The Fall of America | Book 5 | Fallout

by Benton, W. R.

  “Do they work?” I asked.

  “All have exploded so far and the optical sight, using night vision, has about a 500m range. It has a fire-control computer, a laser range-finder, and an LED display. You'll have no problems using it, and so far I like it. Well, better than the rations anyway.” the team leader said, and then grinned.

  “Okay folks, let's divide this gear and get on our way. Captain, I thank you for staying and waiting for us, when you had every right to leave. However, by staying you'll help make this mission a success.”

  He extended his hand and said, “Glad to help. Sergeant, get the troops ready to return home. Best of luck on your mission, sir, whatever it may be.”

  “Thank you.” I replied, and was glad he was moving away from the area and had no idea of my actual mission. I felt some may not like the idea I was fixing to nuke one of the most heavily populated areas in the state.

  Minutes after the small group left, I said, “We need to do the same. Brewer, booby-trap anything that's left behind. Alford on point and James, you bring up the rear. Let's move, and if we're lucky, you'll be shed of me in less than 24 hours.”

  We walked until dark, then moved into a grove of mixed trees. Supper would be cold rations and I suspected most of us would try the new Chinese rations. No sooner had we stopped than a couple of the men moved for the bushes to pee, while the rest of us removed a ration. I had no idea what the container said, but the sticker said it was a full meal for one. I opened it and was rather disappointed, because the servings were so small. I knew right then these meals would not please Americans at all.

  I had some kind of noodles with meat, but the noodles were overcooked and had the consistency of the glue I ate in grade school. I did find the chemical warmer and heated my meal, which only made my glue hot. The mustard tuber I threw to the bushes, but the luncheon meat was fairly good. I also liked the egg rolls or whatever they were. I really liked the energy bar, but the rest was trash in my mind.

  “This crap is plain nasty.” Brewer said, and then pretended to gag.

  “I have some sort of rice dish, but not sure what kind of meat is in the pouch.” Carol said.

  “Oh, it's likely dog or cat, knowing the Chinese.” Alford said.

  Carol's eyes grew large and I thought she was going to puke. She said, “That's plain nasty, Alford.”

  “Let's cut the chatter and keep our conversation mission oriented,” I said, but it was good to hear them joking.

  Since we were close to leaving the group, I had two guards at a time this evening. I fell asleep fairly early, tired from all the walking and the load I was carrying in my pack. If you ever want to sleep well any night, spend all that day carrying a 60 pound pack. You will sleep.

  At some point, Tom touched my left ankle and said, “Company coming.”

  I slipped my NVGs on and moved to the trail, which was about 100 feet from our overnight camp. I instantly spotted a point man and a squad size unit behind him approaching us. The unit appeared to be partisans.

  They were wearing NVGs too, but we were well hidden in the brush and wore face-paint too, so we'd be hard to spot. When the main group was in front of me, I said, “Rapid.”

  “Deployment.” came the reply.

  “Stop, right there. What is your mission?” I asked as I stood from the trees.

  “We're hunting Russians, and we're to supply assistance to a special unit moving north. That's really all I know.”

  “Your name?”

  “I'm Captain James Isbell, from Meridian, Mississippi.”

  “Come with me, Captain, and we'll talk. I'm Colonel Quarterback.”

  I led them to our camp and everyone was well hidden as they should have been. I smiled and said, “They're our troops, so come back to camp.”

  As folks filtered in, I noticed one of the new partisans seemed to recognize Tom Black. While I wasn't suspicious of either man, I did asked, “Do you know this man, Tom?”

  “We attended high school together, is all, Colonel, and I thought he was dead, years back.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Pajari recognized Master Sergeant Sokoloff, but didn't dare say a word to the man. He knew his English was too poor and if he spoke he knew it would compromise the Master Sergeant's cover.

  His acting Commander said, “That is enough small talk. You two can talk again one day back at camp. Sir, you're in danger even as you sleep here. We have spotted numerous Russian units moving around, and some are company size and larger.”

