Pugin was good on point, excellent as a matter of fact, and within seconds of stepping from the dirt road, she spotted a booby trap and less than an hour later she'd found another trap along with a ring of toe poppers around it. She'd marked each one with a stick stuck in the ground.
A number of times the Senior Sergeant had jumped some ass because the troops would bunch up and were not watching their distances. He was concerned about spending the night with them, because out of 100 people, 96 of them were cherries and only two others besides himself and the commander had ever been in combat before.
They stopped an hour before dusk, and Georgiy wanted foxholes dug and security in place. He positioned the machine guns and riflemen as the Senior Sergeant put a quick stop to the bitching about how tired they were. In his mind, the Sergeant knew the troops were in for a rough four days because so far this had been a walk in the sun, too easy.
“I have sores on my shoulders from my pack. It must weigh a good 25 kilos. My back hurts and I am tired. Now the Senior Sergeant tells me I have to dig a hole. I never should have joined the army. I should have stayed a farmer.” Private Teterev complained as his shovel struck dirt for the first time since it had been issued to him.
Suddenly, Senior Sergeant Starikov was behind him and, bent over like he was, the Sergeant kicked him hard in the ass. The lad fell face first to the grasses and for a minute or two it looked like he'd cry.
“W . . . why kick me?”
“Why kick me Senior Sergeant!” the Senior Sergeant exploded. “Private Teterev, you are a crybaby. Now, dig the hole because if you die tonight, you will already be in your grave. All we will have to do at sunup is push your body down and fill the hole in. Quit bitching and do what you have been told to do. Do you understand me, Private?”
Scrambling to his feet the Private was scared, and when he stood at attention out of respect for the Sergeant's rank, the Senior Sergeant punched him in the nose and dropped him to the ground again.
Standing over the Private, he screamed, “Do you want me to be killed? Never ever stand at attention for anyone in the field, no matter if a General nears. We never stand at attention or salute out here. I think your mother must have dropped you on your head. You are about a dumb-ass, Teterev!”
“Sergeant, watch the noise discipline.” Georgiy said, and then grinned. He thought the troops were doing well for their first time in the field.
“Here, Teterev, let me assist you.” a woman named Lytkina said as she began digging in his hole. The Senior Sergeant turned and walked away, angry that the young man could have gotten him killed.
“Sergeant,” the Captain said, “come here for a minute or two.”
The Senior Sergeant had just sat down when he gave a loud grunt and was knocked back to the ground, but not before a long finger of blood and gore shot from his back. Once on the ground he began to scream.
The Commander yelled, “Take cover and now; sniper!”
Junior Sergeant Dusya ran to the injured Senior Sergeant and assisted the commander in pulling the wounded man into his foxhole. Dusya was one of the men with a previous tour in America and an experienced man.
“The shot came from the trees off our left and since the sniper didn't shoot at me, I suspect Starikov's injury is severe. He must have suspected he was an officer the way Teterev stood at attention. His behavior is most strange. Maybe he is with a group and they are waiting to down a helicopter. What do you think, sir?”
“I have no idea why he did not shoot much more, because it is very unusual. You can be sure he had a good reason. It will be getting dark soon, but that will not make us any safer. Tell the troops to prepare for the night and I will see if I can get a helicopter here for the Senior Sergeant.”
“Will do.” Dusya disappeared into the dim light.
“Radio, contact Base and tell them I have a seriously wounded Senior Sergeant and need a medical helicopter here as soon as possible. Let me know what they say.”
“Yes, sir.”
Three minutes later he said, “The helicopter is on the way. They also said for us to stay on 50% alert tonight, because some boxed in partisans may move our way.”
“Listen up, 50% alert for everyone.” Georgiy said, and that meant only half of his troops could sleep at a time, but experience showed many more would sleep. He prayed at least 25% would remain awake, or some of them would die before dawn if the partisans moved toward them.
