The Fall of America | Book 7 | Airborne

by Benton, W. R.

  “Uh, Taxi Six, this is Bobcat One, how was that?”

  “Took the pressure off of me, thank you.”

  Master Sergeant Asmik was looking at the ground coming up when a piece of aluminum from the engine cover fell to the earth. It flew by his face and was soon lost from sight. The smoke grew darker and the pilot said, “Uh, Master Sergeant, you and your men get out now.”

  “Negative, sir, we have heavy packs on, and to jump from here will seriously injure some of us. We need to be closer to the ground.”

  Downward they continued.

  “I am still here if you need me.” Bobcat One said.

  Just as they landed, machine gun fire struck the windshield moving from left to right. The co-pilot screamed and a bloody mist filled the cargo bay to mix with the smoke. Asmik failed to see it, because he and his troops had already cleared the aircraft and were running for cover away from the helicopters. Smoke filled the bird and the left side machine gunner started to exit the aircraft unbuckling his strap, but before he could move he took three rounds in the chest. He fell dead, right beside his big gun mounted on the helicopter. His body twisted and turned in his death throes.

  The chopper was in flames now; the engine throwing pieces of hard steel of various sizes in all directions as it flew apart. The pilot, the only man left in the aircraft alive, opened the door and stepped out. He ducked and ran for the relative safety of a ditch. There were three other young soldiers in the ditch with him and two were bleeding badly. He glanced around and spotted a Bison sub-machine gun with magazines on a dead soldier to his left. He picked the weapon up and joined the fight. He would die less than two minutes later from a gunshot wound to the head.

  Asmik join the rest of the troops gathering in the trees. Seeing no officer to take charge, he yelled, “Spread out and move on me. Stay alert as we flush some partisans.”

  Guns began to pop as partisans were encountered, but the Master Sergeant saw no one in the dense foliage and brush. Suddenly a woman stood and she was wearing a Chinese uniform, so the Sergeant fired, his bullets stitching her down the middle of her tall lean body. She fell and remained down. He moved forward once more.

  That was a partisan, because she was tall enough to make two Chinese. Ummm, I love my women tall too, he thought as large bullet struck the limb by his face and clipped it from the tree. He shivered and ducked, but he kept moving forward. Soon, all resistance stopped.

  “Corporal Krasimir, get me a Russian body count and number of wounded. Private Lerka, contact base and let them know the Landing Zone is now secure. I will send them our losses and the losses of our enemy once I have them. Tell them a battlefield assessment is still being done.”

  “Master Sergeant!” a Major called out from a ditch.

  “Sir!”

  “Once the body counts are finished, form the men up and let's move inland.”

  “Yes, sir.” he replied and then thought, Why did I not see any officers until the fighting was over? I had no idea the Major was there.

  The place smelled like a slaughter house to the old Sergeant. He looked at the burning shells of metal in the field that used to be helicopters, the smoke thinner now and not as black or dense as before. Dead and wounded men littered the whole field. Moans, groans and screams were heard as the medics worked as quickly as possible.

  “Master Sergeant, we have forty dead, twenty-six injured, and the partisans lost over 200 dead. Some of the bodies were hit by bombs and napalm, so my count may be off some for both sides. I think our missing is six. As mangled as they are, it is really hard to tell. Oh, and we have two prisoners.”

  “Thank you and that is good enough. Private Lerka!”

  “Sir?”

  “Bring me the radio.” A minute later he said, “Base, Whiskey Six, over.”

  “Go Whiskey.”

  “I have forty dead, twenty-six injured, and six missing. The partisans lost over 230 dead, I repeat, 230 enemy Killed in Action. We have two prisoners.”

  “Wait one.”

  “Copy.” Then, turning to Corporal Krasimir he said, “Inform the Sergeants and Corporals to form up into individual squads and move away from the landing zone. They are to start their individual missions.”

  “Yes, Master Sergeant.” The man then walked away.

