“Sir, I know little of tactics and such; I am a weather guesser, but I am a damned fine one.”
“In this particular case, I hope you are incorrect, but I would not bet money on it. Headquarters does not care of the hardships of our troops, as long as they have a good body count. Weather like you are suggesting could bring temperatures that are sub-zero and frigid for those living out of doors.”
“Sir, it will not be that rough on them, because it snows in Russia, and hard too. They have all been in training with the ground covered with snow and well below freezing.”
“Sure, but they were prepared and had their winter gear with them. What happens if they jump and there is no gear? Infantry never carry an ounce they do not need. If they feel jackets are not needed, not a man will have one along when they jump.”
“Surely Headquarters knows as much about this storm and the weather for the next few days as we do. I thought part of jumping was knowing the pending weather and conditions, especially the winds.”
“They may, but then again, the equipment and gear we bring to this country often does not work properly. Or their weather man may disagree with you and think this front will do little or even move off in a different direction. They have a weather section twice as large as I have.”
Again the weather man shrugged and said, “I have no idea, sir. I do know this front will hit us and I am sure within 48 hours.”
They moved up the steps and entered the weather station. All sorts of computer screens were showing weather radar and they were active, meaning live. Colonel Yokovich was a bit of a nerd and loved being around computers and gadgets of all sorts. He followed the Colonel into his office. Pushing two buttons on a remote control, two TV screens were shown. One was showing downtown Anchorage and the other here. The storm was hitting the town of Anchorage hard, with snow flying all over and no one on roads. A bank in the image, across the street from the camera, registered -60 f.
Picking up a lone piece of paper in the center of his desk, the Colonel said, “The front will be here within 48 hours, my people think. We forecast the same for us as Anchorage is getting, with over 101.6 centimeters of snow. People do not fight long in weather like that.”
When Colonel Yakovich called Headquarters they told him, more or less, to mind his business and take care of his own troops and base. The jump was still a go and nothing would change their minds, except high winds on jump day. It was a short phone call.
On jump morning, the Colonel was up early to listen to the operation on the radio. He'd warned his radio operator they would not comment but just listen in on the communications. The mission went smoothly and without the loss of a man, at least not from the jump. Radio messages for the next two hours showed a few injured on landing due to brush, trees, and one man was drug into a barbed wire fence and cut to hell and back. He was evacuated by helicopter due to extensive injuries and blood loss. There were no deaths.
The winds were high an hour later and snow began to fall. The troops quickly assembled in small squad sized cells and started their missions. Master Sergeant Tyoma Akulov had his troops moving and didn't like the snow that just started. He was experienced, having jumped all over the world and in different kinds of weather, night or day. Of all conditions, he disliked arctic the most, due to the difficulty in staying both dry and warm. However, as a man in the Army he followed orders, likes or dislikes aside.
He was also concerned about mines because the snow would make seeing them difficult and pressure mines were just as deadly under snow as not. There was one advantage of cold weather; most homemade booby traps would freeze in position. He'd once sprung a fulcrum trap in the field and due to the temperature being well below zero, everything had frozen into place and didn't work. He prayed if it had to snow, let the temperatures drop too. His folks had removed sections of their parachutes and would use the nylon to make shelters with later. It was much lighter than using issued tents or other gear, and they only took the green panels of the chute.
His thermometer showed a temperature of -22.2 Celsius and that was cold, but he had gear to survive. Someone said the bad weather was discussed during the pre-jump planning, only Headquarters thought it would pass by quickly and leave little snow. Akulov had heard close to 101 centimeters of snow would fall and that was a lot. He was starting to sweat from the weight of all the gear he was packing. He unzipped parts of his parka, to allow some of his body heat to leave the coat. If he got too hot and then stopped, the sweat would freeze and then he was in danger of dying. He had to move slowly.
He and his troops were using the white panels from the parachutes to camouflage their uniforms and gear. They even wore white face masks made of leather that had fur on the inside, against the flesh. The Russian airborne troops were almost impossible to see in the snow as they moved. He knew the partisans were likely in camp sitting by a warm fire and not moving much, so he looked for smoke and tried to smell it as well. So far, nothing was smelled or found.
He was looking at the woman on point, Junior Sergeant Irisa Vasilievna, when she disappeared in a loud explosion and wall of flames. She'd had no time to warn the others or even scream. She was simply there one minute and gone the next. Moving forward, he found her boot with the foot still inside of it and the footwear was still laced up. He shivered and dropped the boot. Smoke filled the air and the smell of cordite lingered with the smoke. He noticed a mist of red blood in the air, all that remained of a 115 pound Russian woman, except her boot.
As the group moved forward to check on her, Private Lisenka stepped on a toe popper, which the Russians called 'ball poppers.' Most of their troops were injured in the groin area if they stepped on a shotgun shell with the primer resting on a nail, so they disliked them immensely. They had a mine detector, but using one in the field slowed any unit down a great deal.
Lisenka screamed and blood flooded down the front lower part of his trousers, near the zipper. The Medic, cutting the material away, saw his left ball and half his penis were gone. He was bleeding hard, clawing at the snow and screaming. The medic quickly gave him a shot of morphine to kill his pain and to quiet him down.
