The Fall of America | Book 5 | Fallout

by Benton, W. R.

  “Is that all?”

  “Well, not really. I think God should be in all Federal buildings and schools, because our nation was founded on the Christian faith, and the freedom for Christians to worship as they wish. Special groups like atheists or other religions can simply ignore the crosses or statues that they dislike. Finally, our voting should be done by the actual number of votes by the people and not delegates. I couldn't believe the last few years of our nation, where anyone could vote, and no one needed identification to do so. Voting is such an honor and it makes sense to allow only our citizens to vote. I also think our judicial system needs a complete overhaul. I can remember a restaurant being sued because their coffee was hot but it had no warning printed on the throwaway cup, so when it spilled, it burned a customer, and what hot coffee is not hot? Millions of dollars were awarded, because the hot coffee was hot. Our judges need to start using a little common sense. I think there were some unjust sentences passed, too. Most crime was black on black crime, which I never understood. But say a white man killed a black during a robbery, the Department of Justice automatically made it into a hate crime. However, if a black man killed a white man during a robbery, it was a robbery gone bad. Our judges were so dumb most shouldn't have been left alone, much less rendering decisions in many cases.”

  “You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?”

  “Yes, I have, and still can't see exactly at what point common sense left our nation and the bleeding heart Liberals gained control. I can remember one election toward the end, when we had a man with no prior political experience, but he was one whale of a successful rich business man running against a liberal woman who should have not been allowed to run, because she was under investigation for keeping piles of classified information in her home. Then, we had a man, who in my personal opinion, was an open communist, running against the woman in the same party. Well, the woman won, was later convicted of having all the classified information, and sent to prison. The Vice-President at the time was another liberal, who unfortunately had no idea even how to spell President. Suddenly he was in charge and you know what the first thing he did was?”

  “No, what?”

  “He pardoned her and gave her a job working for him as an adviser.”

  I stood, yawned and made my way to the trees to pee. It was time for all of us to get some sleep. When I returned, Carol asked, “Would you hold me in your arms like you did last night?”

  I gave a low chuckle and said, “Sure, come over to me.”

  An hour before dawn, we were all awake and moving around. No fires were started and we began a day with no coffee, which always put me in a bad mood. I had Lea and Thompson go about five miles down our back trail, which they did, but they saw no one. I was apprehensive, because I couldn't figure out why the Russians didn't have another team on us. Maybe they didn't know what I carried or the importance of my group. They may have just written us off as a bunch of rednecks who could shoot well, but were no serious threat to their military.

  Brewer, who was our explosives expert, soon had some C-4 burning, and we took turns heating water for tea or coffee. That stuff burned clean, clear, and gave off no smoke at all. As I sipped my coffee, I used an Arkansas stone on my knife blade. I carried an old skinning knife my dad once owned, and it was made of 440C stainless steel. It had a ten inch blade, and I'd had it since he gave it to me on my tenth birthday. I kept a razor sharp edge on all my knives because my dad used to say, 'More folks are injured with a dull knife that doesn't cut cleanly, than were ever hurt with a sharp knife. Never cut making sawing motions; use a saw, because a sharp knife will slide right through any meat. Your knife should be kept sharp enough to shave with at all times.' He was right, and to this day I keep a sharp edge on all of my edged weapons.

  It was mid-afternoon when Carol elbowed me and pointed out a line of men moving toward us. I raised the binoculars I took off a Russian General we killed in retaliation for killing a large number of innocent civilians, and focused the glass. I glassed the area and they looked to be partisans, because each wore a white cloth around their left arm, but I didn't recognize a single person in the group. That in itself meant little, because I didn't know everyone. Our mortality rate was high anyway, especially with officers and senior NCO's. It wasn't unusual for a squad to have a completely new crew by the end of the year. Ours was a dangerous profession, but for damned sure worthwhile.

  I handed the glasses to Mary who looked them over.

  “They look fine, but something is not right.” she said, mirroring my thoughts.

  “Whats the new password for the day?” I asked.

  “Disney . . . Land.” Lea said.

  “I saw a radio with them, so they should have the new password, too. Now, when they approach, I'll yell out and then listen for the counter word. If they give the wrong one or don't give a reply at all, I may start shooting. Only, no one fires until I do.” Mary said.

  I moved the machine-gun we'd stolen, along with a couple of cans of ammo, so James could use it, while Thompson was on the other side with his flamethrower. I hoped they were Americans but if not, it would be the first time the Russians had gone this far.

  Mary yelled, “Disney!”

  Silence filled the air.

  Chapter 8

  Some armor, three T-90 tanks, were now with the Colonel in the field, which his troops laughingly called 'Tent City', and the single road down the middle of the tents was called 'Main Street.' Since moving to the forward operating base, he'd surrounded it with hundreds of land mines, barbed wire, razor wire, and construction was going on for two towers. Machine guns were manned 24/7 and they were evenly spaced around the perimeter. Sandbags were seen all over the base and there were never enough on hand.