  Three hours later, the wounded Russians were gone, as well as the dead. It was then the whole group started their individual missions, using squads of men and women, so they could hit and run. The groups moved in every compass heading, each with a unique mission.

  Asmik and his group walked beside an old trail as they moved deeper and deeper into rough mountain country. Junior Sergeant Luka was on point when he suddenly stopped and then pointed out a thin line across the path, and some toe poppers in the soil near the mine. He gave a big smile and stepped over the line.

  His foot struck the ground on the other side of the line and continued down into a hole. Six steel spikes mounted on a fulcrum rotated up and stuck him hard in the center of the chest. As he jerked and screamed, his dancing set off an anti-personnel mine mounted in front of the booby trap, which took most of his left leg off at the knee. His screams filled the air.

  The medic, Sergeant Tikhonov, ran forward, only to step on two toe poppers and he lost most of his left foot. He was bleeding hard and his lower belly was wide open when the Master Sergeant reached him.

  Looking into the Medic's eyes, Asmik said, “You know what I have to do, right?”

  Biting his lips against the intense pain, the man nodded.

  Reaching into the medic's bag he pulled out two syringes of morphine and stuck both into the medic’s arms. He cradled the dying man's head in his lap and sang for him in a low tone. The burly Sergeant brushed the medic's hair from his eyes and wiped his face clean as he continued to sing. By the time the song was finished, Sergeant Tikhonov was dead.

  When the Master Sergeant reached Junior Sergeant Luka, he was dead, having bled to death. The sergeant shook his head and said, “Timurovna, you are our new point. Watch your ass, too, because this area is mined.”

  “What about our dead?” Junior Lieutenant Lada Stanislavovna asked. It was her first mission in the field, so the Master Sergeant ran the group this time. A few more missions and then she'd be in charge.

  “What about them, ma'am? We cannot pack them with us, we cannot call in a chopper to remove their bodies, and I am for sure not going to bury them.”

  “I suppose you are correct, but it seems terrible to leave our dead when they should be honored back home.”

  “Ma'am, with all due respect, this is not back home and we have no other choice. Trust me when I say they do not care if we leave them or not, but I fully understand what you mean.”

  “It just seems wrong.”

  “Get used to it, because you will leave them more often than you will remove them.”

  “I hear you. Let us move, Sergeant.”

  The old Sergeant winked at her, she blushed, and they began to move. It was a good kilometer before he realized he was old enough to be her father, or maybe her grandfather.

  The Colonel paced the floor as helicopters landed and began taking hits. Soon, sitting in Base Ops, he was able to hear the men as they were hit and some were even dying as they called in for this or that. One pilot, his helicopter on fire, had the courage to say, “Sorry, comrades, but this is as far as God has decided I am to go with you.”

  His aircraft then crashed and exploded, killing all on board.

  The Colonel heard bullets striking various aircraft, cries of pain, and the disbelieving voices of those watching a friend die. He was damned proud of his people.

  The after action report was good, actually, with over 200 partisans killed, and he wanted to forward that to Moscow. He'd wait, because there were sure to be more dead and maimed on both sides.

  Now, he paced as he waited for the units to give their evening reports and to have their overnight locations marked on the big map. As he waited, the Chief of
Base Operations brought him a tall glass of vodka which hit the spot. He sipped his drink as he listened. Most of the units had no further contact with the enemy, one had killed two resistance fighters, and one had killed a squad of partisans. The Russian losses had been light, with three men killed, and two of those were with the Master Sergeant.

  Finally the radioman shook his head, nodded, and then said, “A squad led by an experienced Captain was wiped out with no survivors. Master Sergeant Pulakov found the mangled bodies, and they are not even cold yet. They were killed by a Claymore mine. He will rest overnight after a couple of more kilometers and will radio in his location once in place. It is raining out there too.”

  The rest of the evening was quiet.

  Junior Lieutenant Lada Stanislavovna felt uncomfortable and didn't know why. She was sitting in the nightly circle, wearing her NVGs, and had just finished eating. She'd felt that way since well over an hour before they stopped.

