by W. R. Benton
“Yes, sir.”
“Senior Sergeant, I am sending the medic in to administer morphine to Private Varnava.”
“Get in here and now, Iona, or he will not need you.” the Senior Sergeant yelled to be heard once more.
“Radioman, contact base and let me speak with the ranking officer on duty.”
“Yes, sir!”
Later this night, as the group ate rations around a small fire, the Captain said, “Colonel Vasiliev was very angry and grew madder when I reported we had yet to see a partisan. Three men out of action, dead, and one seriously injured is not good. We must think smarter if we are to win this war.”
Senior Sergeant Yefrem laughed and then asked, “May I speak openly with you, sir?”
“Yes, of course and at all times, Sergeant. I respect you and value you opinion.”
“We will not win this war and do you know why?”
“No, why not? I mean we have all the advantage.”
“We lack the total dedication, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am sure you know military history and this will be our Vietnam War or more like our war in Afghanistan. The body count of dead Russian soldiers will continue to rise and then at some point a big bug in Moscow will say, enough is enough. It happened to the Americans in Vietnam and to us in Afghanistan. We will not lose the war, but the politicians will give it away. We cannot in my opinion, ever control this land until every American over the age of six is killed. These people have something that brings them together and allows them to put aside their differences and fight as a team.”
“It is patriotism, Sergeant, and Lieutenant Smirnov was telling me of a man saying the pledge of allegiance to the American flag, just seconds before he was pushed from a truck to hang. They still hold on firmly to the belief their country will recover.”
The Senior Sergeant spat into the flames of the dancing fire and said, “It very well might, sir.”
“I do not see patriotism winning a war.”
“Oh? They do not need to beat us, sir, just kill enough of us and we will be brought home. It is all about the cost in Russian lives and not financial cost. The partisans started this war fighting with hunting rifles, bows and arrows, clubs, and even rocks. Over time, they have stolen gear from our warehouses, supply convoys, and our dead. Except for aircraft and armor, they are almost equal to us in gear, because it is our gear they are using. They are experts at booby-traps, fearless, and totally dedicated to killing us.”
“Moscow presents the partisans as ignorant peasants and psychopathic killers.”
“And, sir, some may be, but most are prior hunters or military veterans and a hard bunch for some Russian kid off the farm to deal with. I have nothing against Americans as a people or individuals, but I am a soldier and go where I am told. I also kill those I am ordered to kill, but I do not do the job out of hate.”
“Then, why are you a soldier?”
Senior Sergeant Yelfrem gave a weak smile and said, “I grew up in the country, sir, and did not want to spend my life as a farmer. Of course, my parents lacked the money for me to attend college, so my only option was military service.”
“You have done well, with many promotions and medals.”
“In the army, along with promotion comes additional responsibility, which most fail to understand. I have both a legal and moral responsibility to my men and women.”
“Moral? I do not understand that aspect.” the Captain said and then opened a can of goulash.
“Most of these young men are how old, sir? Eighteen to twenty?”
“I would guess about that, yes.” He placed his can near the hot coals of the fire.
“I have been in the army longer than most of these people have been alive. I consider myself both a mother and father to my troops. I teach them, worry about them and I am happy when one of them does well. I am proud of most of them, but take today, I am deeply saddened by the deaths of Varnava, Yakim, and Varlam, because they were my boys. Each time one is killed, I cry over it, because maybe in some way I might have prevented their deaths. I wonder if I failed to teach or tell them something that might have kept them alive.”
“Men and women are killed in wars, Senior Sergeant.” The Captain began eating the greasy meal with a plastic spork.
“Yes, sir, they do, but in most cases it is because we, we in leadership, have failed to teach them what they needed to know to stay alive. Just a few short years ago, these men were still in school, sir, but now they are making decisions that can cost them their very lives, as well as the lives of their fellow soldiers. War is no game, it is for keeps.”
Finishing his meal, the Captain placed his empty tin in his pack, turned to the radioman and asked, “Did you call in our exact over night location?”
“Oh, yes sir, and over an hour ago. I got the coordinates from the Senior Sergeant, Captain.”
Yefrem said, “Men, we keep the same guard roster as before, but with the number of dead we had today, we will add an extra hour to each shift. Now, let me warn you all, if I catch you sleeping on guard duty, I will have your ass sent to a gulag or cut your throats. Your buddies will be depending on you, so do the task properly. Now, get to your sleeping bags and get some sleep. Iona, since you are my first guard, move into the shadows and try not to move much.”
The medic, tired after a full day of trying to save lives, cursed the army in his mind as he moved under a large pine. He sat unmoving for a long period of time, but nothing ever happened on the first shift, it was always in the middle of the night, so finally he relaxed. It was about an hour after everyone went to their sleeping bags that he heard a faint noise. There it is again and it is big, he thought. He brought his AK up and waited.
It was bitterly cold, but the moon was up and while it helped a little, it wasn't bright enough for him to see much. Then he saw a patch of brown. It has to be a partisan sneaking up on us, so I need to shoot him. If I save us from ambush they will give me a medal and momma will be so proud, he thought. He aimed at the brown color, took a deep breath, and as he released the air, he began to squeeze the trigger. His shot was loud in the still night air, so he fired twice more. There was no returning fire.