Chapter 8
I was interested in what Intelligence was learning from the Russian, so I paid my Intel section a short visit. Dolly was with me, and she loved the Sergeant that worked there because he usually fed her something. My whole intelligence staff consisted of a Captain, a First Lieutenant, and a Sergeant. A small staff, but they were very effective. The Captain was fluent in Russian having been born there, then coming to the states at the age of ten. He'd returned again when he entered college as an exchange student. His name was Stanislav “Stas” Yevgenievich, and his Russian I’d heard was almost as good as Willy had been. He’d eventually immigrated here.
I entered their tent and said, “Remain seated, please.” I didn't want them to stand at attention for me, but to see how things were going.
“Well, sir,” Sergeant Grant said, “the last time you visited me was when Willy was still the boss.”
I laughed and said, “Grant, I was just in here not a week ago and delivered a Russian Colonel to you, personally. Have y'all been able to get anything out of him?” I'd known the Sergeant for years, and even before the fall. He'd been a local cop until they stopped paying the force, then they'd all walked off the job. Grant was a normal man in many ways except he had a thick Mississippi accent you could cut with a knife. He wore his brown hair short and his beard trimmed. He was never without his 1911 .45 Colt or his Russian Bison. Both weapons were always within reach. I don't think I've ever seen him without the Colt on, even when he slept.
“He's said a little, but not much. Do you want to talk to him? I think he'll surprise you, sir, because his English is better than all of ours put together and he graduated from Harvard law school. We did learn he was a plant here and was waiting for the Russians to arrive one day.”
“Interesting, because I'd never thought of them having folks here, but it makes good sense. Sure, fetch the man and let's talk a spell.”
“Sergeant, get Colonel Mirogod “Dennis” Denisovich for us.”
Standing, the Sergeant grabbed his hat and said, “Sure, sir. I'll be right back.”
When the Colonel entered the room, he was in chains. His legs were hobbled so even walking was difficult, his hands were chained to his waist, and he was naked except for a pair of cut off American battle dress trousers. He wore a pair of old shower shoes. Sergeant Grant had a chain in his hand that ran to an old dog collar that was around his neck. The Sergeant also had his Colt out and the hammer back, safety off.
Dolly growled and her hackles came up. I held her leash and said, “Easy, girl.”
“Sit.” Grant said.
The prisoner remained standing.
Grant pushed him down on the wooden chair and said, “Sit!”
“I am an officer of senior rank, Sergeant, and you will treat me as such. The Geneva Convention says all prisoners of war will be rendered the respect due their rank.”
Grant smiled and said, “We weren't at the convention when it was signed this last time because our country was dying. So, excuse me if we don't comply with the rules. We didn't sign shit at the meeting, Igor.”
“My name is Colonel Mirogod Denisovich, which you know, and you will treat me with the respect due a Full Colonel, Sergeant.”
“That's enough, Grant.” I said, and disliked the Russian right off. For some reason, he reminded me of the Nazi Gestapo interrogators used in the old black and white war movies. I moved to the man, saw no signs of abuse, and he looked healthy enough.
“Who are you?” Denisovich asked.
“I am the man, Colonel, who holds yo
ur very life in the palm of my hand. I can release you or crush you, depending on what you tell us.”
“Bullshit. You American's are weak, and nothing will happen to me.”
“Are you sure enough of that statement to bet your life?”
He met my eyes and I stared him down.
“Piss me off and I'll see you hanged.”
The man stopped talking.
“Captain Stas, what do we know of our Colonel here?” I asked, but I knew he was the chief of the chemical and biological section at Fort Leonard Wood. That alone assured him of a short rope, once we were done with him. While they had used no chemicals in Missouri yet, they had in many other states, including Mississippi. I figured it would happen sooner or later.