  Over supper, the Sergeant had said, “Ma'am, you may feel the enemy following us. Many people can do that, but I cannot. Listen to the feeling and let it guide you this night.”

  There was something she'd forgotten maybe? She ran all she could think of through her mind and the most important was calling in their nightly location, and she'd done that. Finally, since it was her turn, she went to sleep thinking about the Sergeant. He is a handsome man in his own way and very dignified, she thought, and then fell asleep.

  Near 0200 the radioman nudged Master Sergeant Asmik and handed him the handset. Whispering, the Sergeant asked, “What do you have?”

  “Another squad reports a two squad unit of partisans headed your way. The Colonel said take them out.”

  “Roger and copy. Out.”

  He woke everyone and few minutes later the point man walked by. Once the main body was in front of the mine, the clackers were squeezed by the Lieutenant and screams were heard before the explosion had grown quiet. Russian guns were heard as bodies were raked with gunfire. The screams died.

  The sniper of the group was using a night vision scope and he very slowly moved it over the downed men, women and children. He said, “Some children with this group, Master Sergeant.”

  “How many?”

  “About half.”

  “Damn me, children? You sure?”

  “Take a look through the scope. Children, and they are dead, too.”

  “What in the hell are children doing out here?” While he was speaking at almost a whisper everyone heard his anger. “Base, Whiskey Six, are you aware that group had a bunch of children in the middle?”

  “Children? No, I had no idea. Wait one.”

  “Roger.” he said and then thought, I did not come all the way out here to kill children.

  “Base One said to confirm the body count at sunrise and to count the children too.”

  “Count the children? I will if they are armed, over.”

  Oh, he is a man of honor too. Lieutenant Stanislavovna thought. I like that in a man. I will have to approach him carefully and not be too fast. But, she smiled, I want to know more about this man. Why would children be in this group?

  Chapter 9

  I suddenly had Russians up to my ass. Most of my units had been engaged, and many suffered mass casualties. Many of my company Commanders and smaller sized units were in a deep panic and I knew if I didn't get them to settle down and get things under control, I could lose most of my forces. I used the radio to contact most of the big units and things began to smooth out some. For many, I knew they'd be almost normal by morning. Others were cut off and for some reason could not be reached by radio.

  I had the Russians scattered all over the damned place and when that happens, you plant mines. One of my units had found a napalm container that had not worked on impact and my EODiii people broke it open and we were able to take the nasty stuff on the inside and prepare some special mines for our use. Many of my people out in the bush had those mines with them. Within 24 hours thousands of mines were scattered to hell and back. Then my people vanished, and we waited for the Russians to return to the field to be picked up.

  As we waited, we placed command detonated mines, with the napalm, near the trails. I wanted to see them explode, so I spent the night walking to the field, trailing a Russian cell. I even took Major Morgan and her squad with me. We knew we passed some Russian units, but for some reason, probably fatigue, they let us pass unharmed.

  Once at the field I could see and smell death. The field looked like a cemetery for choppers, their twisted, busted and bent frames all burnt black, and reminded me of markers for the deceased. The scent of death was strong, and there was a solemness to the place usually only found in large military cemeteries. I was almost afraid to speak, because I felt a deep desire to offer the place respect and whispers, not loud human voices. But, I had a job to do.

  “Base One, Base One, over.” The trance was broken by the radio.

  “Go Base.”

  “Be advised we are in position, over.”

  Captain Morgan asked, “What makes you think they'll try to leave from the same place they landed?”

  I met her eyes and said, “Absolutely nothing, but people are creatures of routines and habits. I think they will return and when they do, we'll be ready for them. Sergeant, bury what's left of the napalm in the very center of the field and attach some C-4 to it, so I can ignite it from here.”

  “Does it ever bother you, what we're doing?” she asked as we walked toward the woods where I'd be hiding if the Russians returned.