“Uh, Base this is Polar Bear four, over.” the radioman said calmly.
“Go, Polar Bear.”
“We have one dead and one severely injured due to mines, over.”
“Copy.”
“Request immediate evacuation of my wounded and dead, over.”
“Negative, the winds are gusting to around 96 Kilometers an hour. It is too dangerous for helicopter flights right now. The wind is expected to die down in about four hours and that is the time I can send you a ride home for your wounded. Can you keep them alive that long?”
Looking at the medic, he asked, “Can you keep him alive for four hours?”
“Yes, Master Sergeant, but he will be useless to us and will slow us down.”
“Helicopters cannot fly in this wind, so we will bring him with us.”
“Affirmative Base, we can keep him alive. Let me know when the taxi is ready to pick up my injured.”
“Roger, Base out.”
“Polar Bear, out.” Akulov pulled out his compass and said, “Move a few more degrees to our left, Point. You are drifting slightly to the left and I know it is difficult to see right now.”
An hour later, the weather worse and the winds even higher, they moved into the safety of trees to block the wind. They were done moving for the day. It was too hard to see and the weather had not improved in the least. The snow was piling up and the winds were fierce, and the Master Sergeant knew they had to stop. In camp now, with most of the winds blocked they got shelters up, insulated the bottom of each shelter using pine boughs, and gathered enough wood for the night. They each had a long pull from a vodka bottle and then settled in to eat their green frog rations. The Sergeant wasn't a hard drinker and none of his troops had alcohol problems, so he didn't mind if they all carried flasks in the field, but if he caught one drunk, he would file charges agai
nst them. He knew on cold evenings and even when hurt at times, booze could improve things.
They didn't speak much on missions but they wondered how far they'd cover in weather like this. His team had been issued snowshoes, while others were given skis. Surely the resistance would be holed up as well.
“Do we need night guards with the weather like this?”
“Yes.”
“Do you not think the resistance is in a shelter too?”
“Yes.”
“If the resistance is under a shelter, why do we need guards?”
“I always have guards when in the field, always, and no matter the weather. It is when you do not expect the enemy that you die.”
“It is cold. I have not felt cold like this since my training in Siberia. It was cold there too.”
“Yes, it is cold in Siberia and if you survived there, you will survive here. If the snow slows or lets up tomorrow, we need to be moving. We will never find any partisans in snowy weather and the helicopters cannot fly in this either. There is too much wind and it is too high in speed. They couldn't even come for Lisenka.”
“I may need to take blood from some of us to care for him. I have used most of the blood I had with me, so we are growing short. If other units have had injuries, then men will start to die on us in another day or two.”
Master Sergeant Akulov said, “It is the way of the army. Someone did not think this storm would be so strong and we are out living in it as they remain on base sipping vodka and eating well.”
One of the men laughed and said, “It is always the enlisted men who pay for the mistakes of senior officers.”
“No, not always, but usually. We will have to wear snowshoes tomorrow, because it is coming down hard.”
“I do not think we will move an inch for days.” the medic said, “And if that happens, we will end up with a dead man on our hands.”
“It cannot be helped as it is, so let it go. Lisenka knew the risks when he joined the army, then when he volunteered for airborne school, and when he jumped yesterday. We all know the risks. I hope the man lives, too, but if he dies, then he dies. This war is serious business and combat is no game; no, not a game at all.”
The medic lowered his head and gave thought to the Master Sergeant's words. Like many of them, Lisenka had volunteered for combat duty in America, mainly motivated by the 591,803 rubles offered by the government. At about $10,000 it was considered a great deal of money by all Russians and it was offered to all who volunteered to serve in America for one year.
“He volunteered for this tour.” the medic said.
“By God, I did not!” one of the Junior Sergeants said.
“But your pay goes up here and we pay no taxes.”
“And, as Lisenka shows, I can lose my balls and pecker here too. No, this is my third combat tour in four years, and I am getting out once home again. I have had enough. Hell, we are no closer to winning this war now than we were on my first tour, and do you know why?”
“Tell me, why?” the medic answered and his tone was full of sarcasm.
“Because it is impossible to win a partisan war. The resistance owns the people and the countryside. Look at all the wars where the country fought the resistance, and there has never been a victory by any outside nation. The partisans win in the end, just like they will win this one.”
“Stop talking like that. That kind of speaking will get you sent to a gulag.”
“At least I would be alive. I grow tired of this war.”
The Master Sergeant said, “We all do, but it is our jobs to fight the enemies of Mother Russia.”
“Did someone call in our night position? I do not want to be blown to hell because someone sees the light of our fires.”
“I did, about fifteen minutes ago.” the Master Sergeant said.
“We are going to need two fires all night, I suspect.”
“That is all whoever is on guard will do, tend to the fires. If they go out, we might all die by morning.”
“No, it is not that cold, but it is cold enough we need these fires.” Akulov said. He pulled his flask out and took a long drink of his vodka.
“I dread tomorrow and walking in snowshoes.”
“They are not bad, once you start walking bow-legged naturally.” the Junior Sergeant said and began laughing. “And the fact your legs ache from the pain of using them all day.”
