The Fall of America | Book 4 | Winter Ops

by Benton, W. R.

  “Is that all, sir?”

  “Yes, it is and John, kill as many of those Russian sonsofbitches as you can. See to your troops.”

  I turned and left the room, made sure the house was empty and hurried to catch up with my people. I'd gone about a quarter of a mile when I heard a loud explosion and saw a small mushroom cloud behind me, reaching for the clouds. I stood for a couple of minutes, with Dolly at my side, and watched the smoke. Colonel Robert E. Lee was no more.

  In the next few weeks, we grew quiet and I pulled most of the squads in and kept them from bothering the Russians. They hunted for us and more than once they flew over our safe house, but most of my troops were resting indoors, using the barn or house. By keeping them inside, I reduced the chances of anyone being picked up on infrared gear. I met with my leaders and we discuss potential targets of opportunity or some that would hurt or cripple the Russians. I'd noticed since our attack on Edwards Air Base, there were less choppers in the air. We must have put a lot of hurt on them.

  Now, I'm more like Willy than Colonel Lee, and I would be going out with my men and women to see how various attacks worked. I feel a good commander should participate in attacks at times, to know what the troops experience.

  Also, as the most experienced man, Silverwolf was promoted to Captain and given the responsibility of four squads. I was happy for the man and while it provided no pay, there was respect given by me and others. He was an intelligent man and his Native American bloodline gave him a great advantage in the field. Once he entered the woods, he was one with nature and the man moved like a ghost, especially at night.

  I was standing by a table, glancing at a state map, when Dolly suddenly growled, and looked toward the door. Corporal Hale came in and said, “I just got word from a man who works on Edwards that Moscow has ordered one thousand people from the gulag killed in retaliation for our attack on the base. He claimed they're pissed, mainly due to the number of aircraft lost and personnel killed.”

  “They should know by now, mass killings won't stop us. Did he have any other information?”

  He lowered his head and eyes and then said, “Yes, he did. He said all those murdered would be women and kids, no older than twelve. He added that three others selected to die were Colonels in the resistance too.”

  “The Colonels I'm unconcerned with, they knew the risks, but killing women and kids is barbaric. How are they to be killed?”

  “He said they were to be transported to an empty school or warehouse and then the whole place was to be soaked with gas and then burned down, with them inside.”

  “Is Edwards the only base doing the killing?”

  “Actually, the killings will be done close to Jackson Air Base, but the prisoners will come from different gulags. The reason we learned of it is the Russians are sending a few hundred from the gulag at Edwards.”

  “Good God, what a hideous death! We need to prevent this, if we can.”

  “Colonel,” Hale said, “that's not all.”

  “Oh, so you have more good news?”

  Shrugging, he said, “They have transport aircraft landing there now, night and day. According to our source, they're gearing up to use chemicals, most likely nerve agents, in the whole state. They have no concern about killing innocents and figure if they kill just five of us, it's worth the expense.”

  Dolly liked Hale and moved to the man, who stood scratching her head.

  I thought for a moment and then said, “Lawdy, I don't think this chemical attack report is accurate. They just tried this shit a couple of months back, so I don't think they'll try it again this soon. I can see it's just as Willy once said, 'Russians are brutal in war and they're like animals.' The killings using fire may very well happen.”

  “Well, I don't see where we can stop either situation from happening.” he said.

  “I don't know, to tell you the truth, but let me think on this a while.” I said as I moved to a small portable desk all the previous Colonels had used. I sat in a metal chair, threw my cap on the desk top, and started thinking.

  “Hale, tell Captain Silverwolf I need to speak with him.”

  “Yes, sir.” he said and left the room. I sat there working my mind and inattentively scratched Dolly's ears.

  Five minutes later, the two men entered and I said, “Both of you have a seat. Silverwolf, I want you to take a squad and get as close to the airbase at Jackson as you can tonight. I want you to circle the base and check security closely. Also, look for any prisoners you may see. I know they are gathering a thousand civilians and three Colonels from the resistance, according to our intelligence, to kill in retaliation of our attack on Edwards. Hale, you provide him security.”