  “It did at first, but not now. The Russians are in my home and they're interrupting my life. They will never leave unless we kill so many the Russian people say that's enough. So far, they've said very little, so I'll keep killing the sonsofbitches until they're gone.”

  “You're a hard and cold man.”

  “I see me as determined,” I shrugged and continued, “but maybe I am cold and hard. I didn't invade them, so remember, they came here looking for trouble. I'm an American and no one can take my country from me as long as I'm alive.”

  “I see your point, but aren't you tired of war?”

  “Of course I am, but I love this country and the life we had before the fall. None of us really appreciated what we had, do you know that? Now that it's gone, I'm not sure we can ever have it back, but we can have something close. I think it's worth fighting and dying for.”

  “John, don't speak of your death, because that would break my heart. I care . . . I care more for you . . . than you know. Hell, maybe more than I know. Only, I don't want to care about anyone, especially now, not in the middle of a damned war.”

  “Why is it bad to love or care now, in the war? I think it's wonderful, and a little caring or love is what all Americans need at the moment. I care about you too, but I'll not call it love, but something is growing inside of me.”

  “I am happy around you, love to make you laugh and enjoy just being with you.”

  “For right now, leave it alone and take what I offer. Let's see what happens naturally. If it's meant to be love, it will happen.” I said, meaning my words.

  “I guess I just don't have your faith like that.”

  I leaned forward, kissed her nose and said, “God will do his will. If we are meant to be together, it'll happen. If not, then no amount of wishing will make it happen.”

  “What do you think will happen?”

  “I think, it'll happen, but over time. We don't want to rush this.”

  “Sir!” Sergeant Wilson said, “Base on the radio for you, and they said it's urgent.”

  “I'll be right there.” I kissed her and walked away. I wouldn't lie to her just to crawl in bed with her and what I told her, I honestly thought and felt.

  “Base, this is Badger One.”

  “Uh, roger, Badger, be advised eyes in Georgia saw a squadron of Russian Blackjack (Tu-160M) aircraft departing for Seattle, Washington. That was a week ago and they arrived safely. We have intercepted a message that
states they will start using them as early as today.”

  “Copy, Base. How many other battlefields or attack missions do you have going on, besides mine here?”

  “None at this time. The bomber is essentially a missile platform, but can carry 88,185 pounds of bombs. They usually fly three aircraft to a flight, so they have near 132 tons of bombs and that's a lot. They also can carry 18 rockets it fires in a rotary launcher. It comes with IR and all the bells and whistles. Base advises you not to get caught under a flight of them.”

  “Roger that, copy.”

  “That is all.”

  “Copy and out.” I handed the headset back to Wilson.

  I then gave thought to moving or staying. I finally decided to stay, but only with a company sized unit, and to move in so close to the Russians when they returned that they'd be unable to use the big Blackjack bombers on us. I'll scatter my troops all over the field too, making it harder to determine how many of us there might be. In any case, I wasn't going to let the Russians leave without a fight.

  The general information I was getting from my units was our mines and booby traps were hard on the Russians, with hundreds hurt by them since the operation had started. I figured for every man down, it took between two and four men to carry him or her. A squad of 8 to 12 men and women couldn't afford to pack too many injured or they were useless, more or less, as a fighting unit.

  I saw to the napalm placement and then moved deeper into the bush. I'd know when the enemy appeared because I'd left a squad to watch the field. Most American line units learned to never leave by the same place you entered. I was gambling cherry, or new Russians, would not know that yet. The reason was simple; I was planning an ambush to teach them a lesson.

  Cynthia and I lacked the private time to talk now, because many of the Russian units were returning. I sent one man to keep them awake by firing random shots into the Landing Zone, so they could report it as sniper fire. This was done to keep their minds on the sniper and not have time to think about an ambush. I wanted my sniper to get close to hitting them but to not severely injure anyone. I hoped they'd not kill him, using the logic I might send in a replacement that was a better shot. Snipers are good for keeping things unorganized too.