B018R79OOK EBOK

by Unknown

  There were chuckles from the group. “How long before we get there, Ma’am?”

  “Well, tomorrow night we pass Gibraltar. Three more days and we’ll pass through the Dardanelles. One more day and we hit the beach.”

  “That’s good to hear. You going in with us, Ma’am?”

  “You bet your ass, Marine. I’m not one of those that sits in the rear. You and I are going all the way through this. Think you can keep up with me?”

  There were a few grunts and growls in the group. “Ma’am, I’ll share my foxhole with you,” said one Marine. There were laughs and jeers from a few.

  “I may just take you up on that, Marine,” she joked. There was a howl from the group.

  “Any of you guys from South Dakota?” she asked.

  “I am, Ma’am.”

  Richardson turned to see a vague figure in the darkness. “Where bouts?”

  “Custer, Ma’am.”

  That was a surprise. Richardson was also from Custer. “What’s your name, Marine?”

  “Caraway, Ma’am. Kelly Caraway.”

  Richardson reached out and slapped the young man on the arm. “Good to meet you Caraway. I’m from Custer too.”

  “I know, Ma’am. My Mom told me to say hello if we ever met.”

  Curious, Richardson asked, “Who is that? I had a bunch of friends there.”

  “Mom is named Janice. She was a Meadows.”

  “Well I’ll be damned. You’re little Kelly? Janice was my best friend in high school. How’s she doing?”

  “Not too bad. She told me some stories about you after I went through boot camp. I’ll let her know we met.”

  “You do that. If we get the chance to talk again, you’ll need to fill me in. It’s nice to meet someone I know,” Richardson said. “Now what about the rest of you? Tell me something about yourselves.”

  The talking went on for more than an hour. After the young men loosened up, it was like old friends shooting the breeze. That was just what Richardson needed to slough off the tensions she had been carrying during the trip. It reminded on a similar night years before, when she and another young Marine talked on a night much like this. In the end, everyone shook hands and went their ways. Richardson went to her stateroom and slept like a log. The others went back and told their fellow Marines of their commander and how they would follow her to hell and back.

  St. Petersburg, Russia

  The demonstrations had gotten much larger and stronger. A mass of several thousand filled the Palace Square. They were bundled against the terrible cold blowing off the Baltic, but they held their banners high. Shouting “We want heat and we want food,” they began marching in an ever growing circle around the Alexander column until the square was filled with angry people. Police were called in to calm the crowd but they were shouted down, or in some cases, the police joined the crowd. A military vehicle came up and troops were unloaded. It made no difference. The crowd stripped the men of their weapons and shoved them into the center of the circle by the column. Using their bare hands, the people overturned the truck and set fire to it. For many, it was the first heat they had felt in almost three months. People took their time around the burning truck to share the heat, but they continued to circle.

  Someone stood with a portable loudspeaker and the crowd got silent. A single woman stood before the crowd. “I am from a small town named Vednoye. The state has taken all of our young men for this war,” she said. “Just a month ago we received the notices. They are all dead! All but one gave their lives in this cursed war. Our leaders did this. They took them from us and forced them to fight against the Europeans and the Americans. I do not blame the Europeans, I blame our leaders for getting us into this! Now there is but one child of our town still alive. A whole generation of our people has been wiped out! We asked for this child to be returned. Our government said he would give his life for the glory of Russia. What glory is this? It is not our glory. In the Great Patriotic War we fought against the evil of Germany, but what evil is this now? Now it is the evil of Borodin!” she shouted. “He starves us. He leaves us to freeze. Thousands have frozen this winter because of the politicians. We starve. Our children don’t have enough food, and still they take our young people each day. We of Vednoye refuse to send our children. We will hide them, we will send them away. We will protect them! Take to the streets to end this suffering!” she shouted to the crowd.

  As she spoke, the shouts and protests from the crowd got louder and stronger. Police on the scene became truly frightened. More police were called in and more troops barricaded themselves around the Hermitage. On cue, tear gas was fired into the crowd. Many of the canisters were simply flung back at the police. The crowd didn’t disperse. Now more armed troops arrived. They began gathering at each entrance to the square, filling it with soldiers. The people saw this and began tearing apart the iron fence surrounding the column, using the pointed ends to pry up the paving stones on the square itself. Some began striking the marble base of the column and smashing it into something to throw.

  Concentrating on the street leading to the bridge over the river, the soldiers and police were assaulted with stones and pavers. Almost as one, the crowd surged toward the bridge, overwhelming the force, taking their weapons and moving down to the river. They began to cross the bridge. They got half way when the armored personnel carriers blocked the other end. They opened fire on the crowd.

  The people at the head of the crowd were cut down unmercifully. The rest turned and tried to run, but the crowd was still surging forward. More were shot down before the noise of the firing caused the rest to panic. They fled back toward the square, but by now the troops at the square had bottled them in. They too began firing. People began getting off the main street and trying to find some sort of shelter. Some began making their way downriver on the ice which was thick this time of year. Others crawled into the sewers and into the military school on the street. Locked doors forced them around corners and into inner courtyards where they were trapped.

