“Uh, Base, Hunter One, over.”
“Go, Hunter.”
“Looks like one sniper taken out. I will check for a body and let you know.”
“Roger. The Colonel wants you to bring the body in with you.”
“Copy and will do, over and out.” He said on the radio and then turning to his people he said, “Let us go and get the body. I guess Headquarters wants proof we killed the man.”
They approached the tree cautiously and were happy to see blood running down its trunk. When they were directly under the tree, the Sergeant said, “Private Demian Savelievich, climb this tree and push the body to the ground. When we get back to the base, I have a bottle of vodka you and some friends can share this evening.”
“I can get the body down, Sergeant.” the Private said. It was hard to believe less than six months ago he was a simple farmer in Siberia. He climbed the tree like a squirrel and when near the body, yelled out, “Watch out below.” Not thinking to check a dead body, he gave the sniper a hard push and down he went.
The second the body fell the Private saw a lever from a grenade fly into the air and he knew he had five seconds to get out of the tree or he'd die. He closed his eyes and jumped, as he screamed, “Grenade!”
Most of the Russian soldiers were standing under the tree when the grenade exploded and all screamed. For two it was their last sound made on this earth and for six more, they screamed in pain. The hot cast iron blew completely through arms, legs, torsos and heads.
Private Demian Savelievich lay on the ground unable to move, yet more or less uninjured. He had no wounds, but medics would soon discover his back was broken. He would be sent home where he'd spend the rest of his life unable to move from the neck down. The Senior Sergeant had a number of injuries to his face, including a mouth injury that was bleeding profusely. The medic ran to the men and women, shook his head at the carnage, and picked up the radio.
“Headquarters, this is the medic, all the team members are down and injured. I need medical assistance and a helicopter to pick up my dead and wounded.”
“How many dead do you have?”
“I have no idea. The entire unit, except for me, is down. I need help here, because I have more wounded than I can treat alone, over.”
“Roger, copy, and I have a helicopter on the way.”
He moved toward the Senior Sergeant who waved him away and said, “Treat my troops first.”
Two were already dead, one fatally wounded, and five wounded that would live, but all would take months to recover. The Senior Sergeant had some fragments of cast iron in his lungs and stomach. He'd need surgery, and quickly too. The medic stuck him with a syringe filled with morphine after the man asked for a local to kill his pain. He knew the kind of man the Sergeant was, he'd bleed to death as his lesser wounded troops were treated.
The fatal injury was a Private who took shrapnel to his heart and head. The victim was unconscious and barely alive, which was good. This way, he felt no pain.
Ten minutes after talking on the radio three helicopters arrived; one was a medical chopper while two were gun ships and provided cover. The medical chopper landed and two medics ran to the injured and began loading them. Within five minutes of landing, they were all airborne.
Roper received a return to base call and was soon teamed up with the other snipers and heading home. There were a total of six men returning and due to them being so few in numbers, they'd avoid all trails and cut cross country. Usually that was a safer method to travel in small groups.
It began to snow the first day, but the wind was light, so they kept moving. They saw no one all day and quit an hour earlier than they wanted to gather wood, collect water, and get an early supper. Shelter was a lean-to back in the pines and the fire, not much bigger than the crown of a cowboy hat, kept the place warm. It was still above freezing, but not by much. The snowfall was light, but lazy and constant. It was slowly adding to the two inches on the ground.
Roper didn't really want a fire, but it was cold enough to warrant one, and tonight would get much colder. He pressed the mic button on his radio twice every hour, so Base knew all was well. They ate American MREs for supper, with the meals being older than some of them. They'd learned after a couple of years of no government to make do with what they had or do without. While the rations were old, they were edible and that's all that mattered these days. What they ate seemed less important when going hungry was the only other option.
The wind was picking up and the temperature was dropping near bedtime. Finally, all but the radio monitor, who was also the guard, went to their sleeping bags. The bags were quality Russian winter sleeping bags, guaranteed comfortable to -20 degrees, and they were good. Soon all but the guard was asleep.