  “Wow, that's a lot of people.” Hale said.

  “They are all to be women and children too, so that makes it worse.”

  “Holy Jesus, no. Why?” Silverwolf said, his eyes wide in disbelief.

  “I told you, retaliation for our attack.” I said as I leaned forward and met his eyes.

  “I can't imagine killing like that. Have they no hearts?” Hale asked, but we ignored his question.

  “Look, I want to prevent it, if we can, and we may be able to do so. I suspect we'll lose some of the prisoners, but that can't be helped. I figure a ten to twenty percent loss rate, depending on how strong the base is.” Silverwolf said.

  “Right off the top, I think we'll lose closer to a fifty to sixty percent because the Russians will shoot at them as much as us.” I replied.

  “Damn.” Silverwolf said.

  “Look, it'd beat burning to death, and even ten lives saved are better than none. Now, your mission tonight is a sneak and peek, no combat if it can be avoided. If you're seen, consider the mission a failure. Any questions?”

  “I'll need to take some mine detecting gear, because the fence line is sure to mined at the weakest points.”

  “Get all you need and good luck.” I stood, mainly so they'd know the discussion was over, and then shook their hands.

  “John?” I said to Silverwolf.

  He was about to leave and had his back to me, but he turned and asked, “Sir?”

  “Don't rush this mission, and be my eyes. I really need this information; if we can save these folks depends on what you learn this evening.”

  “I'll give it my best shot, sir.”

  CHAPTER 20

  One minute Master Sergeant Morozov had been talking to the Lieutenant and the next he was in hell, with bodies being blasted apart and blood flying in all directions. Men screamed as metal balls, bullets, and shrapnel tore into their bodies. In the matter of the few minutes, all the men were down, with most dead. The Sergeant looked at the Lieutenant and most of his head was missing from the chin up. Blood, now running over the dirt path, covered him. When he tried to move, his left arm didn't function well. Looking down, he noticed most of it from the elbow down was missing. He quickly took the Lieutenant's belt and secured the arm, using the belt as a tourniquet. Then, moving slowly, he backed into the brush.

  His heart was pounding, and he knew from experience he was lucky to have survived the ambush. In pain and shock, he crawled for about a hundred meters and then stood. He was in some dense oaks, so assuming he was safe, he stood. A bullet instantly clipped the tree beside his head, splinters stuck in his cheeks and he took off running. It was a good half mile before he pulled off his coat, cut a long wide strip from the bottom and wrapped his arm. He moved about two kilometers and crawled under the limbs of a huge pine, to lick his wounds.

  I need morphine, but if I take it, I will fall asleep. I know one of the radiomen was talking while killed, so a rescue force will be sent for us. It is likely they heard the explosions and the gunfire before the man with the radio died. I need to watch for the symptoms of shock and blood loss. But, at least I am not bleeding like before, he thought and pulled out a flask of vodka, which was all he would use for pain. I have to stay awake, so I can be picked up when they come.

  Over the cou
rse of an hour, the Master Sergeant grew weaker. Finally, when he'd about passed out from the loss of blood, he heard a flight of helicopters nearing. He scooted back against the trunk of the tree and waited. He'd give them time to land, unload and reach the rescue scene, then he'd fire his Bison. Oh, this pain is getting to be too damned much, he thought as he pulled his last flask of vodka from his shirt pocket. He glanced at his watch and waited.

  After exactly fifteen minutes had past, he raised his Bison and sent a long burst into the air. Then, minutes later, Russian troops discovered him.

  An IV was quickly started, morphine given and his injury better dressed. He was packed to a helicopter and taken to Jackson Air Field and then to a hospital. He woke up two days later.

  His eyes hurt when he opened them and his skin itched from the morphine. He blinked rapidly to clear his foggy vision and then raised his head. He was in a private room, due to his rank, and a few minutes later an orderly walked in.

  “Well, Master Sergeant, how are you feeling?”

  “Son, get me a doctor, now.”