  Like some U. S. bases had done in Vietnam, human waste was collected in modified 55 gallon drums and burned once a week. The lucky troop of the day, removed the containers from the toilets, poured gas and diesel on the dung, then, using a long stick, mixed and burned the fecal matter. It was a horrible job with just the smell causing most men to gag. More than one man had been seen puking or with dry heaves as he worked this detail.

  Unfortunately the Colonel was developing a false sense of security and felt, when completed, his staging base would be so strong no one could over run it. What he didn't think of was that half of the base population was usually in the field. Five to ten percent of those remaining were sick or unable to work, and the rest were not infantry, but made up of cooks, bakers, and administrative folks. Out of the 100 assigned to the base as security, only about 15 had ever heard a shot fired in anger. He was absolutely sure he was gaining control over the entire area, but that would change this night.

  Colonel Matveev sent Senior Sergeant Pajari out with a T-90 tank to see why a machine-gun crew at a roadblock had not responded to any radio calls. Taking a squad of men, none of them combat troops, he loaded them on the tank and rode to the roadblock. The men acted like kids on the big heavy tank, laughing and clowning around. The laughter stopped when they approached the dead men, who were easily seen from atop the tank.

  Once the tank stopped the men jumped to the ground. One man moved toward the sandbags, but was suddenly covered with a sheet of red flames as he stepped on a Russian anti-personnel mine. The explosion was loud, but his screams of pain were much louder. Both legs were gone, his left arm was missing, and long coils of purple intestine were on the ground near him.

  “Give him morphine, and do it now. You know what he needs.” Pajari ordered, and nodded to the field medic, who knew to kill the man with an overdose. No doctor in the world could put this man back together or keep him alive.

  “I will give him morphine in a few seconds, Senior Sergeant.” the medic said as he checked for mines or booby-traps near the downed man. He marked two additional mines with sticks and then squatted beside the screaming man. Pulling a syringe, he gave the wounded man a fatal dose of the strong drug. Within seconds the screams died down to whim
pers and then finally nothing was heard.

  “Check each body closely for booby-traps.”

  Two men moved cautiously to a body beside the sand bags, looked around, and saw nothing out of place. One man took his shoulders and the other raised his legs. They lifted him and had moved for the tank, when an explosion from a grenade filled the air. Four men dropped to the ground, of which three were dead and one was seriously injured, with his left leg missing at the knee.

  Growing angry that he'd already lost half of his squad recovering the bodies, Senior Sergeant Pajari said, “Stop and move to the other side of the tank. I will use a rope to pull the other three bodies before we touch them. Behind the tank you will be safe from the explosions.”

  Thirty minutes later, with five explosions, the job was done. The wounded Russian was found and Pajari was surprised the partisans had given the man first aid. While he was unconscious, he was very much alive and he was the first the Senior Sergeant had heard of that wasn't killed following a partisan attack. He loaded the dead machine-gun crew on the tank, as well as his four dead troops and two wounded, and returned to the base.

  Once at the base, the now conscious lone survivor of the machine-gun crew told the Commander that the partisans would stop killing the injured, if the Russians stopped. The injured man was begging the Colonel to not kill Americans when he passed out.

  Colonel Matveev laughed and said, “We'll kill every damned partisan we find, injured or not.”

  The Colonel was more upset the machine-gun and radio were missing, along with the gear the men had, than the deaths of his troops. His frustrations of dealing with partisans were just starting.

  “We had four killed and one severely injured recovering the bodies of our comrades, sir. Each of the bodies was booby-trapped and none of the men with me were field troops. The injured man will survive, but he'll get a medical discharge, sir.”

  “Why don't the bastards stand and fight us, toe to toe? I hate this type of fighting because it's the way a coward fights. It reminds me of the old American cowboy movies and how the Indians would hit and then run from the white man.”

  “Sir,” Senior Sergeant Pajari said, “they fight like partisans all over the world fight. However, we will lose less men if we agreed with the no kill policy.”

  “Enlisted troops are expendable, including you, Senior Sergeant. I will not treat partisans that we find. They will be shot immediately and by my orders. You keep your men under control, while I do the thinking here. God has a reason I am a Full Colonel and you are a Senior Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir. I was just offering my thoughts, is all.”

  “When I want your thoughts, I'll ask you for them, Sergeant. Now go take care of your men.”

  “Yes sir, I'll do that.” Pajari replied, and as he walked away thought, Why you arrogant ass, your hard-headed attitude will see hundreds, if not thousands, of young Russian boys and girls murdered, but why? Why, Colonel? Is it because you see having a little compassion for our enemy as a weakness? Lord, God, save us all.

  The big tank, as well as the dead and wounded on the tank were seen by two partisan troops that were just outside the wire of the base. They would soon return and bring news of the dead and wounded. They also got a rough estimate of the troops on the base, counted the tanks, and noted the location of all machine-guns on crude maps. They noticed the camp had an entry point that was not mined, so vehicles and personnel could move in and out freely. This was also noted on the map. They then melted into the trees to return to their units.

  The rest of the day was normal at the base, with the dead and wounded picked up by helicopters that also dropped off rations, ammunition, and more importantly, the mail. Mail call took place and it was the first mail since they had arrived at the base. For some, their first mail would also be their last. Two lowly Privates stood on a hill, burning human waste, which caused more than one man to refuse to eat supper. The overpowering smell of burning human feces had many men retching with the dry heaves.

