakovich returned to base with the first helicopter, thinking rightly that he'd be needed more on the base.
He'd no sooner walked in his office and poured a cup of tea, than his receptionist said, “Colonel, Moscow on line two, sir. It is a General Yurkov Rustem Geogiy, sir.”
Growing nervous, the Colonel opened his top right drawer, pulled out a half-pint of vodka and broke the seal to open it. He then downed the whole bottle and tossed the empty in his trash can. He picked up the phone and said, “Colonel Senkin Yakovich speaking, sir.”
“Senkin! Good to hear your voice again. We were just talking about you at a staff meeting earlier, and everyone was wondering why your quiet little place in the woods was suddenly seeing combat and experiencing losses. I explained that it was very likely you had turned on the resistance and were taking the battle to them. We all knew the area was passive and none of our commanders assigned there in the past had been aggressive. I told them it was about time the place entered the war and it was a shame none of the previous commanders had done anything. I am proud of you, and you will have a place on my staff when you return home. Try to keep your losses low, but go get them, tiger!”
“Uh, oh, thank you, sir. It took me a while to find them, but I decided it was time an assignment here was no longer a vacation. From now on, you can count on us to be an active part of our war.”
“You keep this up and there will be a star for you when you leave there, understood?”
“Yes, sir. I just got back from an attack site where one of our roadblocks was destroyed. Some of our forces are inexperienced and we lost a tank and a helicopter. While there, the partisans attacked a hydro-dam and so far our body count is over 100 members of the resistance killed. We only killed around a dozen when the roadblock was attacked.”
“When small outposts are attacked we rarely win, because they overrun our troops or catch them sleeping. But, see, when they attack us in mass, they die by the dozens. You have made them pay just by their number of dead at the dam. Excellent work, Senkin.”
“Thank you, sir.” The Colonel was overwhelmed and had fully expected an ass-chewing. I am very surprised they think I started the killing here. That is good if it will get me a star before I retire. A General is treated very well in Moscow, even a junior one.
“I know you will need more of most things now that you have taken the war to the Americans, so have your supply and manpower folks send in requests for what you need.”
“Sir, I desperately need some air support for my ground troops.”
“I will see all your bases have at least a squadron of fighter jets and a squadron of attack helicopters. Then I will add some search and rescue helicopters for you and your base, and I will see you get some bombers as well. Finally, someone got off their asses up north and took the fight to the enemy! I will see to a medal or two for you immediately, Senkin, and a well deserved one. You are proving to be the kind of man I always thought you were. I have another meeting now, but expect the aircraft to start arriving at your bases any day after today. I will get all you need to you as quickly as I can. Good bye and take care.”
The line went dead.
Unknowingly the Colonel was smiling, so he picked up the phone and said, “Sergeant, I think it is time you wrote a couple of messages for me to headquarters. Do you feel up to it this fine day? If so, come to my office now.”
His secretary smiled, because writing messages was a code they used to have sex. When he wanted her, he needed a message written. When she wanted him, she asked if he had any messages he needed written. Their affair was normal in most Russian units, and it assured her of a very fast promotion, and kept the Commander in a good mood. Besides that, she enjoyed it and it helped her assignment pass smoother and quicker.
Master Sergeant Asmik Yeva ran bent over from the helicopter to the edge of the trees, where he squatted and scanned the countryside. He saw nothing out of place. He was soon joined by eleven other men and women in the forest. Once all were together, he used hand signals to get them up and moving west, toward their intended target. The helicopter would fake a good half dozen more insertions and then return home.
Yeva had a man on point and a woman bringing up the rear on drag. His unit was made of all combat veterans, none with less that five years of service, two combat tours behind them, and most spoke some English. Speaking English was optional but speaking the language assured the soldier a spot on the team.
They moved until darkness, seeing nothing and hearing even less. The people on point and drag changed every hour to allow fresh eyes to blaze the way. While he'd not encountered it here yet, not in Washington state, most partisans areas were heavily mined. So far they'd seen no mines, except back at the dam where most bodies were booby trapped. His primary task right now was to discover the tracks of those who'd attacked the dam and then follow them back to their base camp. From there, he would get air support.
“Base, Tiger One.” Yeva spoke into his radio.
“Go, Tiger One.”
“We are stopped for the night. We had a quiet day with no contact. We are located . . .” as he spoke his people dropped their heavy packs, most weighed well over 20 kilos, and rubbed sore muscles. When they did get to sleep this day, they'd sleep well. After packing a heavy pack all day, no one had insomnia.
Green frogs were opened and meals consumed. Yeva smiled as he watched his people trade parts of the rations they didn't like with others. Some disliked the jellies, others the pate, and some the small tins of sardines. Most disliked the small fish because they added a strong scent to any temporary camp or location. The smell of fish was overpowering at times. The fools, Yeva had once said, making the foods never realized troops could also be smelled. He personally avoided the fish, but most of the meal was satisfactory. He usually tossed the tins of sardines or gave them to someone else. He liked the cheese and crackers, along with the tins of soup or stew. The goulash was tasty as well, if eaten with a few crackers.
