by W. R. Benton
He left the room, made his way down to room four, and he heard American voices and he saw the door was open. Knowing any Russians in the room were now dead, he pulled the pin on a grenade, let the spoon fly and then counted to three. On three he tossed the grenade in the room.
“Grenade!” someone screamed and two men ran out into the hall, where Vova was shooting them down when the grenade exploded. There were piercing screams heard in the room where the explosion had killed two and left two severely injured. One of the injured had a leg missing and his whole body was leaking blood so he must have been close when the grenade exploded. The next soldier had a missing leg and arm, so Vova fired two rounds into his head. He then turned and fired two rounds into the other injured man, his plan to take him prisoner gone when he remembered Katenka and her fatal wounds. Near the front door was an American soldier, his body untouched pretty much by the grenade, but his stomach was ripped open and he knew immediately that Katenka had killed this one. He fired a round into the moaning man's head and left the room.
When he opened the door to look out, this side of the base was being overrun by Americans. He then went down the hall and knocked on all the doors. Some occupants were armed with pistols but in five minutes he led a squad of ten up to his room. Olga was scared and concerned, especially when Petr hadn't returned quickly. Waiting for Petr to return was very hard for her. She'd been in firefights before but she'd always been armed. Passing the men on the stairs, the Russian Sergeant cleaned them of every weapon and all the ammo they could find. Keeping the Bisons he had, both of them, he made his way to his room. Olga relaxed a great deal when he gave a Bison and half the ammo he had to Olga.
“What do we do now, Senior Sergeant?” a young Sergeant asked.
“We will leave here in a few minutes and fight. We are the best troops from Mother Russia and we will make her proud of us this night.” Walking to his cabinet he pulled out a quart of unopened top shelf vodka and tossed it to a man. “You are now our medic. I want you to plug all holes we may get and give each patient a long chug of alcohol when you first treat them. Maybe as the night progresses, we can find a real medics bag.”
“From what I saw from my window, there are sure to be many dead medics. The Americans are fighting well tonight and I have been here three tours, counting this trip, and all I have seen them do was hit and run.”
“This is no hit and run. They are trying their best to overrun us and I think they will do so.”
There sounded a loud explosion and the JP4 and JP8 fuel tanks both went up in flames. Shortly after, two large parked transport planes went up, followed by a number of attack helicopters. Without a word spoken, they all knew they would lose this battle this day. As far as they could see and in all directions, dead Russian soldiers lay. Partisans were dying too, but not nearly as many as the Russians.
“Damn me, Isaak, we have partisans all over the base like ants. Do something or we will lose this base and Moscow will have our heads.” Colonel Lazarev said and his desperation was clearly heard in his tone.
“Not much we can do since you sent the last of the men, the bulk, away after the American base, but they all got their asses kicked and while most still live, they are straggling back in squads. No, my friend you kept just enough soldiers here to handle day to day operations, but not enough for defense. Now you are paying for your foolishness.”
“We must leave then. I will have a helicopter made ready and it can land on our roof here.”
“I strongly suggest you do not do that. Moscow would rather we fight to the death than to survive in defeat. If you survive this attack, my friend, you will be dead by the hands of Moscow within a month. It is better to die a hero of the Motherland than to live as a coward. I for one, will not be running away from anything.”
“But, we will surely die if we stay.”
“Some things are worth dying for and personal honor is one of them. No, I will stay and either survive or die, depending on the wishes of God.”
“God? There is no God. You are a fool. You mean to stand there and tell me God can save us?”
“No, not you, because you do not think he is real, but he is. So, run and go now, before I pull my pistol and shoot you myself. I can tell you one thing, Moscow will never let you live if you lose this base. You will be a dead man, no matter where you are, only you have not been killed, yet.”
Picking up the phone, Lazarev said, “Laura, contact my personal pilot and have him land on the roof. The base is being overrun and I must escape. Yes, of course you will go with me, my dear. Now make the call.”
“I will leave then, and try to get the men organized and attack the Americans. I think it can be done, and we will not need you.”
Reaching into an open desk drawer, he pulled out a bottle of vodka and took a long pull, and when he placed it back, he pulled out a pistol.
Grinning, he pointed it at Isaak and said, “I am tired of your talk and do not appreciate being called a coward.”