  “I am in charge here, and my troops need rest.” I noticed the man looking around my camp, but thought nothing of it, because most military men like to know what is around them at all times. It's called situational awareness and just means to be aware of where you are and what is going on around you.

  “I understand, sir. Do you have any immediate needs?”

  “Uh, no, but if you get any Chinese rations, toss them.” I said, more or less teasing.

  “Chinese? Why Chinese?”

  “I've been told they're assisting us in our war against the Russian Bear.”

  “Well, we need the help of some super power, because I'm about beat most of the time. Poor food, little rest, and missions all the time, well, it gets very old.”

  While it was nothing I could put my finger on, there was something about his mannerisms that I found different. While he seemed to be a Southerner in speech and behavior, he wasn't complete, but he may have lived out of the state for a long while.

  “What now?” I asked. I wasn't about to tell him of my mission, mainly because he had no need to know. Just as the last group didn't know, this one wouldn't either.

  “I'm looking for a group that is carrying a large suitcase. My orders are to assist that group in any way, sir.”

  “Well, it's not us, so good luck.”

  The man looked around again, turned to a man and said, “Get the men ready to move, Sergeant. It'll soon be light.” Then looking at me he said, “Best of luck on your mission, sir.”

  I didn't catch Pajari and Sokoloff exchanging looks or see the Russian Master Sergeant wink. Ten minutes later, they were gone.

  “There is something unusual about that group.” Thompson said, “While they look like us, sound like us, and move like us, I'd bet all I own they are not Americans.”

  “Lea, get me Base on the radio.”

  Minutes later a Master Sergeant at base said, “No, sir, no one knows what you carry and no one knows about the containers, or your mission. Uh, I can't say more because our code may have been broken.”

  “Any units assigned with a team leader named Captain James Isbell, from Meridian, Mississippi?”

  “Used to be one, but no more. Captain Isbell was killed about a month back on a routine mission when his team was ambushed.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure, since I was standing right beside him when he was killed. No, there is no Captain James Isbell, from Meridian, Mississippi, currently on our roster. I suspect, sir, you were talking to Russians.”

  “Alert all partisan units to be on the lookout for this man and his unit. Quarterback, out.”

  “Tom, I want to talk to you now.”

  He neared, sat on a log and asked, “Yes, sir?”

  “Where do you know the man from you recognized with the team that just left?”

  “We attended high school together, but that doesn't mean he's not sided with the Russians. Many men and women work for them to keep their family alive, sir. I almost did, but discovered they'd both been killed by the bastards before they even contacted me. The next time I met with the Russian, I slit his throat, and joined the partisans.”

  “Who was held captive?”

  “My parents, both of them.”

  “From what you know, could he be with the Russians?”

  “I can't honestly answer that, sir. He was never a friend in school. I had some classes with him, but don't think I ever spoke to him. I thought him dead years ago, along with most of my hi
gh school class.”

  “Something is not right about that unit. The leader gave me the name of a dead Captain as his own and no one knows my mission, but yet he knew some of it, so I'm not sure that was a partisan unit at all. I strongly feel we just met a team of Russians.”

  “Their English was perfect,” James said, “along with the Southern dialect.”

  “Some didn't speak at all, including the man Tom knew. I have notified other units to be on the lookout for them. I'm almost positive they're Russians. See, this is not the first time soldiers have dressed as the enemy and then tried to blend in. Hitler sent special English speaking units out during the Battle of the Bulge to screw up the Americans and they did, but only for a while. Soon they were rounded up and executed for being spies. Anyone dressed in their enemies uniform and is caught is automatically considered a spy. By military law, world law, they are to be executed.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Colonel, he speaks English, if he's the same man.”

  “I noticed his leader didn't allow you two to speak, now did he?”

  Lowering his head, Tom replied, “No, and I found that strange, too.”

  “Alright, everyone up and ready to move. We'll move for a couple of hours and then call it a night. I won't stay here since someone knows our position. I want James on drag and Tom on point.”