Near 0400 choppers were heard flying overhead, and all knew they were searching for the resistance and their fires. As cold as it was, most would have a fire overnight. Glancing at their fire, Roper saw it was small and under a huge pine tree. He relaxed a little. He suspected these Russians didn't have thermal imaging yet, because it changed the game a great deal. But it would come. Just a year ago they had few helicopters too, but it wasn't the case now. Things changed and with the new resistance commander came an increase in Russian efforts.
Soon the chopper was heard flying away.
The next morning, as they drank coffee, Roper asked, “Should we move when our footprints will be clearly seen in the snow? Be easy to find us with tracks like that.”
“I think if we stay off the trails, the easier it will be for us. Stay as deep in the woods as we can and hope for the best.”
“After our coffee, let's saddle up and cover some miles. The sky looks like more snow coming, so let's be ready for that too. Jones, you're on point and Smyth on drag.” Roper said.
The day was slow and uneventful, but miles were covered. Near dusk, Jones discovered an old barn. It was cold and snowing again, so they moved inside and set up a home. Roper looked the place over and said, “Plenty of openings and exits in this place. I like that, so I don't feel trapped. Damn me, but it's cold out and well below zero.”
“I don't think anyone will be out much in this weather. The Russians could be, especially any Siberian troops. Hell, this is tee shirt weather to them.”
“I'm originally from Mississippi,” Jones said, “and this is cold enough for me. I'd not be here now, but a bunch of us were transferred here with Colonel Williamson. I'll survive, but I do better in warm weather.”
Roper had just changed one damp sock and was reaching for another when Smyth asked, “Do any of you hear that engine running?”
“I hear something with an engine, but don't know if it's in the air or on the ground.” Someone agreed.
“Running too rough to be in the air. It sounds like a truck or armored personnel carrier.” Roper said.
“Or a big-ass tank.” Jones said “And if it is, we'll soon hear the treads jingling and clanking too.”
“Fellers, their newest tanks have IR systems on them.”
“I heard they don't work worth a shit in bad weather.”
“They don't in rain, but I have no idea about snow. If it comes here, scatter and stay that way until daylight. I've fought them before and they're no fun. Don't worry about the cannon as much as the machine guns and IR capability. Hard to hide if they can see us glowing in the dark.” Roper said, and then added, “but this old barn may hide our images. If not, we'll know in about ten minutes from what I hear.”
“Do we run now or stay here?”
“We stay. I think they're hoping to flush out some partisans and kill them as they panic.” Roper said.
“It's working on my ass. I'm still here, but my gut impulse is to run, and fast too.”
“We have missiles and some RPGs, so we're not defenseless.” Roper said as he pulled a Russian missile and prepared it for firing.
Jones went outside and stood in the cold, listening. It was moving closer, and somehow they must know the old barn
is here and occupied. How they would know, he had no idea.
Sticking his head in the door he said, “The tank is moving toward us, but how could they know we're here?”
“Easy. They have satellites that see through cloud cover and IR, but I'm not sure. The wood and tin roof of the barn might obscure our heat signature. Then again, someone may have seen our tracks in the snow today and, knowing the barn was here, suspected we'd spend the night here. So, we fight the big ass beast, huh?” Jones said.
Roper grinned and said, “I think we need to make a token resistance and then flee. Who knows, we might get lucky and destroy it, but I doubt that will happen. When it gets near, all of you will leave the barn and fight from outside. I'll climb into the loft and fire a missile at the thing. Once the missile is gone, I'll leave the structure too, and at that point we scatter. Then tomorrow we all meet up again five miles down the trail and five miles exactly. Good luck to each of you.”
“What if it has infantry along for protection?” Smyth asked.