  The police moved in. They continued to fire until there was little movement on the streets. By the time it was over, there were over five hundred killed or wounded. The police took their time getting the survivors to a hospital. At the head of the bridge was the woman still carrying the portable megaphone. She had been shot through the head.

  From his vantage point atop the Hermitage, Ivan Teznarik packed away his video camera. He had already uplinked the signal to a satellite. He didn’t know where it would go. He just knew his controllers had told him to use his position with the museum to gather the footage and send it on. He met regularly with some of the dissident factions and relayed information back and forth. His reward was a photovoltaic panel he could use to charge his equipment and to run some small appliances. He also used it to charge batteries which would heat his blanket at night. Not a bad trade off.

  Entering the museum offices from the roof, he made his way to his office and returned the camera to a safe before locking up and making his way home for the night. What he had seen was frightful. The people of Russia were getting angry and more violent. Because he was a historian, he knew the significance of it all. The only other time Russians had been this angry was when they had overthrown a Tsar.

  Krakow

  The training for the new drones hadn’t taken that long. Most of the controls were the same. The few buttons and switches that were new had been easy to learn. The drones had more ammunition for the pistol, carried both the pistol and two grenades and had a microphone and speaker system so that things could be communicated. But the best thing was the small photovoltaic cell on top. It wasn’t much larger than a playing card, but with it, the drone could remain airborne all day.

  Despite the fact that they were near Krakow, it had taken a week before Petyr could go anywhere near his home. Getting permission to strike out alone, he made his way toward the neighborhood he had known all his life. What he saw in the monitor was beyond description. The bombs and artille
ry had done their work. Images Petyr had seen of places like Berlin and Dresden at the end of the Second World War were something he never thought he would see in Krakow. The buildings were mostly burned out shells. Occasionally there would be something that appeared intact, but the bullet holes and other damage left no doubt that people were no longer in them. Only on a few occasions did he see someone scurry between buildings or duck into some sort of shelter.

  As he rounded the corner and looked down his street, he took heart that it appeared his father’s store was still there. But as he got closer, he saw the holes in the walls, the boarded up windows and in one case where the boards had been torn away, he saw the demolished shell inside. The once orderly shelves were overturned and scattered across the littered tiled floor. The counter was splintered up and in pieces. No one was in sight. Raising the drone up to the second floor, he peered through a window, hoping to see some sign of life. All that met him was an empty room. The furniture was scattered about, but there was nothing that indicated habitation. The curtains that his mother had made were in tatters and there were a couple pieces of clothing scattered on the floor. Dust was everywhere.

  Going higher still, he peered through a window of the third floor. The upper floor had collapsed inward and had crushed almost everything. Sticking through some of the rubble, Petyr saw the remains of a dress he remembered Freda had worn when they had sat together that first night. There was something that looked like blood on it.

  A seething anger swept over Petyr. Turning the drone around, he quickly made his way to one of the main streets where he had seen some Russian activity. A personnel carrier was making its way down the street. The commander was sitting atop the small turret leaning on its gun. Below him, the driver had his head out of the hatch as he drove the vehicle down the street. Swinging his drone around, he picked up speed until he came up behind the vehicle and took aim at the commander. One shot later and the young man slumped down over the gun. The driver hadn’t noticed. Petyr pulled the drone directly beside the driver and pulled the trigger again. Suddenly the BMP swerved toward the rubble at the side of the street. Careening up a pile, the BMP struck a wall and flopped over. Petyr hovered over the vehicle until the doors in the back began to open. Maneuvering behind the vehicle, Petyr made a run at the opening. As he got close, he pressed the switch to release a grenade. It flew neatly into the crowded space before it went off. The two men who were able to get outside were shot with Petyr’s drone. Petyr immediately started heading back toward another vehicle.

  Ricks had watched his new young friend and saw the same things he saw. He eased up behind him. “Pete,” he said softly.

  Petyr turned and looked at Ricks. There was a wild look in his eyes that Ricks had seen only in a few people. It was a look of intense hatred and retaliation. That kind of look never did any good.

  “Don’t stop me, Dale. I have to do this,” Petyr said.

  Ricks placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I know, but remember we are here to do an important job. We do it because we have to do it, not because it’s fun. Always keep that in mind,” he said.

  The look on Petyr’s face changed. First there was curiosity, then understanding. The craziness was gone and tears began to well up in his eyes. He nodded before turning back to the screen. His aggressiveness slowed a bit, but he continued his mission.

  Ricks leaned in again. “We’ll talk about it when you’re done,” he said as he made his way to the back of the room. Colonel Sanders was watching the progress from his seat.

  “Ricks, we need to get back to platoon like action. The link just doesn’t show us what’s out there that well. Section off some of the troops and let them go in on their own. Maybe we can clear some of these sharpshooters and small group elements out,” Sanders said.

  “Wouldn’t hurt, Colonel,” said Ricks. “House to house fighting has always been the toughest. We might need to go in ahead of our troops for some close air support of our own. These things should be pretty good at finding out where the shooting is coming from. Might also find some hidden armor or artillery we can take out before the troops get there,” he said.

