The Fall of America | Book 10 | No Winners

by Benton, W. R.

  At the door John paid the man $10 but had no idea if he was over tipping or under.

  "Thank you, sir." the man said as he pocketed the ten. He then left.

  "You going to open the door?" Joy asked.

  "I'm almost too tired to open anything. I need a double bourbon and some food." he said as he pulled the magnetic key card from his shirt pocket.

  "I need a shower and a meal." Joy said.

  He swung the door open wide and walked inside.

  "Morning, sir." a male voice said.

  "Morning, uh, who are you?"

  "I'm Jefferson Wilcox, and I'm your inside door guard. I've just contacted the outside guard, Bill Springer, and he'll be up in about ten minutes. You're about 30 minutes early. I trust you had a good flight?"

  "It was okay but long. We are tired."

  "If you want to relax I'll stay here and you can go to the interior bedroom and make yourselves at home. I hope you're both armed, but if not, I can get you some weapons."

  "No, we are both armed. We'll retire to the interior room and we'll have a meal sent up in a few minutes."

  "I am to inspect everything coming in and out of here. I will look your food over, but not touch anything unless absolutely necessary. Just for security purposes, sir."

  "I fully understand. Now, we will leave you."

  In the other room John whistled as he looked the room service menu over. He saw a t-bone steak for $109, but that was with two sides, salad, and a choice of drink. Joy ordered a salad, fish sandwich, and almond milk for her drink. The bill was $209, which John only had to initial because the partisans were paying for this night in the hotel.

  After eating, as Joy showered, and watching a little Russian Television, John saw a commercial that brought up the peace accord. It showed the date they'd signed the agreement and the next date was six months later, which John figured was the withdrawal date. The camera showed John and Joy walking up the steps at the hotel and one scene of General Yanovich. The next scene was of the General being promoted in the hospital as they removed his two stars and added another one. The Russians then pinned two fancy looking medals on him and they were showing him off like a new coon dog. John felt good the man was rightfully recognized for the kind of officer he was at heart.

  Joy entered the room and asked, "Isn't that General Yanovich?"

  "Yep, I don't speak Russian but I know the ranks and few cuss words. Apparently they promoted him with another star and gave him two medals. The medals are special, and one went around his neck like our medal of honor."

  "He deserves it. You and him both had a give and take attitude during the talks, but not so much at first. That's not easy to do with an enemy you hate."

  "I hate no one. I dislike the Russians because they are in America. Send them back home and we'll get along fine. I only kill them because they are here, in my country."

  "War is for the stupid."

  When John gave her a blank look, she added, "Well, not a war based on keeping your country. I meant, the whole of idea of war is dumb. Killing people for what? To take them under your control and to use them to benefit yourself and country? Politicians who start wars should have to fight their equivalent in the other country to see who wins or loses. Give our young people a break from wars."

  "Politicians fighting politicians, now that would be something to see. I'd pay to see that, if I had any money." he laughed.

  "Go shower and you'll feel much better. Now I'm so sleepy."

  Grabbing his underwear from his suitcase, John moved for the shower.

  "I'm going to open a small bottle of bourbon," Joy said, "because it will help me sleep. I'm so tired I don't think I can sleep without relaxing. The food was too much, and I was sleepy as soon as I finished it."

  "I'll be back in a few minutes. I'm tired too, and think a shower is a great idea."

  Ten minutes later, when John walked back into the bedroom, Joy was sitting on a sofa, a drink in her right hand, and she was sleeping soundly. He laughed, because she'd promised to use him, but she'd finally lost out to sleep. He picked up a blanket and covered her, took the drink from her hand, and then sat on the opposite end to the sofa, intending to finish her drink.

  Russian TV had something like National Geographic on, so he propped his feet up on a footstool and watched it. Within minutes he fell asleep, just after he finished the drink. He woke again a little after midnight, woke her, and then they both went to bed. John would not have slept if he'd known the two men outside his door were now as dead as they could get.