“Oh, this is rich. Now you are going to start shooting your staff? May God have mercy on your useless soul.”
Lazarev pulled the trigger twice and both bullets struck Isaak in the middle of his chest. After he fell to the floor without a sound, the Base Commander said, “Where was your God, Isaak? Why did he not protect you? Because there is no God.”
Gasping, Isaak said, “You . . . you are . . . wrong. So . . . very . . . wrong.” He then fell back limply and Full Colonel Dimitri Isaak was dead.
“Damn fool.”
The door swung open and Laura said, “He is on the roof, we need to go now. The Americans have broken into the lower floor and will soon be in here!”
Turning to Laura, his secretary and lover, Lazarev said, “There has been a change in plans, my dear. It seems you were killed in the attack and I cannot take you with me.” He then fired twice, with both bullets striking her center mass, and down she went. She screamed for him not to leave her, but he stepped over her and ran for the roof. Minutes later he was strapped in and the aircraft began to rise into the sky.
“Where to, Colonel?” the Captain asked.
“Any place as long as it is away from here.”
As they raised, a beeper was heard and the pilot said, “Someone has a radar lock on us. I need to —”
Neither the pilot or the Colonel felt the shoulder fired missile when it struck them right behind the pilot’s door. The aircraft burst into a huge ball of flames, as helicopter parts and body parts fell with the wreckage. Both men were dead before they seriously realized how much danger they were in.
Looking up at the falling ball of flames, a partisan Corporal said, “Nice shooting Private, we can claim one helicopter destroyed. Get another ready, because aircraft are starting to leave here. Maybe if we get near the end of the runway, we can down more of them.” Three bullets struck the pavement in front of the men as they ran and both heard the bullets zing off into space.
Near the end of the runway, the man carrying a rocket propelled grenade (RPG) and one more missile said, “I can't run anymore, because this crap gets heavy. Place the two missiles you're carrying on the ground beside me. Hopefully we'll knock some aircraft out of the sky.”
A huge transport plane flew over them and any conversation, thanks to noise, was quickly ended. Another transport aircraft was rolling down the runway as the Private opened a shoulder fired missile, and made it ready to fire. Just when it looked like the aircraft would never get into the air, it raised its nose and slowly climbed into the sky.
Just when the aircraft was almost overhead, the Private fired and the missile launched. Both men stood, waiting to see if it would hit the aircraft or miss. Since the missile was a heat seeker, it struck the outboard engine on the left wing. The explosion was loud and big, and the blast knocked both men to the ground. Parts of the jet began falling. Then there was a secondary explosion that blew the plane into thousands of pieces. It continued moving forward, but in the air it was no longer recognizab
le as an aircraft. Flaming pieces of the aircraft began to hit the ground. When the largest portions struck the ground, there was more noise and explosions as the oxygen systems and other flammables in compressed tanks blew due to extreme heat from the fire. There were no survivors.
Dropping the one time use empty missile container and launcher, the man picked up another missile and waited. A smaller aircraft that reminded the man with the missile of an American C-130 was next and he was a good 500 feet into the air before he crossed the end of the runway. The man sighted in the bird, squeezed the trigger and the missile system gave a short series of beeps, confirming the target was locked on. A split second later the missile fired.
The aircraft immediately dropped chaff and hot flares in an attempt to trick the missile from striking them. The system was used to confuse the heat seeking system on the missile by having too many hot flares. Hopefully it would cause the missile to go after a burning flare. It worked this time, because the missile followed one flare and then exploded right behind the aircraft. The horizontal stabilizer was blown half away, but the plane remained flying. Picking up an RPG, mainly because he didn't have time to open a missile container, he lined the cross-hairs on the nose of the aircraft and squeezed the trigger.
The grenade launched with more of a kick than a missile and the man stood watching, knowing the grenade could not be sidetracked by chaff or burning flares. Once again the pilot dropped burning flares in hopes of staying alive. The RPG struck slightly behind the crew cabin of the aircraft and the explosion was a big one. The aircraft wobbled a bit and then grew stable. On the aircraft, the pilot sent a chilling warning that Americans were using missiles and RPGs at the end of the runway. The tower quickly sent a team of soldiers to wipe the threat out completely.