In camp, Russians were flying from their sleeping bags and donning their night vision goggles, NVG's, in order the meet this threat. The Captain was shouting orders and troops were running in all directions.
“Iona, are you safe?” yelled the Senior Sergeant.
“Yes Sergeant! I saw something brown moving.”
“Brown?”
“I am not sure what the brown was, but I saw a partisan.”
“Why no return fire?” the Captain asked.
Standing, Yefrem moved to Private Iona, and then asked, “Where did you see it?”
“About forty meters in front of me.”
“I will look and see what you have killed. Remain here and do not shoot again, unless attacked.”
“I understand.”
Ten minutes later the Senior Sergeant returned laughing. Once in camp he said, “Our guard killed a very nice whitetail deer. I suggest we all take some meat so we will at least have something different for supper tomorrow. The meat will keep well at this temperature and last for days .”
Private Iona lowered his head in shame.
CHAPTER 9
I'd heard the explosions when the booby-traps in the house went up and knew we'd cost the Russians some men. I didn't care if we'd hurt them or killed them, as long as I created casualties for them. I didn't know any Russians before the war, don't hate them, but they want my country and I will not allow that to happen. Until they leave, I'll kill and maim as many as possible to show them the tenacity of the average American. I'm no Rambo or John Wayne, just a normal man who is tired, hungry most of the time, and sick of killing. I'd love to have my old country back, but when we started borrowing money from other countries, knowing we couldn't pay it back, we determined our fate. Within four years, we were go
ne as a nation.
“Crossroad ahead of us and a machine-gun crew, along with a big ass tank. Do I go around or what?” Silverwolf asked.
“Go around. We have one injured and the rest are too tired to fight.”
“Sure,” he said with a smile, “because I don't like tangling with tanks. One mistake and they'll turn us into hamburger.”
“They'll not bother us, because Private Walsh is carrying a flamethrower and no one wants to burn to death.”
Grinning, he said, “I'd still bet on the tank. I'll take us to the left and then back about a half a mile to cross a macadam road. I don't think it would be smart to cross where they can see us.”
I glanced at the sun, saw it was almost dark and said, “Get a wiggle on and lets get this done before it's completely dark.”
“Will do, so follow me.” Silverwolf began to move.
As we moved, I gave thought to the tank and machine-gun and decided that later tonight, I'll return with the Russian speaking Corporal Scott and Private Walsh. If I can get close enough, I need to take the gun and tank out of action.
Crossing the road was easy and we weren't seen. I then moved into some trees, pulled out my binoculars and scanned the crossroads. I counted three men with the machine-guns and three with the tank. With a lot of luck we might be able to pull this off, especially if we attacked at night. Since we were mostly dressed in Russian uniforms anyway, that might confuse them just long enough for us to
get close enough to kill them.
I moved back to my people and said, “If you want to eat, eat it cold. No fires and yes, I realize it's cold. From what I saw earlier, snow is likely before dawn, so I suggest you crawl up under a tree to keep dry.”
No one grumbled much, so I walked to Scott and said, “Near midnight you, Walsh, and I will try to take out that machine-gun and tank.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Not at all, why?”
“Hell, the machine-gun alone will shoot us to rag dolls.”
“Not if you call out to them in Russian first. Once we get close, take the machine-gun out and then the tank.”
“I know you're in charge, but what if I don't want to do this? Damn it, this is insane.”
“You'll follow orders,” I said and then pulled my pistol, “or I'll shoot you now.”
He glared into my eyes and something convinced him I was serious, and I was. I thought we had a better than average chance of pulling this off. Every time I found a tank, I attempted to take it out.
“You would kill me, wouldn't you?”
“Oh, yeah, and not think much about it either. See, I don't have much use for a coward and I've been watching you, Scott. In every battle or fight I've seen you in lately, you hang back just enough to be a little safer. Well, tonight my friend you'll lead us right to the Russian gun and if you don't, I will shoot you, if they don't.”
I then moved to Sandra, squatted, and asked, “How are all of them?”
“Fine, except Joyce, who as you know was raped, so her mind is wasted. She's a strong woman, but it'll be years before she can put this behind her, if ever.”
“I don't understand, because she's doing all that's expected or asked of her, and I don't see her acting strange or depressed.”
“It really hasn't hit her yet, or I don't think it has. Keep her busy and then she'll have a better than average chance of not losing her mind over this. Yes, it happens to some women. Then, she may be pregnant, too.”
Standing I moved to Joyce and said, “Tonight near midnight, I'm going for the machine-gun nest and the tank. I want you to come along to help protect us from a long distance. Are you up to doing the job?”
“You bet, and you can be sure if one of them makes sudden move, he's a dead man.”
“Good, I suspected I could count on you, now get some rest.”
“I will.” She pulled a sleeping bag from her pack.
It was a little before midnight when Scott yelled out something in Russian to the machine-gun crew. At first the three men moved behind the stacked sandbags and made the gun ready. Scott kept talking. Finally, a tall thin Russian replied.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He said for us to come to them and not to make any sudden moves.”