  “Yes, sir.” The orderly flew from the room and returned about five minutes later with an old major.

  “Are you in pain, Sergeant?”

  “No, but where am I and what are the extent of my injuries, sir?”

  “Your left arm was in bad shape, so it was removed. You had a number of shrapnel wounds to your back, arms, and legs, which will heal in time. You are now missing your left earlobe, and as far as I am concerned, you are lucky to be alive.”

  “When will I return to Russia?”

  “That depends on transportation arrangements. You will be transported home, discharged, draw your full retirement pay, along with a disability payment each month. I see no reason you cannot live in comfort the remainder of your life.”

  The Master Sergeant grunted as he thought, You do not care how I live or where. You, because of your position as a doctor, will be well taken care of. I am just another number to you and your staff.

  Shortly after the doctor left, Vasiliev entered the room and walked to Morozov's bed. Handing him a paper bag he said, “In that bag, you will find the best vodka in the world. Now, I am sorry you will be medically retired, Taras, but your injuries disqualify you from further service. Oh, and I have told the doctor the vodka will be in your room, so leave it on the table.”

  Giving a light smile, the Sergeant asked, “May I have a small drink, sir?”

  Picking up a drinking glass from the table, he handed it to the Sergeant and asked, “Did you learn anything of the partisans at all?”

  “Sir, about three miles further, straight as an arrow, they are living in a vacant farm house. I saw it myself when we scouted. I would guess their strength as maybe two companies of men and women. It is heavily mined and I spotted one sniper in a tree, so there are more.”

  “Of course, no sign of the tactical nuclear weapons?”

  “Oh, no, sir.” He took a drink of his vodka, smiled and then added, “But you know if they have them, they are inside and guarded closely.” He then took a big gulp of his drink.

  “Master Sergeant, I have you leaving on a plane in the morning and it is actually the first flight out. You will be returned to Moscow, where you will be given a medal and promoted to Lieutenant, before you are discharged.” Colonel Vasiliev then came to attention and saluted the Master Sergeant.

  Morozov returned the salute and said, “Thank you, sir. It was an honor to serve under you.”

  After the Colonel left, the Master Sergeant knew the man was worried. Losing nuclear weapons to terrorists could cost a man his career or life easily. Moscow took things seriously and a smart man always remembered that point. Oh well, he thought, it is not my problem. I am out of this war and will retire to the country and live as a farmer. He took a big gulp of his vodka and smiled.

  Colonel Vasiliev strutted across the room, stopped behind a wooden podium and said, “At 0400 hours in the morning, a specially trained group of Spetsnaz will parachute into the area where our troops were ambushed in an attempt to find where the nuclear weapons are kept. This will be a high altitude low opening jump and the unit consists of ten men. Their primary mission is to locate the weapons, not secure them, but if they have a chance to recover them, they will do so. Any questions?”

  “Every time I have worked with Spetsnaz, they are difficult men and tend to fight a lot. They cause trouble, sir.” Major Borisovich, the chief of intelligence, said.

  “These have been here a week and have not left their barracks. Gentlemen, they will stay in the barracks, leaving only to complete their mission, and then fly back to Jackson when the mission is over. I am surprised, Sambor, that even my chief of intelligence did not know they were here. Looks like our security is working better now.”

  “Why not use conventional troops, sir?” A Captain asked.

  “We just tried that, remember? And, by the way, please stand, Captain Boris, so everyone can see who is in charge of the men.”

  A slim man of average size and weight stood and the only difference between him and some of the men in the room was his hair was shorter. He was close to thirty, blue eyes, and there was absolutely nothing special about him that stood out. He then sat back down.

  “Captain Boris and Master Sergeant Makar are your point of contacts for Spetsnaz while they are here. I expect all requests to speak to them to come through me first. Now, Captain Varlaam, would you be kind enough to give us the weather forecast?”

