The Fall of America | Book 5 | Fallout

by Benton, W. R.

  Chapter 4

  Master Sergeant Vlad Sokoloff moved to the dead Russian bodies lining the hallway of the hospital. White sheets, soaked in blood, covered the men in groups of two. He said a short prayer, turned to Senior Sergeant Pajari and said, “I hope your men took their radiation pills, or more bodies will be littering this floor.”

  “We took them, but I do not have much faith in the damned things. I wish you would have seen Colonel Gleb out there. He actually ordered a Captain to salute him. A second later he was shot, and he is lucky it did not kill him. These officers need more field time to learn how we operate these days. Any word on him or his injury?”

  “The last I heard was they are taking him to Jackson Air Base and he will be returned to Moscow. The shot struck his lung and messed up his spine when it exited. I think he will be retired because of his injury. Tell me, Albert, just between us, what in the hell are we doing here?” The Master Sergeant stood with his hands on his hips.

  Giving a low chuckle, Pajari said, “Getting our asses kicked. I do not think the Generals would know what to do with America if they had it, which they never will have. These people are stubborn, and I have never seen so many guns in my life. On my last tour here, I was in a field unit, and I saw soldiers shot with bows and arrows, shotguns, crossbows, hunting rifles, and one old man killed a Colonel with an old black powder muzzle loaded pistol. I have seen many die singing 'God Bless America.'”

  At that moment a side door opened and a Full Colonel walked in. The two Senior NCO's snapped to attention, and Colonel Yegor, the Gulag Commander said, “These are two of our best Sergeants, sir. Master Sergeant Vlad Sokoloff and Senior Sergeant Albert Pajari.”

  “I am Colonel Matveev, and I am the new Base Commander. I want to see both of you in my office, first thing in the morning. I want to get a feel for my enlisted personnel.”

  “Yes, sir.” the Master Sergeant replied.

  The Colonel ignored the bodies and continued walking down the hall.

  “He has pissed off somebody and will never make General, not as a Base Commander. He should be in charge of a much larger fighting unit.” Vlad said as the two men made their way outside and put their forage hats on.

  Albert replied, “I am just wanting to make Master Sergeant before I retire, because of the increase in my retirement pay. I am not the least bit worried about the political careers of our officers.”

  A Private ran to the two men and said, “The Senior Sergeant running communications asked me to tell you, Master Sergeant, that all ten of the special forces that were deployed this morning are dead. He also gave me this paper to give you.”

  He handed the note to Vlad and then stood waiting. Not wanting to read it in front of the young man, he said, “What are you waiting for, boy? I hope you do not expect a tip! Get your ass back to work, unless the Sergeant sent something else.”

  “No, Master Sergeant. That is all.” The man then turned and ran for his unit.

  Unfolding the note, he read with assistance from the flood light that lit the huge red cross on the side of the hospital. He finished reading and said, “The new Colonel is in for rough first day. The Spetsnaz men were wiped out to the man in an ambush. And, in the Southern part of the state a couple of guards were killed and a warehouse broken into. They did not just take a little, they emptied the place. The thieves made off with radiation pills, cases of food, and clothing. Of course any weapons were taken. Then some minor clashes with the partisans that add another dozen to the total killed this day.”

  “Oh, not good. Welcome to Edwards Air Base, Colonel.” Albert said, and then gave a dry chuckle.

  “Running this base is like running after a greased pig. Just when you think you have it under control, it gets out of hand.”

  “Let's go by the club for a couple of drinks.”

  “Not me, because tomorrow will be a lot of yelling at the 0600 hours staff meeting. If you want a few drinks, come by my tent. I want to be alert and ready for the meeting.”

  At exactly 0600 hours, Master Sergeant Sokoloff said from the very pit of his stomach, “Ten-hoooaaa!”

  Twenty or so Russian officers stood at attention. Colonel Matveev entered the room wearing his full dress uniform. As he moved to his chair he said, “Please be seated, gentlemen.”