  The next morning it was raining, but not hard, only it couldn't be called a drizzle either. The wind was light, temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees, or so I'd guess. It's bad enough to be wet; it's worse if it's cold too. Lea contacted base, gave them our information and paled when she got finished speaking to them.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “Yes, the position we were at last night when we met the other team was hit hard by Russian attack helicopters just after midnight. And, the unit that met us, the one with the man that knew Tom, was ambushed near dawn this morning, with all killed but two. They were taken out by a partisan unit, because the leader started talking in Russian as they moved along the trail right into the ambush. Between what we'd radioed in already and the Russian language, the partisan leader figured they were the bad guys.”

  “Good, I guess this will be a good day after all, rain or no rain.” I grinned as I moved to the bushes to relieve myself.

  Chapter 16

  Albert was scared, and injured to boot, but not seriously wounded. What concerned him most was he was dressed as a partisan, had an injured man with him, and was likely to be killed on sight by Russians or partisans. He was still in shock, but he'd had enough sense to bandage Lieutenant Gagarin's side. He didn't have a radio; it fell when Private Trusov was killed, and he was still angry that Captain Kuklov had spoken in Russian. He suspected the man had spoken for his benefit, but his use of the Russian language had resulted in the deaths of 10 men.

  “What now, sir?” Gagarin asked.

  “We keep moving north and try to reach Jackson or Edwards.”

  “If we are caught, we will be executed, sir.”

  “I am fully aware of that, and if our own troops catch us, we will likely be shot as well.”

  “Should we keep moving or hide?”

  “Moving, north.”

  “Yes, sir. How is your hand?”

  “Just a scratch. Has your side quit bleeding?”

  “I think so, and it is just the furrow of a bullet. I thought I was a dead man during the ambush.”

  “Quiet, and walk. We do not want to be seen, heard, or smelled, if it can be prevented.”

  “Trusov was on the radio talking to base and I am sure they heard part of the battle.”

  Stopping, Pajari said, “We must be quiet, Lieutenant, and that is an order. If Headquarters heard the battle they may look for us, so if I hear a helicopter, I will try to signal them. Now, unless I decide otherwise, no talking. Do you understand me, and nod if you understand.”

  The Lieutenant nodded, so the Colonel started walking again. Here we are in the middle of our enemies and this fool wants to chat like a blackbird. Fools, that is all Moscow sends me, he thought as he walked down the muddy trail. He'd still not learned to consider himself an officer. A number of times he'd almost called the Lieutenant sir.

  I wonder if Sokoloff is in solid with the Americans. I can report him alive, if I get back in one piece, but he may be back before I am, if the two of us ever get back, Albert thought as he glanced at the sky and saw dark clouds.

  At one point, the Colonel stopped and pointed out a trip wire to the Lieutenant. They stepped over it, but Albert wasn't comfortable doing that. Often toe-poppers were placed on the other side, just in case a man stepped over the wire.

  They'd gotten rid of their packs in their run for safety, so they had very gear little with them. They both carried Russian weapons and they had ammo, but no food, maps or sleeping bags. In some ways not having the weight was a blessing, but by mid-afternoon, both were hungry. They were north of the swamp, in an area covered with trees, with trails leading in all directions. Albert kept taking the trail leading north.

  Near dark, they were crossing a wide open field when a Black Shark helicopter flew over them, banked and returned for another look. When the bird was close, both Russians on the ground began to jump up and down, waving their arms.

  “Base, this Black Shark, Attack 1.”

  “Go, Attack 1.”

  “I have two men on the ground dressed as partisans waving at me.”

  “Uh, wait one.”

  A minute or so passed and then, “Attack 1, do not engage the target. We have a rescue helicopter on the way. Remain on station to support the recovery of the two men. Copy?”

  “Copy, I will remain on station.”

  Suddenly tracers zipped through the air, just missing Albert but striking Lieutenant Gagarin in the legs. It was followed by an explosion as a rocket struck nearby.