“He's the chief of the chemical biological units at Fort Wood, and so far they've not used anything against us, but it's only a matter of time. His home is in Moscow, he has a wife, two boys, and one daughter. He's been married 22 years and his PhD is in microbiology. He has lived in the states more years than he has Russia, got his law degree from Harvard, was an exchange student here, and then after graduation, he applied for citizenship. It was granted, but his family remained in Russia. He is what we call a sleeper, a spy who stays out of sight until his country needs him, then he comes forward. As he waited, besides the money Russia sent him, he grew wealthy as a law dog. He was living with a woman named, uh, Sara Taylor, before the fall. She was killed in the first year of the fall when a group of thugs broke into his home, robbed the place and raped her. The Colonel was not at home when she was killed. He made contact with the first Russians to enter Missouri.”
“You realize as a spy we have every legal right to hang you, right?” I asked, wanting to scare him a little.
“You'll end up killing me anyway, so it matters little. I've been told you have no POW camps, so there is little else you can do.”
“We can trade you or let you go, if an exchange could be arranged. Let's say 500 prisoners from a gulag for one old Colonel.”
Dennis laughed and replied, “The Russian Bear will not give much for me or anyone. We have a standard rule of not dealing with terrorists.”
“We are partisans or the resistance, but terrorists we are not. We do use terrorist methods if they allow us to hurt the Russians. You are uninvited here and this is our country. We'll not stop fighting until every Russian is gone or dead.”
The Russian, Dennis, did not reply.
“You, of all people, must know of the American tenacity when we are threatened.”
He laughed, met my eyes and said, “Americans were soft, fat, and lazy. Most went home from work to sit in front of their televisions and drink beer. They would eat junk food until time to go to bed, then they'd sleep as their central air and heat kept them comfortable. No, as a nation all of you were spoiled.”
“Then, if we were so fat and lazy, why hasn't your country taken over control of my nation? You are here in the woods with us, and it's been three years since the Russians invaded. Three years, and still the mighty Russian Bear struggles to control the land. I think you forgot to consider one aspect of all Americans before you invaded.”
Smiling, Dennis asked, “And, what is that?”
“We are extremely proud to be Americans. Most I know are willing to die as Americans rather than to live under the Russian yoke. This is a partisan war, Colonel, and no one in recent history has ever won a partisan war. Look at our failure in Vietnam, but our politicians lost that war, not the military, or your disgrace in Afghanistan. You let a bunch of camel jockeys run you out of their nation, so surely we can do as much. Sergeant Grant, return our guest to his suite and make sure his wine is chilled.”
“Yes, sir.” Grant said with a chuckle. “Stand and let's move, Ivan.”
“I demand this man treat me with respect!” Dennis yelled.
His tone of voice and sudden movement caused Dolly to leap at the man. If I'd not had the leash around my wrist, I think she'd have tied into him. As it was, Dennis sat back in his chair and watched my dog closely.
Stas nodded at Grant, and the Sergeant slapped the Russian hard in the face.
“I'll kill you for striking me!” Dennis screamed, and he exploded from his chair.
I stood and yelled, “Sit down, Ivan, or I turn my dog loose! She loves to chew on Russians.”
“I will sit, but I will report all of you and how poorly I was treated to the U.N. as soon as I can.” he sat in his chair and kept his eyes on my German Shepherd.
“Colonel, have you ever seen the way prisoners, no matter their rank, are treated in gulags? You're lucky this man doesn't beat your ass half to death or execute you. If you anger me one more time, I will turn Dolly loose on you. You, sir, no longer have any rank. Now, go with Grant or I'll turn my dog loose on your ass.”
Dennis left, but he was not a happy man, and kept threatening to report us to the U.N., which didn't worry us at all. What could the U.N. do, invade us?
After they left, Stas asked, “What will we do with him, once he comes clean with us?”
“I thought of hanging him, because of his status and job, but I think we'll render him permanently disabled and have the Chinese deliver him to the Russians. I don't think the Russians will ever trust him again, because they'll suspect he broke under interrogation, like most men and women do eventually. They think our methods are like theirs, brutal, but we're different.”