“Corporal Afanasievich, after you eat, see some mines ring us and place a command detonated mine near the trail. Then, relieve a guard so he can eat. We will sleep back to back this evening and in a circle. Have your NVGs on and wear them as you sleep. Questions?”
Silence.
“Good, once you eat, see to your gear and equipment.”
The evening passed quickly, but at 2000 hours they all moved to the sleeping circle. Guard would be pulled from the circle and no one, for any reason, would leave or break the circle. If they had to pee or poop, they stayed in the circle. Each of them had peed their pants rather than break the circle in the past and they'd do it again. They were on fifty percent watch, which meant every other person in the circle was awake at all times. Unlike other units, his people stayed awake. They knew if he caught them sleeping they'd, at the least, end up with a court martial, and sleeping in a combat zone could get a soldier shot for not following orders. The biggest reason they didn't sleep was because sleeping was a good way to get killed.
Near midnight, an elbow touched Yeva and he opened his eyes without moving. A lone partisan was seen approaching and, while he was good, it's almost impossible to spot someone sitting absolutely still while wearing camouflage from head to toe. He walke
d by them. The circle broke after the point man passed, with each troop now laid out in a line, facing the trail.
Minutes later a squad of ten was seen by the pale green light moving down the trail toward them. Yeva waited until the group was right in front of the command detonating mine and then squeezed the clacker. A huge explosion filled the cool night air and loud screams followed the blast. All of the Americans were down and none seemed to be well enough to stand or offer any resistance, so now they'd wait.
Ten minutes later the point man was seen returning and Yeva thought, You had a chance to live, but now we will kill you. Why did you return to your comrades? Now you will die.
The Master Sergeant swung his Bison toward the man and squeezed the trigger. Bullets went through him and zinged off into space as they struck rocks, trees and other objects at an angle. The sub-machine gun stitched the poor point man right down the middle of his body and he was dead before he struck the ground.
Again they waited. Finally, they moved back into a circle and waited for daylight.
Morning was cold, but not overly so, and they moved forward as a team to check last nights kill. The mine had torn off limbs and blown ball bearing sized steel balls through meat and bone. All were dead, but one was found where he had crawled to some brush and bled to death. The man shot by Master Sergeant Yeva was torn to pieces and laying in a pool of blood.
Taking the radio, he said, “Base, Tiger One, over.”
“Go Tiger.”
“I have fourteen partisan KIA. Repeat, one-four, killed-in-action partisans. No casualties on my side, over.”
“Copy, partisans 14 and the Russians zero.”
“Affirmative, Base. I am continuing my mission, over.”
“Copy. Base out.”
He clicked the mic button twice to let them know he got their last message.
“Eat, and we need to be moving. Sooner or later, someone will miss this squad of Americans.”
The day grew warm after the sun was up fully and by noon they were sweating under the weight of their packs. They were deep in the forests now and very much alone. At times the radio wouldn't work and each knew it was the mountains and atmosphere that caused the problems. On they moved.
More than once they heard aircraft near and usually it was a helicopter. Once a jet said hello on the radio and then left them. Birds were chirping and all the day sounds were there.
“Do you hear that noise?” Junior Sergeant Irisa Pavla asked near dusk.
“No, what do you hear?” Yeva asked.
“Someone is chopping wood.”
“Which direction from here?”
“Uh, north by west.” Private Lerka said. He'd once been a Senior Sergeant but the Russian army disliked when he'd get drunk and wanted to fight. Most of the time he was a quiet man, unless full of drink; then he wanted to fight.
“How far do you think? I still cannot hear it.”
Lerka and Pavla looked at each other and then the Sergeant said, “Hard to say, but maybe a half a kilometer, but that is a wild guess.”
“Let us go and find this man who chops wood and see what we have.”
Less than two kilometers later, a member of the resistance was seen chopping wood in a small densely wooded area. It was almost choked by underbrush and tall grasses. Off a short distance a lone log cabin was seen. As one man worked on the wood, two others stood guard.
The small Russian team melted into the woods to spend the next day watching the partisans, if they could survive the night. Once again they formed a circle after they'd eaten. The night passed slowly, but partisans were seen and heard moving through all night. One large group, made up of over 40 men and women, passed a couple of hours before dawn and they were seen moving supplies and gear. This gear was being moved on animals, bicycles, and small two wheeled carts, using wheels from damaged bicycles.
Yeva picked up the radio and called his position in. At first the base wanted to use artillery, but the Sergeant didn't like the idea because then the partisans would know someone was in the area watching them, and correcting fire. Instead, anything that could fly would strike the area, then artillery would be used, after the aircraft left.