  How long he'd been asleep, he had no idea, but the first thing he noticed when he sat up was the door knob turning. He knew the guards would not enter without knocking first. He pulled his pistol and nudged Joy.

  When her eyes opened he whispered, "Unwelcome visitors."

  She rolled from the bed, her pistol came out from under her pillow, and she flipped the safety off. When the knob stopped turning, from behind a chair she pointed her weapon at the door.

  The room was dark, so when the door was opened, a small outline of a woman blackened the doorway. John fired twice and the form fell to the floor in a heap.

  "Leave her be, for a bit." Joy said from behind an antique French chair.

  The body began to move and John realized there was another intruder. He jumped from the bed and then slowly moved for the door. His pistol was extended with both hands and he was ready to shoot, but first he needed a target.

  Chapter 12

  The Spetsnaz squad in the truck with Senior Sergeant Filippovna were quiet, each with their own thoughts, as they rode along in the bumpy cargo hold of the truck. Since the Captain was dead, the Sergeant was now in charge. Most of the troops trusted the old Sergeant much more than they did the now dead Captain, because the officer lacked the Sergeant’s experience level.

  Turning on his flashlight, the Sergeant began checking his map, looking for routes to get them back to lines the Russians controlled. He knew right now the military and police of the partisans would be at the Nuke blast, trying to figure out what happened. The dead guard at the main gate would be a hint, a strong one, that someone had blown the reactor. He had no idea the blast had flattened the ground for a mile around and the guard was long gone.

  "We have about twenty miles until we enter our lines. I expect them to come after us hard and heavy once they realize it was no reactor mishap but a suitcase bomb. Hopefully by then we will be safe."

  Private Putinov, who was sitting at the end of the seat by the tailgate said, "I have lights in the air behind us and moving up fast. I think it is a helicopter and not a jet, by the speed."

  The Senior beat on the rear of the truck cab and yelled out, "Pull off the road and park, we have an aircraft on our arses. Do it now! When the truck stops, everyone out."

  The truck came to a full stop in minutes and men began to abandon the cargo hold and the cab.

  Suddenly clumps of soil and pieces of the macadam road began to fly into the air as a Chinese Helicopter Gunship fired their mini-guns on the truck. Then the truck went up in a ball of flames and one Russian ran from the fire covered in flames. The Sergeant's Bison fired one short burst and the man fell, still burning.

  "Use your ponchos to cover up. Now!" He screamed knowing the aircraft had thermal optic cameras and could see every warm or living thing in a ghostly white glow. Once covered by the rubberized material of the poncho, the white glow would be masked somewhat. It would keep a person hidden for about five minutes, then the light from body heat would start to slip under the edges of the poncho and give a position away.

  A machine gun fired once again and two men fell. One was painfully injured and screamed, a pitiful sound to the others. Then there was a pistol shot and the screaming stopped.

  Three more passes the helicopter made and on it's final pass, it sent a missile into the truck and the Spetsnaz were back to walking.

  As the aircraft flew away, the sergeant could hear whimpering of the wounded and smel
l the blood and human waste of the dead. He'd lost more than just a few men in the attack.

  "Private Putinov?"

  "He's dead, Senior Sergeant." Someone, it sounded like Junior Sergeant Yurienvna, said.

  "That you, Artur?" Superiors could address a lower ranking person by the first name, but the person called could not answer with the Sergeant’s first name. It was an unwritten rule in most military services around the world.

  "Yes, it is me, Senior Sergeant."

  "I need you to check and give me a list of our dead and wounded, as well as those hurt and how badly. Use your NVGs and hurry, we need to be moving before partisan troops arrive, and they are coming."

  "Yes, Sergeant."

  "Sound off with your name and condition!" the Junior Sergeant said aloud, figuring, rightfully so, they were alone.

  "Ivancheckov, I have an arm missing and I am in deep pain."

  "Desisovich, and my face and left leg are bothering me, but the wounds do not appear severe nor causing me much pain. I will live, and am able to move."