“Agree with him and tell him there are only three of us.”
Scott called out and a few seconds later the Russian replied.
Standing, Scott said, “Come on, it's okay.”
I was apprehensive, but stood beside him, and then Walsh stood. The Russian called out and Scott whispered, “He said come on, he has some vodka for us.”
We then moved slowly toward the machine-gun nest. I relaxed a little when the gunner stood and leaned against the tank.
The walk was short, barely 25 yards, but it felt as if it were miles. I started sweating, my palms itched, and I could hear my heart beating in my chest.
When we were close, Walsh raised the barrel of the flamethrower and sent a short spurt of flame toward the three men. One man gave a loud scream, followed by a hideous cry, and moved around engulfed in flames. One man fell unmoving, but afire and the last man moved for the machine-gun, his left arm in flames. I heard nothing, but suddenly his head snapped back and almost exploded as a high powered round from Joyce took him in the face. Blood flew in all directions.
As the last man fell, we ran forward and climbed onto the tank. I found the top hatch closed, but not locked and pulled it wide open. Walsh leaned over the sent a long string of flames into the tank and we could hear the crew screaming.
“Run for the woods!” I yelled and then heard another shot. Glancing down at the drivers hatch I found it open and the dead driver laying halfway out, his upper torso in flames. Joyce had killed again. I jumped from the tank and took out running as fast as I could for the wood line. Just as I reached the trees, the ammo and fuel started cooking off in the tank. We continued moving once in the trees and I wanted some distance before the tank blew.
There suddenly came a bright light, followed a split second later by a loud explosion. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw a red and yellow ball of flames rolling into each other. I kept the men moving and a few minutes later, Joyce moved in beside me.
“I shot two.” she said, her joy obvious.
“Two confirmed kills.”
“Good, only fifty more to go.”
“Fifty more to go? What does that mean?” I asked. I tried to see her eyes, but it was too dark.
“After I was raped by the cannibals, I promised fifty-two men would die for my pain. I have no idea where the number fifty-two came from, it just entered my mind.”
“Those men were Russians, not cannibals.”
I heard a low laugh and then she replied, “If it has a penis and is our enemy, he's a dead man, if I can get the cross-hairs lined up on him. I want fifty-two men to die for my rape.”
“Enough talk, let's move a bit faster,” I said. I could understand her rage and urge to kill all men, but let's hope that's all there was to it or trouble would come. Some women want to kill all men after being raped, while others withdraw completely. I didn't want or need any problems with her over something the cannibals did. I need to have Sandra talk with her and feel her out, I thought and then glanced at her. She wore a determined grimace on her face and it worried me.
Two days later, we were lined up about a hundred feet from Interstate Highway 20, on the north side, just prior to the last Pearl exit. Kerr was with us now and was healing nicely, but walked with a crude crutch made from a tree limb. Dolly was at my side. I had word a small convoy of two trucks and a motorcycle would be along just before dark, coming from Alabama. I had been instructed to stop the trucks and take all the supplies I could, or destroy what I couldn't take.
Arwood neared and said, “They'll be here in a bit. I just caught a glimpse of them in the binoculars as they drove over an incline.” I scratched my dogs ears absentmindedly, and for a second thought of my other dogs, killed
years back.
“Wait for me to take the cyclist out before you all start firing.” I reminded my troops.
A few seconds later, I heard, then saw the motorcycle nearing. The driver was moving slowly, just a bit over 25MPH would be my guess, and I wanted him slightly past me before I killed him.
When he was right in front of me, I raised Joyce's sniper rifle, and the cross-hairs were lined up in the center of his shoulders. I fired. He fell from the bike, but it kept moving for another twenty feet before it fell on it's side and sent a shower of bright sparks in the air as the foot pegs dug into the pavement. I handed her rifle back to her and said, “Cover us, and if a man moves down there when we approach, take him out.”
“Will do.” she said and then smiled.
Rifles barked and grenade launchers coughed, as automatic weapons zipped bullets into the cabs of the trucks. Screams were heard and a squad of men jumped from the second truck only to be cut to pieces by our machine-gun fire. The first truck, I suspected the driver was already dead, suddenly turned sharply on it's side and slid down the highway.
“To the trucks, now!” I screamed as I stood.
Moving toward the vehicles, I heard little resistance from the enemy, and at the first truck I found the men in the cab dead, with one fatally injured man soldier under the rear wheels. I could see his lower body was broken and twisted and the wheels were on his chest. I shot him in the head.
Silverwolf soon approached and said, “Seventeen dead Russians, while we had two injuries. Joyce took a slug to the thigh, except it just burned her, and Kelly took a round through his left arm. Sandra is doctoring them up now.”
“What's in the trucks?” I asked.
“Crates, but I can't read Russian.”
I yelled, “Scott!”
“Yo!”
“I need you to find out what's marked on the crates in both trucks, then let me know.”
“Will do, but it may take some time.”
“Sure, you have ten minutes.”
“I can't read all the cra—”