Chapter 7
I was up before dawn and my squad was out of the house before sunup. The house was a huge barn turned into a hunting lodge the partisans now used as a supply storage facility and safe house. It had never been attacked since the war started. We'd spent the night there, sleeping on cots. We were about a hundred yards away, filling our canteens with treated water from a huge metal container. Ten minutes later as we discussed the days mission, a loud scream of a diving jet was heard, two missiles were fired and the country cottage went up in flames. It was a flight of three and each struck near the house with missiles.
Each aircraft banked softly to the left after striking the house so by the time the second aircraft banked, I had a Russian missile out and was tracking the last aircraft. As the plane went into his gentle turn, I squeezed the trigger. One of the other aircraft must have seen my missile or the aircraft warning system lit up, because the aircraft went into a steep nose up and power was applied. The missile adjusted accordingly and was seen closing in on the jet. Chaff was dispensed, and I must admit, it looked beautiful as all the burning munitions fell from the ass of the aircraft to act as a decoy, but it didn't work. The missile flew right up the tailpipe of the jet and then exploded.
A parachute was seen to fully blossom and begin a gentle floating drift to the ground as a sebaceous fireball fell into the trees. Partisans were seen running in all directions and I knew why. The two surviving aircraft were lining up for another pass. I prayed the pilots didn't have napalm, but as I watched, a container fell from the two, who were attacking side by side this time. The containers tumbled through the air and when they hit the ground, the entire house was struck by the burning flames. I knew anyone inside was dead.
Small arms were heard firing and the last jet began to smoke a little and pulled up. Then, going around, they both made one more attack using cannons this time. Small secondary explosions were heard and then as the aircraft left the area, the crackling and popping of the flames were clearly heard. The screams of the injured filled the early morning air and I could see hundreds of dead resistance fighters. I immediately sent my medic to gather up folks to help him gather the wounded and establish a triage so the most seriously wounded could be treated first. Those with no hope, would be given morphine and set aside.
Three partisans appeared with the captured Russian pilot.
He looked like hell, and getting out of the aircraft had caused him some injury. His left arm was broken, he had a cut down his left thigh, and his eyes were red from the g-forces he used to try and lose the missile and his high speed ejection.
I called for Igor, our Russian speaking partisan and a medic. As we waited I had him checked for weapons and all they found, since they'd already taken his pistol, was a pocket knife. I motioned for him to sit on a huge rock.
Huge reddish black fireballs were reaching for the sky near the barn and behind it. There must have been some fuel and munitions stored there. As the fire raged, blasts were heard as one thing or the other exploded. The fireballs would roll inside themselves with each new explosion.
The medic and Igor arrived at the same time, so as the man was treated the medic asked questions through our man. The cut to his left thigh was deep and while the medic wanted to treat him now, I made him wait.
“Bandage him for now and you can sew him up in a bit.”
I turned to Igor and said, “Ask him his name and rank.”
I heard the words thrown around but they meant nothing to me.
“He is Junior Lieutenant Damir Sasha Joravitch and he demands he be given medical treatment.”
“He will be, once he's answered a few questions.”
“Tell him I am Colonel John Williamson and I am the senior officer for the partisans. It would not be smart for him to piss me off.”
> “He agrees, but he is in pain.”
“I understand. Tell him, we do not have a prison for him or a gulag, so . . .” I pulled my pistol.
“Wait, he will answer all your questions.”
An hour later I knew more than I'd asked. He was willing to talk so I turned him over to a Major Smyth that ran my intelligence section with the words, “If he gets killed escaping, or if you execute him, I'll see all of you hang for murder. I think we can trade him for some of our people.”
“Now, Colonel, do you think we're killers?”
“You heard me, Smyth, and I mean it. I want him fed the same exact food you eat and the same amount. When you drink water, I want water available to him too. I don't want to hear he's being mistreated.”
“Where am I to lock him up?”
“Lock him to a tree if you have to do the job, but you'll eventually find a place to keep him. If it looks like the Russians are about to overrun your position, then and only then do you have my permission to kill him. They must not get him back, unless they trade with me.”
“John, you know me better than this. I'll follow orders as given.”
“See your men do as well. Sometimes pilots get treated rougher than most.”
“Well, you can't bomb someone and not expect them to be pissed off when you bail out over them and land in their lap. Of course the fliers are often murdered on the spot.” he replied and then rattled off some Russian to the pilot. Smiling, Smyth said, “I told him to come with me, I had him a new home and treatment for his leg. You know how to reach me if you need me, sir.”
“Did he know anything we needed?” Sergeant Cummings asked.
“No, not really. He's just a Junior Lieutenant so I don't expect him to know much and nothing of importance. Smyth will try talking to him in the coming days and if nothing else, we'll get general information about the base that might come in handy.”
The Fall of America | Book 7 | Airborne Page 7