“Kill all you can. I just want to let them know we are here and then melt into the night. By scattering, they can only follow one of us. If they follow you, move to the roughest and most difficult terrain you can find. I would not be taken prisoner either, because I hear it's a rough life in a Russian cell.”
“I'll save the last shot for me.” Smyth said.
Jones stuck his head inside and said, “Y'all need to move, because I hear the tinkling of the treads moving. It sounds like a T90 to me. I'm moving now.”
Each sniper and spotter lowered their NVGs and slipped into the darkness, except for Roper, who moved to the hay loft. When the big beast was seen for the first time, the sniper’s heart skipped a beat. It was much bigger than he remembered a T-90 to be. He was tempted to turn and run, very tempted, but the missile gave him courage, as well as hope. The T-90 was loud too.
The heavy 12.7 mm machine gun opened fire, but Roper had no idea what it was shooting at. He aimed his missile to strike where the turret met the body of the tank. The target locked-on light blinked and he squeezed the trigger. He watched as the missile struck. There was a loud explosion and the tank stopped moving for a few minutes. A little smoke appeared out of an open hatch on top of the tank and it then began moving forward once more. A man started climbing out of the open hatch when a single shot rang out and the man fell with half of his body out of the tank and his upper torso laying on the turret. Blood ran down the cold steel and the man was unmoving.
Jones moved and the machine gun fired, knocking the sniper to the ground where he screamed in pain. The big T-90 moved toward him. His legs or spine must have been injured, because he couldn't move. The closer the tank got to Jones, the more apprehensive Roper became. He tossed hand grenades at the tank, but unless one went down the open hatch, they'd do little damage to the big beast of a machine.
Roper kept screaming for Jones to move, but he seemed unable. The closer the tank got to the wounded man, the louder Jones yelled for help. Russian infantry now moved out from behind the tank and it's protective armor. They all fired their weapons, but most of the snipers were gone now. Roper thought the infantry firing their weapons and the tank continuing to fire both machine guns was done to spook anyone in the barn so they'd run out into the open. The tank was less that twenty feet from Jones now and Roper watched, mesmerized, knowing the tank intended to run over the downed man.
When the tank was about a dozen feet from Jones the driver's hatch opened and a man's head popped up. The tank rolled forward slightly, the rear of the tank fishtailed a little to line it up, and then it moved forward. Roper watched in captivation as the tanks treads struck Jones' feet and then slowly moved up his body. The wounded man's head was back and he was screaming as the heavy tank began to crush him alive. By the time the tank tread was at his waist, Jones was either unconscious or dead, because he was no longer screaming or jerking. Roper knew every bone in Jones' body would soon be crushed.
Roper pulled his sniper rifle, sighted in on the driver’s head and squeezed the trigger. The kick was hard and the bullet true as it struck the man in the forehead. The area above the hatch was now coated in brain tissue, blood and bone. The dead driver’s foot must have pushed on the fuel control harder because it lurched forward, flattening Jones' head. It then struck the side of the barn, causing one side to collapse. From where Roper was, still in the barn, the open turret was clearly seen below him.
He was still in the loft, so he moved to the open hatch, tossed two grenades inside the tank and then moved out of the barn. The infantry tried to shoot him and while some came close, no one struck home. Before he reached the trees, there was an explosion, followed a second later by another explosion, and finally a much greater explosion. The last explosion lit up the night and a member of the tank crew crawled out of the vehicle, fully engulfed in flames.
Then there was a huge explosion and, looking over his shoulders as he ran, he saw the turret thrown high into the air. The infantry were firing in all directions now and Roper knew they saw no one. His men were gone and had been from the moment the tank got near the barn. He knew most would look at the explosion and lose their night vision.
After he'd covered over four miles, Roper moved for a grove of tall pine trees to spend the rest of the night. It was too cold to keep moving. He moved to a tree with low branches and trimmed off a few of the lower limbs. He then crawled under and up the lower limbs, knowing he'd not be seen. But he needed a source of heat or he'd be dead in an hour or so.