  It was then a Major opened the door and as he entered, the Colonel said, “Major, you can leave this briefing. It starts at 0600, not 0602 and I expect you in your chair ready to brief me on time. Now, call your boss and I want to speak to both of you in my office as soon as this meeting is finished.”

  “Yes, sir. I will call him as I wait, sir.”

  Men around the table looked at others and each knew the new Commander wasn't a vodka drinking fool like many of the previous ones.

  “Weather, I need a briefing from your shop twice a day. I need to know the winds because of the nuclear bomb we detonated. I want all men under the age of 40 taking the radiation pill. I have been told by Moscow the pill will not work for older adults. Additionally, I want a comprehensive briefing from the disaster preparedness people on what steps we have taken to keep our people safe and from the hospital, on how we intend to treat our ill men and women. I want the briefing in my office before the close of business today.”

  “Sir,” the Master Sergeant said, “should we keep this briefing as is, or are there certain aspects that you consider high priority?”

  “Aircraft Maintenance, how many helicopters do we have right this moment that are mission ready?”

  “Uh,” the young Captain said, “I have no idea, sir.”

  “And if you don't know, who does know?”

  “I don't know, sir.”

  “Obviously, Captain, you do not know much. I want every aircraft we can get in the air safely out looking for partisans. I want a company of men and women always on standby, to insert into the field to fight our enemy. I cannot do this, Captain, unless I have numbers from you. At 1300 hours today, I want you and your boss in my office, and you had better have some answers. Now, weather, let's hope you can do a better job than Aircraft Maintenance.”

  The weather briefing was excellent and at the end the Colonel asked, “So, do you really think most of the winds will be to the east for the next 20 days?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Well, at least that is what my computer model shows, and it is 99% correct.”

  “Damn. That means most of the fallout will be sent over Jackson. Colonel Vasiliev must have been a fool to order the bomb. Did he discuss the future weather conditions with your people before the bomb was sent out?”

  “Yes sir, and I personally told him what the conditions would be, and my forecast was perfect.”

  “Okay, no more about Colonel Vasiliev, because it has already been done. I want this base cleaned up, I want haircuts, and I want sharp troops. I want us to look like what we are, the best damned troops Mother Russia can produce. I want the partisans harassed 24/7 and by using all means at our disposal. Gentlemen, know your jobs, know the numbers I need from you. I am a patient man, but for those of you who do not know me, I will fire you in a minute and send you back home in disgrace. You are officers in the mightiest army in the world, so act, look, talk, and think like you are. Dismissed!” The Colonel stood and left the room, plainly upset.

  “Ten-hoooaaa!”

  The officers snapped to attention.

  The Master Sergeant heard not a word about the Colonel as folks filed from the room, but he knew they'd talk later over a glass of vodka.

  Strange he did not bring up the deaths or injured from yesterday. He was clearly disgusted that most were not prepared for his briefing. I will bet in a day or two the Commanders will start showing up, and not some Lieutenant or Captain, Master Sergeant Sokoloff thought as he turned off the lights and closed the door.

  He walked to the dining facility and had a quick lunch of stew and bread. Then, back to his office to prepare his initial briefing for the new Commander. By the time for lights out, he had accou
nted for every man on base, regardless if they were working or in the hospital. He also had ideas to help the sagging morale of his troops, but didn't know enough about the Colonel to suggest anything yet. He will want a full accounting of the troops, then a breakdown of where they are assigned.

  He'd just undressed and turned off his light when he heard helicopters starting their engines and the sound of men running as orders were being shouted. Opening his door, still in his boxer shorts, he saw combat troops loading into the aircraft.

  He quickly dressed and made his way to the command post.

  The room was full of cigarette smoke as he made his way to a Senior Sergeant calling out orders. He waited beside the man for things to slow down and then asked, “What is going on?”

  “A couple of Black Sharks caught a company of partisans on the ground and in the open. From the initial reports, at least 40 partisans were killed and we have infrared equipped helicopters out now hunting. Colonel Matveev ordered a company to be dropped in the area by helicopter.”