  "Yurienvna, Sergeant, and I have a deep cut on my shoulder, but I have a dressing on it and I think the bleeding has stopped. I have only found three of us alive out of the squad. Four counting me. You heard our names."

  "I am alive too!" Private Panteley said and all could hear the fear in his voice.

  "Good. Desisovich, are you sure you are able to walk?" the Sergeant asked.

  "Yes, I can walk." the Sergeant replied, knowing if he said he could not walk, he'd be killed because he would slow the group down. He wasn't really sure if he could walk a long distance, but he was well trained and knew by God, he would try to walk. He'd just force the pain to the back of his head.

  "Yurienvna, come to me. Meet me by the rear of the burning truck. Do we know who burned to death?"

  Once the two were together, the Private said, "Private Sychyov Nikolay 'Kolya' Denisovich burned up, but I only know that because he's the only one unaccounted for, and Private Vedeneyev Potapna lost his head to the guns. His death was the fastest."

  "Ivanovna, can you keep up with your arm off?"

  "Let me try, Sergeant. I will need someone to steady me as I walk, but I think so."

  "That means I cannot have Yurienvna give you morphine, only tablet pain killers. Morphine will make you sleepy and then you won't be able to walk. If the pain gets to be too much, you know what I must do."

  "I know what will . . . happen if I cannot keep up." His pain was such just then that he had to use every ounce of his being not to moan or groan as he spoke. But, he was determined to not be shot full of drugs because he was slow.

  "Yurienvna, dress the arm wound on him and prepare all the injured to move. If we walk all day, we will enter our lines near dawn tomorrow. Artur, you are my point and Yurienvna you are my drag. I want us moving at a fast clip overnight but once close to our lines, slow down and look for mines and booby traps from both sides."

  "I have all the Identification tags, except for the fire victim and it was too hot."

  The Senior Sergeant took the metal disks from the Private and read, 'ВС РОССИИ, in Russian that read, 'Armed Forces of Russia' at the top of the tag and shook his head. Below the text at top, an individual number on the next line identified the deceased. How many tags had he held in his career, a thousand? Two thousand or more?

  He placed the tags in his shirt pocket and said, "Let us move now."

  The walk during the evening was fast moving and his two seriously wounded were moving well, but he knew their pain was terrible. Of course, neither wanted to be killed for slowing the group. He knew their Spetsnaz training was keeping them alive, along with the pure determination to survive.

  "Ivancheckov, how are you doing?" he asked near dawn.

  "I will live, but never want to do this again in this lifetime."

  "According to the map, we are three miles from our lines. Yurienvna, give Ivancheckov a shot of morphine and rig a stretcher for him. We can carry him three miles if he sleeps, and he will. Also, consider giving him a bag of blood."

  "I will give him blood and an IV of fluids. I imagine he is low on everything."

  "Thank you, Senior Sergeant." Ivancheckov said and knew the man had just saved his life, because he was at the end of his determination and suspected he'd fall out within another mile. He was already getting weak and dizzy.

  People began to make a stretcher using two jackets; they soon had a crude looking one made, and then had Ivancheckov lay down. The medic inserted a needle for the blood and IV, so it appeared the wounded man would survive.

  "Desisovich, how are your wounds?"

  "I am fine, and the pain tablets work fine for me."

  The Sergeant laughed and said, "Liar. I know you are in pain, but we are Spetsnaz, the best trained bastards in the world. Not much further, Sergeant. I expect you to be back to work in no time, but we have lost Ivanovna forever. With the arm missing, he will be given a partial medical disability check and retired from the army."

  "He will survive because he was raised to be a farmer, but he will just have to learn to do it all with one arm." Private Panteley said.

  The Sergeant called his people in and said, "Okay, since we will have to carry Ivancheckov on a stretcher, we will do away with a point and drag positions. I will lead, but I will only be a few feet ahead of all of you. Keep your heads out of your arses and be alert for mines or booby traps. I may very well miss one or two. Things are about to turn serious, but if we do this properly we will cross our lines easily. Screw it up and some of us may die. Now, let us move."