“Ours can turn rough if they don't talk, so keep that in mind. Most interrogators around the world use hurting and blood to gain information. We'll never kill a man as we talk to him, but we might give him some pain and a great deal of discomfort to handle.”
“I want the man cleaned of everything he knows. Men in his position killed hundreds of thousands of people in Mississippi.”
“Well get the information. Right now he's in isolation and will remain so another week. By then he'll be happy to talk to anyone.”
“I'll leave all of this in your hands. If and when he talks, I want a full briefing on what he says. I think it's just a matter of time before the Russians start chemical and biological attacks against us. You know they must be frustrated because they expected to just walk in here and take over. That hasn't worked, and the fact they consider most partisans cowboys, rednecks, farmers, or peasants must make it harder for them. The easy control they expected hasn't happened.”
Standing, Stas said, “I'll keep you informed, sir.”
“Good. Now, I need to return to my office and see what Headquarters wants us to do next. I suspect we'll hit a convoy or train, but who is to say what they may be thinking?” I returned his salute, shook his hand, and then left.
When I returned I had four letters from Carol, and that filled my heart with joy. We had limited mail service, which was much better now with the Chinese providing choppers to deliver for us before they went on their missions. I sat down at my desk, looked at the dates and read the oldest letter first. I noticed all four were written this month and the oldest about 10 days ago.
The first three letters contained a lot of love and promises to wait for me. I hoped the wait wasn't long but to be honest, I was more worried about survival than I was being unfaithful to her. My job was risky at best with most commanders lasting around six months.
The last letter she explained she was attempting to be assigned to my intelligence section and wanted me to put in a good word. I would be happy to do that, but not because I loved her. I would pull to get her because she was damned good at her job. She'd also not be shielded from any risk my other intelligence people faced. I could not show the woman I loved to death any favoritism or I'd lose all respect as a commander.
It was near dusk when the radio came alive in the communications center, which was close to my tent. I could hear noises and voices, but was unable to make the words out. Dolly was asleep with her head on my left foot.
Sergeant Parsons stuck her head in my walled off office and said, “Reports are coming in from a sniper team
of a company size unit spending the night in a fairly open spot. They claim to have hurt one, wanting to kill him, and then stopped. The man shot appeared to be an officer because one of his men stood at attention as he spoke with him. If we can get there quickly, we can take a few Russians out of the picture.”
“What makes them so sure this unit will be an easy kill?” I asked.
“The sniper team thinks they lack experience and didn't operate like a well oiled unit would do. The man they shot was giving orders all the time.”
“How far away are they?”
“Eight miles southwest, sir.”
“Form our people; we're going to see if this unit is experienced or not. I want to be ready to leave in thirty minutes.”
“Yes sir, I figured you'd say that so it's been done already. I've contacted all four squad leaders and they're gathering up folks as we speak.”
“Good.”
Two hours later, I was on a slight hill in the Ozark Mountains looking down into a lush valley. I was wearing NVGs, and the company I was watching was either made up of very young troops or they were very inexperienced. I saw men and women sitting on the edges of foxholes, thinking they were safe in the darkness. I watched a Russian Chopper arrive, load up the injured man, and then they flew away. I'd ordered the chopper left alone because I had a different target in mind.
I arranged my men and women for an attack. I'd learned early in my career that when new troops came under fire, only about 10% will fight back by returning fire. Most were scared enough to wet their pants, and some did.
It was near three in the morning before I sent my scouts to look the place over closely. Where possible, I wanted the Russian equivalent to our claymore mine, the MON-50, turned around to face the Russians, who'd originally placed the mines. With an experienced group, the turning of the mines was extremely dangerous, but most of my Russian friends in the valley seemed to be sleeping. Thirty minutes later my scouts returned and all were smiling.
I picked up the headset to our radio and said, “When you see my flare in the air, attack and try to overrun them in the initial thrust. If we don't, I'm worried about Black Shark helicopters coming to their aid.”
The Fall of America | Book 6 | Call Sign Copperhead Page 9