  “Are they all gone yet?” Sokoloff asked, hoping he could go out with them.

  “The Colonel is personally going out in about twenty minutes, as soon as they have secured the area. He seems —”

  “Shark Two reports two transport helicopters down and in flames. He says the partisans have rockets or missiles.”

  “Tell him to clear the area where the Colonel will be going and then return to refuel, rearm, and escort the man's helicopter out to his troops. Tell him to do the job now, too.” a Major the Master Sergeant didn't know ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Put me on the manifest, because I want to go out with the old man. I'll be on the flight line near the helicopters.”

  The Senior Sergeant shrugged his shoulders and said, “Okay, but it is your ass on the line, not mine.” and he went back to shouting orders.

  Sokoloff ran to his quarters for his field gear and weapon.

  Twenty-five minutes later the helicopter was moving toward the ground troops and Sokoloff enjoyed the cool air in his face. The aircraft had a crew member sitting behind a machine-gun where each door used to be, ready to fire if need be. The removal of the doors allowed the cool night air to blow into the passenger compartment and the passengers enjoyed the ride. The Master Sergeant saw the Colonel and a Lieutenant Colonel were the only passengers. The Commander had a headset to speak with the crew.

  When they began to lose altitude there were a number of twing and ping sounds as small arms fire punched holes through the aircraft. The machine-guns on both doors opened up, but the Master Sergeant knew they were firing at muzzle flashes, and saw no one in the darkness. The noise was deafening and it was then a line of holes appeared, as by magic, in the floor. The Lieutenant Colonel sitting by him fell forward, limp in his seat-belt.

  “This is Big Rooster.” the pilot said, “We have heavy ground fire and are taking hits. This landing zone is hot, repeat, the landing zone is hot.”

  Sokoloff felt the man's neck, found no pulse and watched as a puddle of fresh blood formed by his boots. He saw the exit wound was close to his Adams apple, so he suspected the bullet had traveled from his rear to his throat. The red canvas seat under the man was soaked in blood. The aircraft banked sharply, shuddered and then the flight machine gunner looked at him and raised one finger. He knew they'd be landing in one minute. He lowered his Night Vision Goggles, tightened his seat belt, and prepared mentally to exit the aircraft under fire.

  As they lowered to the ground, tracers of all colors were seen criss-crossing in front and at the sides of the helicopter. If not so deadly, they would have been considered beautiful. Thuds were heard and the pings and zings returned. The man up front and sitting on the right suddenly jerked and twitched violently in his seat. Seconds later blood splattered on the right side of the windscreen and the man fell limply to the left, with only his harness holding him upright. The Master Sergeant noticed a stream of blood dripping from his chin, to land on the instrument panel between him and the pilot.

  When the aircraft touched the ground, everyone but the dead Lieutenant Colonel ran from the helicopter. The door-gunners were still shooting at targets they couldn't see, but then one on the right fell to the floor and started bucking and jerking. It was then the aircraft started to lift back into the air once more. The Master Sergeant saw what he thought was a rocket zoom past the helicopter, missing it by mere inches. No one noticed a row of bullet holes run along the engine panel and then smoke began to pour from the bird. Slowly the pilot raised the aircraft and started limping home, smoking badly, with at least two dead and one injured.

  Even with his NVGs on, the Master Sergeant saw no one but dug-in Russians. Four helicopters lay burning in the surrounding field, the light showing bodies near each aircraft. He followed the base Commander to the company Commander and listened as they talked.

  “It is estimated we have run into at least one company of partisans, but more likely two.” Captain Alexey Alexeev said from the darkness.

  “I find this hard to believe. I was told partisans always work in small groups.” Colonel Matveev said and then asked, “Are your men in a good defensive position?”

  “Fairly good, sir, and I think the partisans will start to withdraw now, because they hung around to shoot at our aircraft.”