  Vodka, which was brought on the base by many of the men even though it violated army regulations, was opened and drinks were shared. The Senior Sergeant knew the enlisted men had hard drink, but did nothing about it. He felt if the officers were issued vodka in the field, his enlisted men should be allowed to drink as well, as long as they didn't get out of hand. Vodka was the national drink of all Russians and while Pajari had tasted bourbon, whiskey, tequila, cognac, and other hard drinks, nothing beat the taste of Russian vodka to him.

  At dusk the generators came on to power the radio tent, the Commanders quarters, and the search lights. Additionally, all three tanks had powerful search lights mounted on the turret. One tank was down due to a thrown track and the crew was happy it happened on base and not out in the boonies. The night was clear, with millions of stars seen sparkling overhead, and a light warm breeze from the west. While many would eat now because the scent of burning human waste was much less, it still lingered faintly and few would eat a full ration.

  At 2100 hours, the base grew quiet except for the men working on the tank, and the troops went to their sleeping bags. Guards manned their positions and settled in for another boring night of passing time. At the end of their shift, they'd be replaced by another bored soldier, and they would then try to sleep.

  Pajari was a man who didn't require much sleep, and he was likely to be seen moving around among the young guards, making sure they were awake. He knew that most of these young men and women were still in school or living on the farm a year ago, and they weren't really soldiers. To be a real soldier required years of combat experience, not just completing boot camp and other fast classes on how to survive in the field. While the men and women were as qualified as any new soldier in the world, they had yet to actually apply what they'd learned. Pajari knew application would be a real killer for some.

  All was quiet until near 0100 hours, when a machine-gun outside the base opened fire. The gunner was good too, spraying short bursts that wouldn't burn the barrel out. Two of the men working on the broken tank fell, killed instantly by the bullets from the machine-gun. Then small arms fire and the dull thump of mortars being fired were heard outside the Russian base camp.

  Pajari ran to the communications center and yelled, “Tell base we need air support, now! This is not a probe!”

  It was then that a radio call from a machine-gun crew said, “We have hundreds of partisans in the east wire!”

  The old Senior Sergeant knew that was grossly overestimated, but it was likely sappers were moving in the wire to disarm mines and to cause hell if they could breach the wire.

  The same radio reported, right after the explosions of four motor shells, “The safe access wire is gone, most of it taken out by the mortars. I am moving my gun to defend the open area!”

  The radio room was suddenly a confusing place with calls coming in reporting this or that and it was hard to keep it all straight in his mind. He then heard a big boom from one of the tanks, and a second later another tank fired as well.

  Then they heard a man shouting over the radio, “We have a flamethrower at the entrance and the machine-gun is no longer working. For the love of God, we need more troops at the entrance —now! Send people immediately or the next time you hear a voice on this radio, it will not be mine.”

  Explosions were heard all over the base and the Senior Sergeant wondered where the Commander was, or if they'd gotten lucky and he'd been killed. He left the communications tent and made his way to the Commander's quarters. More than once he had to turn and fire at a dark form running toward him. When he arrived at the Commander's tent it was burning, and looked like it had taken a direct hit from either a mortar round or an RPG.

  He moved back to the communication center, knowing the Commander would show up there, if alive, but when he returned the Colonel was not to be seen.

  A scared voice said, “They've breached the wire on the north side, I repeat, they've breached the wire on —” The radio went dead,
but all heard the firefight in the background.

  Pajari went out to move some men to the north side and saw partisans all over the base. They were being overrun. Two of the T-90 tanks were in flames, one was sitting with the main gun lowered. The turret began to move and the cannon barrel was raised. The machine-gun on the tank came alive, dropping partisans in the pathway blown through the wire. Then the big 125 mm smooth-bore gun fired and screams were heard. Slowly, the tank began moving, and as it moved, it began killing more partisans. An RPG struck the tank in the side, but the steel-composite-reactive blend armor was not pierced. The projectile struck hard, but caused no real damage. A head showed in the hatch on the turret, and the man began firing a machine-gun mounted on the turret.

  Out of the blue, a wall of flame struck the front of the tank, and moved up, engulfing the man in the open hatch with flames. The screams of the burning tank Commander were heard above the other sounds of battle and his body shook and jerked. The man burned a minute or so and then slumped over the hatch, dead. A few seconds later his body was pushed out of the hatch and he fell to the ground still in flames. The hatch then lowered.

  A partisan ran to the tank with a canvas bag and placed it right above the tracks as they moved. It looked to the Senior Sergeant as if one side of the bag had tar or something applied to make it stick. He fired twice at the partisan, but saw no indication he'd struck the man. Within seconds, the partisan was gone, blending in well with the others. Slowly the Americans were being beaten back, but right then the bag on the tank exploded. The tank stopped moving, as a long link of track rolled off the right wheels to lay flat on the ground. Smoke from the explosives rolled from the tank. The driver could only drive in a circle now, which he did, sending death in many directions.