  The young Captain turned on his computer and a map of the once United States was projected on the wall of the room. “Gentlemen, we can expect unseasonal weather tomorrow, with the morning cool, minus ten Celsius, but with clear skies. However, by noon a front will move in bringing heavy snowfall. I expect over fifteen centimeters of snowfall for tomorrow, but more is on the way. The winds will start to blow shortly after the snow arrives from the west at between 25 and 32 kilometers an hour. It is going to be a cold day tomorrow, gentlemen.”

  As the members of Captain Boris' group boarded the airplane, Colonel Vasiliev shook the man's hand and yelled to be heard over the running aircraft engines, “Best of luck and good hunting!”

  The Captain nodded and gave a thumbs up. He was ready to go. The Colonel's breath was clearly seen in the cold morning air.

  Once on the aircraft, they all plugged into the communications system. The pilot introduced the crew quickly and then said, “We will be at the drop zone in less than thirty minutes, but I will need to climb a little once over target. You will know we are close when I begin to circle the aircraft to gain altitude. At 7620 meters, you will see the jump light by the ramp door flashing red, then the ramp will lower and the light will go to all red. At that point I will have warned you, and you should be standing on the open ramp ready to leave the aircraft. When the light flashes steady green, jump. Any questions?”

  “No, sir.” Boris said and then glanced at his men. They were ready, and they were always ready, night or day.

  The talking stopped as each man dealt with the excitement of a HALO jump. Most found the jump exhilarating and thrilling, while others, like Master Sergeant Makar did it only for the extra pay every month. He was saving for his retirement in five more years. Of all ten men, only Sergeant Vasily Geraslym truly loved HALO jumps, because he was a thrill seeker. He loved the rush he felt when his chute deployed at a little over 152 meters and he often wondered what it would feel like, if his canopy failed to deploy. He knew his death would be instantaneous, so he didn't worry about it.

  Most of the men appeared to the loadmaster to be sleeping, but under the closed eyelids, each man was going over his gear, his position in the group, and his assigned and potentially assigned tasks. They were all cross-trained and, for instance, if the medic fell dead or wounded, any one of them could be designated the new medic. Their minds were active and working, but none sat in fear; after all, they were Spetsnaz, some of the best trained men in the world.

  The Captain
began to circle and climb as the loadmaster motioned for them to stand. Each stood and duck-walked to the ramp. Besides their parachute, each man had an equipment bag, loaded with gear that weighed around 27 kilograms, and some. The Master Sergeant had another bag of close to eighteen kilograms at his side. Each had a reserve parachute, oxygen mask, camouflage helmet with visor, communications system to talk as they fell, and individual weapons. Normal walking was out of the question.

  The green light flashed on and off, so they waited.

  A couple of minutes later, the light turned green, and they stepped off the open ramp and into the sub-zero winds.

  Each man instantly went spread-eagle, with arms and legs extended out to help stabilize them as they fell. Makar, checked his altimeter, saw he was out at the right altitude and then glanced below out of curiosity, but saw nothing; it was pitch black. He raised his head and kept it on the horizon, his mind on the events after the landing.

  He was still going over the mission when he felt the chute deploy and heard a loud grunt, which he knew came from him. He glanced up at the canopy, swung a couple of times, released both equipment bags, and then landed. Knowing the ground winds were high, he quickly released his parachute from his harness. Free of his canopy, he stood and watched the others land as he counted them.

  Once on the ground, the team didn't speak a single word as the jump gear was gathered up and hidden under a rotted pine tree. The gear was no longer needed. Each man now wore night vision goggles and moving in the dark was simple. The Captain pulled out a compass, took a heading, and began walking while Corporal Renat counted paces with his beads. They'd done this exact same thing many times in training.

  All members of the team knew the Americans had snipers with night vision scopes, so they moved slowly and checked the ground closely. The partisans were also known for deadly booby-traps and they were a bit harder to see with goggles on.

  Private Yuliy was on point, with Corporal Ignatiy bringing up the rear. Suddenly, Yuliy pointed at the ground and squatted. Pulling his knife he pulled up three toe-poppers and put the shells in his pocket. He then refilled the holes. He took three steps forward, when he suddenly stopped and began to quiver.