  Suddenly, the popping sound of gunfire intensified. Then grenades exploding added to the noise level. The radioman, squatted by the Commander, suddenly had a third eye and the back of his head exploded. He dropped to the ground unmoving and was dead before he'd felt any pain. The radio was removed from the dead man's back by the Commander, and he picked up the handset. Pushing his helmet back slightly to allow the speaker to be against his ear he said, “Base, this is Big Rooster Actual, and I need artillery assistance.”

  The Colonel read off the coordinates from the map, had the person on the other end read them back to him, and said, “I will correct you as you fire. I want the first round to be white phosphorous as a mark and I will correct you from there. Understand, first shot on the way.”

  With all the bullets flying around the Colonel didn't have to tell anyone to lower their heads. Seconds later, a shell struck about 500 meters from them and then mushroomed into what looked like an inverted white Christmas tree. The shell produced a stunning white image, but Sokoloff knew white phosphorous produced painful wounds that burned until the air source as removed.

  “Drop the next one. I want it 100 meters lower.”

  By the time the second shell landed, all incoming small arms fire was gone. The second shell was as beautiful as the first, but the partisans had run the second they heard the first shell screaming toward earth. As a result the two shells had only killed one man.

  “Cease fire, cease fire!” the company Commander yelled, as the base Commander ended the artillery support.

  A Lieutenant stood, a distant shot was heard, and the man fell screaming as blood spurted from a wound to the inside of his left thigh. The medic ran to him and as he opened his pouch of supplies, he was shot in the head, his helmet punctured like a can of soup. His bloody body fell over the Lieutenant, who was screaming hysterically. Then an unknown Private crawled to the officer and pulled him behind cover. Minutes later his screaming ceased as morphine flowed through his veins.

  “Looks like they have stolen a Russian sniper rifle with a night vision scope from us.” the Company Commander said.

  “Yes, have your snipers look too, Captain. I have yet to see a partisan body.”

  “I want us on a fifty-fifty alert, and my snipers looking for targets. If you scope a partisan, fire at will.” the Captain ordered, which meant half of the men could sleep as the rest pulled guard. The snipers had just been given approval to shoot when they found a target.

  Like most soldiers, Sokoloff hated snipers. He knew they had a mission too, but they were cowards in his mind. Some sitting back a mile or so to kill unsuspecting soldiers, wasn't an honorable thing to do, at least not in
his mind. And a sniper didn't usually kill the first person shot, but waited for folks to try and rescue the injured one. If his first victim was a high ranking officer, it might be possible to kill a half-dozen soldiers as they tried to get the man to safety. Then, after bagging his limit, the sniper would usually kill the first one shot, because the game was over.

  The remainder of the night was quiet, but at the odd times a loud cough of a sniper's rifle with a silencer was heard. At sunup, the Company Commander gave his marching orders and then allowed the men time to eat.

  Colonel Matveev was a smart man, and like most of the line troops wore no rank. He also made it known that saluting or doing anything for him in the field was a no-no. He wanted no unnecessary attention drawn to him, so he'd pack his own pack, prepare his own meals, and live the life of a private soldier, except he'd not walk point or guard at night. Snipers loved officers and senior NCO's as targets.

  “Sir, I think the partisans have broken into small cells by now. One of our helicopter reports seeing where they moved through a large field. The dew was wiped from the grasses by their trousers and they are moving south by west.”

  “Get on the radio and have some paratroopers dropped in front of the partisans suspected line of travel. I think it might be smart to drop the airborne troops in squad sizes and spread them out a bit. If they tell you they do not have the authority to do as I asked, give the headset to me.”

  The morning dawned nice, with a clear sky, cool but not cold, and it was a good day to track partisans. Two medics were counting the dead and wounded as they waited for helicopters to return to take the injured and dead back to the base.

  “Sir, will you be returning to base with the helicopters this morning?” Captain Alexeev asked. He prayed the man would leave, because it was difficult to run a company with his boss watching his every move.

  “You seem to have it all well controlled, so yes, I think I will return. Master Sergeant Sokoloff, will you return or stay with the men?”