“I do not get much pain, but I trip a lot, at first anyway. Well, I am going to bed. Since tomorrow will be a rough day, I need to get to bed early. Wake me when it is my time to guard.”
In ones and twos, the men headed to their sleeping bags.
The night was quiet, and when Master Sergeant Akulov got up to check camp at close to 0300, he found the guards alert and the fires burning. It was lung hurting cold then, a good -34, and he expected -40 before the sun dawned again. He crawled back into his cold sleeping bag to rest for another hour. He catnapped until 0430 and then climbed out of his sleeping bag for the day.
As the troops ate another green frog, the Sergeant said, “Still snowing, with 24 inches on the ground, and currently it is minus 40. We leave here in thirty minutes.”
“Tonight we will have to make a fire on a platform of green logs, or that is what we did in Siberia in deep snows.” the Junior Sergeant said.
“I have to get through the day, then I will think about this evening. This will be a rough one.”
“Once walking, take it minute by minute and make the best of it. It is hard enough to walk in snowshoes as it is, but add a 27 kilogram backpack and it is awkward at best. Just be sure to avoid sweating or we will have some serious problems.”
“We have all been trained.” Master Sergeant Akulov said, and then began packing his gear for the day.
“Quiet! I hear something.” the medic said as he worked on Lisenka.
“Someone is coming.” the Junior Sergeant said, and slipped the safety off his weapon.
Chapter 11
We had radio calls by the hundreds it seemed from folks reporting they'd seen Russian paratroopers first in the air and then on the ground. Of course, I ordered them to attack when the times were right and we'd lose the least people. Most chose to do nothing with the weather as bad as it was. The reports I was getting indicated the Russians landed and when the bad weather hit, moved for cover. I expected them out and moving during the second day and for sure by the third. I ordered ambushes set up and then gathered up a squad to go Russian bear hunting. There is no limit on Russian bears either, and no hunting license needed.
When we left base this morning, it was -40 and with a light wind out of the north. The high was expected to reach -15, which is almost tee-shirt weather, right? We wore stolen Russian snowshoes and parkas. Around each left arm went a red or orange piece of cloth to help keep us from shooting each other. Our parkas were white snow pattern camouflage, and we had enough white parachute material to cover our heavy backpacks. I went so far as to wrap a little white material around my Bison. Then off we went. I kept the pace slow to avoid overheating in the cold. It's hard not to sweat when we're often carrying half our body weight, or more, on our backs.
First Sergeant Andrew “Andy” King was along to stay current in our operations. I required everyone to go on a mission at least once a month. Andy was an average sized man, 150 pounds, five feet and ten inches tall, and with short brown hair. His green eyes were intelligent and his mind quick. His teeth were even and white and usually seen often due to his sense of humor.
We'd covered about five miles when he said in a low whisper, “I smell smoke.”
We stopped and I smelled it as well. Someone was camped nearby and it was wood smoke. Snow was coming down at a regular rate, fast, and it was minus 20. Finally, after glassing the area, I spotted a thin finger moving for the sky upwind and maybe a half a mile away. I knew we had no units this close to our base camp, so we prepared to attack.
Base was informed and we then made ready. I'd keep my folks all toge
ther and try to overrun the camp. Hopefully I'd catch them off guard and we'd be successful. If not, maybe I could reduce the numbers enough the survivors would call for a ride home and I'd bag a chopper. I sent Andy and Sergeant Stone to Injun up on the place and see what we had. They would then return to me with the information. At that time I'd decide if we attacked or not. How they were armed and their numbers would influence my decision, but they might have armor too. I'd know more when they returned.
My wait was short.
“Squad sized with a variety of different weapons, including a machine gun. I saw one man badly injured, and they were getting ready to leave.”
“I want an L shaped ambush site, and I want it now. No moving or talking as we wait in ambush. Let's move, and hope the wind and snow covers our tracks.” Blowing snow along with falling snow was filling our tracks in quickly. Ten minutes later, we had two Claymore mines planted and were in position.
Now we waited.
I felt the small animal called fear nibbling on my gut, but knew we'd do fine. I hoped we killed enough of them to remove them from the field. I felt with each Russian death, we got closer to gaining our freedom.
“Here they come.” Andy whispered.
I could barely see them in their camouflage clothing and the falling snow. I grew nervous as I watched their point man walk by us and then I waited for the main group to enter the kill zone of my mines. I picked up the clackers and waited.
The leader stopped and looked around. I knew he felt something out of place or perhaps danger. I lowered my head to avoid looking at him. People have a way of feeling when they are being watched. If you don't believe me, stare at someone for a few minutes and they'll eventually meet your eyes. I have no idea how it works but some feel your eyes on them quicker than others. Finally, after not seeing anything out of place, he moved slowly forward.
Once the whole group was in front of my mine, I squeezed the clackers and a loud explosion, followed by screams, filled the air. Most fell with the explosion, but the two or three still standing fell right behind the others from rifle and machine gun rounds. A red cloud hung in the air over the fallen forms.
The Fall of America | Book 7 | Airborne Page 11