  “Base, this is Attack 1, the two men on the ground are taking fire from the trees.”

  “Keep them safe, Attack 1, so take out the source.”

  “Roger, will roll in on the trees.” the Black Shark said, began a gentle circle, and then lined up the front of his Gatling guns on the suspected tree line. As he moved, just feet above the trees, he squeezed the trigger and smiled as he sat in his vibrating chair, as the trees were torn to shreds. On his second pass, he used two missiles.

  Gagarin, on the ground, looked up at Albert and asked, “Did the helicopter shoot me?”

  “No, ground fire hit you, and the helicopter cleared that problem for us. I suspect there will be a rescue helicopter here soon. It looks like base knew to look for survivors.”

  “I hurt.” the Lieutenant said.

  The Colonel pulled a needle with morphine, injected Gagarin and then started dressing the man's new injuries, bullet holes through both thighs. He wrapped him up and by the time he was finished, the Lieutenant was almost asleep.

  “How are you, Gagarin?”

  “I am feeling no pain.”

  “Good. You just lay there, and we are fine.”

  Two partisans ran for their position, scared out of the woods by the helicopter. Albert raised and fired his Bison, hitting the man on the left in the chest and the man on the right in the head. Blood, bones and gore flew out behind both, before they screamed and fell to the grasses.

  Twenty minutes later a rescue helicopter and a MiG-31 arrived. Then the jet and Black Shark circled the field as the rescue helicopter landed. Two armed crewmen ran to them, asked Albert who they were in Russian, and then as a safety precaution, cuffed both men's hands behind their backs.

  As they lifted up, the helicopter pilot transmitted, “We are taking ground fire from the trees to our west.” Pajari heard a series of pings and klinks as they took off and one of the door gunners stopped firing and reached for the first aid kit on the wall. His flight suit had blood on the upper left side and it was growing in size. He'd taken a round high in his shoulder, but it looked like it missed the bone. Once they were high enough, the other
gunner dressed his wound better. They were then flown to the base hospital. Albert was sitting on a red nylon seat, while Gagarin was on a stretcher rack behind the pilots.

  Albert was unhurt and immediately cleared by General Matveev, who came to see him. The General also cleared the Lieutenant and both were given a physical exam. Lieutenant Gagarin was admitted for treatment of three wounds, but Colonel Pajari was released back to his unit as fit for duty. He quickly informed the General of Master Sergeant Sokoloff's position on the partisan team and neither could figure out how that could have happened. The General frowned when informed the Russian team was ambushed when Captain Kuklov spoke Russian at the wrong time.

  “Damn me, Kuklov knew to never speak Russian in the field. He must have done it for your benefit.”

  “Well, General, he almost got me killed. Ten men; men who were fluent in American Southern English are gone because of his error in judgment, sir.”

  “It is a shame. Are you certain there were no survivors except the two of you?”

  “Certain as you can get, because I saw the mangled bodies. They were ripped to pieces, sir.”

  “Well,” the General said, “I do hope your trip with the team at least opened your eyes to the potential damage groups like this can do.”

  “Yes, sir, it did. But, as I can speak from experience, all it takes is one mistake, just one, and you are a dead man.”

  After his visit with the General, the Lieutenant Colonel went to the officer's mess and had steak and eggs, washing it down with almost a pot of strong black coffee. Then after the meal, he had a cup of hot tea to relax. He was dressed in Russian field clothing now, without rank, which didn't matter to him, and needed a hot shower and some sleep.

  As he was getting ready to leave, the club manager approached and ask, “May I see your identification please?”

  “I do not have it with me, nor my wallet, nor my usual uniform. If you will be patient, Lieutenant, I will return to my quarters, get my wallet and pay you for this meal. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Albert Pajari, and I am the head of the Partisan Research and Termination branch. Call General Matveev and he will verify I have been on a top secret mission, something that you likely know nothing about.”