  Sanders nodded. “Why don’t you take that young Polish sergeant you made friends with and get the ball rolling. I’d like this to be a joint effort. Besides, if anyone gets in the way, you might need someone who can speak the language.”

  “No problem, sir. I’ll get the people together this evening and we’ll see if we can get things started tomorrow morning,” said Ricks. He already knew who might be on the team and Petyr Kursov would be at the head of the list.

  At the end of the day, Ricks got his team of thirty together and went over the new mission. Kursov and Fedol would lead the teams and then work together to make sure things were covered adequately. Kursov met with his team and got a few things ready before starting to head out the door for a bite to eat and some rest. He had made ten separate runs that day and the stress of the work plus the knowledge that his family was dead had weighed on him terribly.

  Ricks saw him getting ready to leave and went over to him. “Care for some dinner?” he asked.

  Petyr looked at him with tired eyes. “Sure.”

  The two walked around two of the buildings to the mess hall set up in an old mill. The place was packed with soldiers eating. The two went through the line and Ricks led him to a table in one corner of the room.

  Petyr wasn’t saying anything. He looked at the tray in front of him and didn’t move. Ricks could tell he needed to talk, but the words wouldn’t come out. “Sorry about your family,” Ricks said.

  The tears began to well up again. “They’re all dead. It looked like the place had been hit by a million bullets and a few bombs. Nobody could have survived it,” he nearly sobbed.

  “You don’t know that,” said Ricks. “I watched with you. There were no bodies and it looked like somebody just up and left the place. So you can’t think the worst.”

  Petyr looked up at him. “My mother would never leave her home. I also saw one of Freda’s dresses covered in blood. There’s no hope,” he said quietly, almost resigning himself to being alone for the rest of his life.

  “A friend of mine thought he had lost his best buddy in a battle. Most of the guys had given up on trying to save him, but my friend kept going. Turned out his buddy lived and he proved them all wrong. So I guess it depends on your attitude. If you give up, they really are dead. But if you keep believing, they may turn up alive,” said Ricks philosophically.

  “How do you know this?”

  Ricks smiled and took his arm. “Because I was his buddy,” he said. “So until you see them in a grave, let’s just keep thinking they are alive somewhere. Remember, this is a war and anything can happen,” he said.

  A smile returned to Petyr’s face. He nodded. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “Is that what you were talking about this afternoon after I knocked out the BMP?”

  “Partly. Pete, I’ve seen some good people get hurt during a war. They lost friends and relatives and tried to take it out on the enemy. Eventually they became obsessed with the idea of revenge. In the end, it ate them up. When they realized what they had done they could not live with themselves. You’re a good guy, Pete. You need to always remember that if it weren’t for the war, you would not be doing things like this. That makes what you do the war’s fault. You aren’t to blame. Then when you finally go home, you can live with what happened and put it behind you. I don’t want to see a friend of mine go mental after this is over,” he said.

  Petyr thought a few minutes. He was right. For that brief few minutes he had enjoyed killing. It made him feel bad. He looked back at Ricks. “What about the ones….”

  “This afternoon? Well, let’s just chalk that one up to a learning situation and leave it at that. Doing this stuff for pleasure just isn’t you, Pete. My buddy Paul once told me that people might think he enjoyed what he was doing when he killed a man, but in reality he wanted the one who sent that poor son
of a bitch into battle in the first place. For people like us, it is something we have to do, not something we enjoy. We’re all basically good people. We just have to understand the difference.”

  Petyr nodded in understanding. “Thanks.”

  Ricks raised his hands. “Don’t thank me, I’m just a whole bunch of experience thrown together with some duct tape. Besides, I have a sneaking feeling your family just relocated to get away from all the bombings. I’ll help you find them,” he said. “Now come on. We both need some rest before we try out these new tactics tomorrow.”

  Petyr stood up. “I could use the rest, but you may need to help me lead this group. Remember, I never had any training in ground tactics.”

  “Hell, I never thought about that,” said Ricks with a grin.

  Moscow

  Patriarch Gregory had just finished morning prayers when a squad of men burst into the room. All of them were armed and looked like they meant business. The Patriarch smiled at the men and spread his arms. “How may I help you gentlemen?”

  The leader of the group, a tall man with a scar across his cheek stepped forward. Patriarch, it has come to the attention of our government that you have been rallying the people against the state. As a direct result of your efforts, a group from St. Petersburg rebelled last night and caused a mass of casualties. You must come with us,” he demanded.

  A quizzical look acme over the Patriarch’s face. “So I am the one rallying the people in St. Petersburg? Interesting, since I led mass from here last night,” he said.

  “Nevertheless, you must come with us.”

  Gregory gave him a stern look. “You realize I am the Patriarch of Moscow and of all Rus,” he admonished.

  The man gave him an evil grin. “I don’t care who you are,” he hissed as he grabbed the Patriarch and shoved him out the door. The Patriarch fell in a heap on the marble floor. Several priests tried to help him but were shoved away.