He opened his pack and pulled out a portable Russian ration stove and a bunch of fuel cubes. He opened the stove, place a cube on the aluminum stove and lit it with his cigarette lighter. The fuel cube burned clear flames and hot. While not a huge fire, he felt the heat and held his cold hands near the invisible flames. He knew his tracks were seen in the snow, but the wind was getting stronger and the snow falling harder, so he had to stop for the night. To continue was to risk hypothermia, which could
easily kill a man alone.
Besides he was sure the Russians had stopped too. They had dead and wounded to care for. Roper knew he'd not sleep well tonight, not after seeing Jones run over by the tank. All the man's inner organs and brain had popped from his body to stain the treads of the tank. Never before had he seen such a horrible way to die. He knew he'd have nightmares for years after what he'd seen.
The night was long and slow, but no one came near him. It was not until dawn, when he heard the crunching of the snow as someone moved that, he came wide awake. When he'd gone out earlier to pee, he noticed his old tracks were already filled with snow. No one could track him now no matter how hard they tried. Only, if the noise was made by his enemies, would he fight the Russians or allow them to pass by him?
Would the tracks from his earlier trip to pee give him away? If they'd not filled in by now they'd lead a child to his shelter.
He heard Russian voices and his fear became alive. He was tempted to run, which was exactly what they wanted him to do. It was like hunting rabbits; you moved around until you scared one into running and then you could shoot it
He had two Russians walk right by him. They knew the general area he was in, but not his exact location.
Chapter 15
I was in pain, but had no idea I'd taken an injury until a good hour after the battle. I had a deep cut on my left arm and I was missing the tip of my little finger on my left hand. I'd felt absolutely nothing until the adrenaline from the fight wore off. The finger was bleeding the most, but the cut was what hurt me. The cut was about six inches long and to the bone, but how I got either injury I had no idea. I had morphine for pain, but didn't want to use it because I'd get sleepy and the weather was too rough to sleep right now. If I fell asleep once in a shelter, the fire would eventually go out, and I'd freeze to death. I was lucky, I still had gear and weapons.
I heard noise on my back trail, so I flipped the safety off my Bison. I waited and a minute later was met by the bloo
dy face of Andy. He looked like hell, and had moved under some brush once he took a bullet to his shoulder. Another bullet had creased his head.
He gave me a forced smile, nodded and then whispered, “We're the only survivors. I watched them shoot all injured. Ain't we in a fine mess right now? Here we are, both injured and no help, without a radio, and a good 20 miles from camp.”
“You forgot we're still alive, determined, and know where we are. We'll make it back as long as we take it slow and easy. For right now we need a shelter, small fire, and some rest.”
“I'm still in shock from the suddenness of the attack.”
“Let's move for the trees and try to find a shelter. We need to dress our wounds, drink something hot, and get some rest. But, we can't take any morphine or we'll fall to sleep.” I stood and struggled through the snow, which was a good 12 inches deep and still falling.
“I can deal with the pain, at least for 24 hours. I make no promises after that, and we have to be wounded during a bad snow storm. We need to hole up until this front moves on. Right now a child could track us in the snow. If we get under shelter now, maybe by dawn our prints will be covered with snow.”
“I agree, so let’s find a place.” Less than a mile later I found a nice sized tree blown over on its side. It was a huge pine. I went to the middle of the tree and removed about half of the limbs on the bottom side and we crawled in and pulled some boughs up to cover the opening. I used the extra pine boughs and others I cut from the underside to insulate part of the floor, where we'd lay and sleep. Someone would need a dog or smell our wood smoke to find us now. I knew we could not be seen by the naked eye, no matter how hard they looked.
I got a small fire started, about the size of a tea cup, and warned Andy, “No bigger than this or we'll catch this place on fire. This will keep us alive for now. In a few minutes, I'm going to check our wounds and doctor them.”
The Fall of America | Book 7 | Airborne Page 15