  Two hours later, as they crossed an open field, Filippovna was looking at Private Panteley who had taken over walking in front about an hour before, there wasn't really a point man. Suddenly an explosion was heard and a narrow wall of fire went up around the man. The now wounded man screamed as he was blown apart by a big mine. The Sergeant actually saw the man's leg and both arms fly through the air. Once the sounds of the explosion died down, smoke and dust filled the air. The smell of cordite, the coppery smell of blood and the overpowering stench of human waste was an overpowering stink. The wounded man still lived and he could be heard whimpering as he slowly bled to death.

  "Cover me as I check our man up front! Desisovich, if I go down, you take charge and keep moving on the current compass heading." The Sergeant yelled and then ran for the downed man, who was still screaming.

  Unable to find the man's medical kit, which contained his morphine, the Sergeant pulled a syringe from his kit and poked Panteley in the bleeding stump of his right leg. The man's eyes were huge with pain and the realization he was dying. Filippovna was sure the man was in deep shock to cover most of the pain of his injuries. The Sergeant noticed most of the wounds were cauterized too, from the flames of the mine.

  Panteley was screaming now, his pain finally reaching his brain.

  Pulling his second vial of morphine, he stuck it into Panteley knowing fully well the morphine was strong and the second shot was overkill for pain. The man would have died even if in an emergency room, so the Sergeant thought the drug overdose would at least let Panteley die without pain or fear.

  His screaming stopped but now he was whimpering like a wounded animal and his flesh was growing pale. Suddenly Panteley jerked twice, his eyes opened even wider, and then he fell back on the grass, dead as hell. His whimpering stopped with his heartbeat.

  The Senior Sergeant pulled the dog tags from the body and as he put it in his shirt pocket with the rest, he leaned forward and closed the dead man's eyes.

  "He is gone, let us move. I will take point again."

  He'd not walked twenty feet before he stopped, marked a mine in the dirt in front of him, and then, about a foot from the mine, some dirt had blown from a shotgun cartridge resting on a nail, so he marked it as well. Ten more steps and he found another mine. Moving off the trail he said, "We will move parallel to the path. To many mines on the walkway for me."

  Off the path they
moved faster than before and the men had just gotten into the rhythm of the march when a machine gun opened up on them. Men in the squad began to fall, but the Sergeant had no idea if they were hit or hunting a hole. He went down as well.

  The machine gun grew quiet once his targets were down. Men could be heard moaning in the grasses near the Sergeant.

  He heard someone yell in Russian and realized his men were fired on by friendly fire. Raising his head he screamed, "Cease fire, you idiots. We are Russian Spetsnaz! You are firing on friendly troops!"

  "How do I know you are Russian?" a voice called out.

  "I am a Senior Sergeant and I am going to whip your dumb vodka slurping ass once I get close enough."

  "Yep, you are a Russian for sure, talking like that. Cease fire, and second squad, move to them and help them; in case they have wounded, take two medics. Yours, and one from the third squad. Move!"

  The squad and the medics moved forward and soon ran into the Senior Sergeant, the only one completely uninjured by the machine gun.

  "How many are wounded?" someone asked as they mingled.

  "Two are wounded and you fools killed another two. Both Sergeant Desisovich and Private Valera Tarasovich are dead, and you almost killed the wounded.

  Were these all the men assigned to you?"

  "No, I started out with 12 men, but now there is just me and Private Ivancheckov still standing. I need you to call for a helicopter to take us back to the base; I have a mission to report on."

  "Why not use your radio?"

  "Your machine gun just killed my comms man and the radio."

  "Sorry about that, but we did not expect any friendly troops to be near us, much less in front. The gunner was just obeying orders."

  "I tried to call base a few minutes earlier and could not get a reply from them or anyone else. We were strafed a few days back and it has not worked well since. It's possible it was damaged earlier."

  A radioman walked to the Senior Sergeant and said, "I just talked to headquarters and they have two helicopters coming for you. One for your dead and another for you and the other man. ETA is about twenty mikes out."