The pilot said, “Tower this is Beach Boy One and I would like to declare an in-flight emergency. I have taken a missile or RPG in the passenger compartment just behind the cockpit. I can see my dead engineer and I have a navigator I cannot get a response from on the radio. While I partially can see him, I am a bit busy keeping us in the air. My console is lit up like a Christmas tree. Over.”
“Copy, Beach Boy One. Please use runway two five west to land and visually clear your own approach and landing. I have over a dozen aircraft currently waiting for takeoff. Over.”
“Uh, roger that. I will land on runway two five west.”
“If you have problems due to aircraft traffic, land on the grass or any empty taxi way, over.”
“Roger that. This is Beach Boy One and I am coming in on final now.”
“Good luck, Beach Boy.”
Back on the ground, the man assisting the shooter, Private Mark Gomez, said “Steve, there's a Jeep looking thing headed right for us. I suspect our surprise is over.”
“Not as long as I have an RPG left. Let me line my sights up, Mark, and we'll see if I can take the vehicle out of the picture.” The truck was easily sighted in and then Steve squeezed the trigger. The rocket flew straight into the grill on the vehicle and it went up with a loud boom. Bodies and truck flew high into the air and were then consumed by an oily ball of red and black flames.
“Forget about the truck, let's get this next plane, because it's huge.” Mark said, his voice full of excitement.
Opening a missile, Steve said, “It looks to be an Antonov An-124 Ruslan and it carries about 150 tons of material; it's like our old C-5. It rarely carries passengers or airborne troops because the cargo area has poor pressurization.” Both men would have been surprised to learn over 375 men and women were onboard the aircraft as the base began to fall. The pilots knew if they kept their altitude below 10,000 feet they would be able to transport people.
He was ready as soon as the big aircraft began its taxi for takeoff. The airplane looked huge to both men on the ground as Steve prayed he'd be able to down the aircraft. Minutes later the Ruslan flew overhead and Steve fired the missile. Again chaff and flares were seen, but the missile ignored the decoys and stuck the aircraft in the right inboard engine. The explosion was great and the complete engine dropped in pieces. Flames began to flow over the leading edge of the aircraft as the pilot tried his or her best to keep them in the air.
Two gunshots were heard and Mark dropped, dead as hell.
The aircraft became inverted just before impact with the ground. The aircraft struck the ground hard and with touch down the fuel tanks ruptured, spilling aviation gas that caused a huge explosion and fireball.
It was then Beach Boy One touched down on an empty runway and just as he landed his left tire blew, causing the left wing to drop and hit the runway. The aircraft began to cartwheel down the taxi way, nose, wing tip, tail, and finally wing tip as it scattered metal and parts down the concrete. Then there was an explosion that placed the aircraft in flames as it moved. Steve knew the passengers and crew were dead. It finally slowed down enough that it ended on it's side, the wing knocked off the frame and laying about half the distance from the point they'd sat it down to the end of the runway. On board, everything was covered in red flames and the passengers and crew were all beyond feeling pain; they were dead.
Steve checked Mark, found him dead due to a bullet burning a hole through the center of his chest. Without help, there was no way Steve would remain here shooting at planes. He dropped the used missile launcher and picked up his rifle and his one remaining missile. He ran toward the smoke of the burning Ruslan aircraft, knowing he would get away clean if he could move through the smoke and get into the woods on the other side of the crashed Ruslan. Anyone following him would be forced to stop and look for survivors on the huge airplane.
As he ran near the crashed bird, he spotted people, obviously the passengers of the big aircraft, some still strapped in their seats in various stages of death. One woman had a pipe stuck in her chest and then poking out of her chair back. He spotted a man's body sitting in a chair, yet holding a magazine with both hands, but his head was missing. Wounded were seen crawling around, as if looking for something, and most had horrible burn wounds. It also sounded like 100 of them were trapped and screaming for help as the fire inside the cabin grew closer to them. Rescue trucks were approaching and Steve ran harder for the woods. He wanted to be in the foliage before the firetrucks arrived.
Minutes later, just as the trucks arrived, Steve slipped under the fence and into the woods. He then moved north, the direction all lost partisans were told to go so they could regroup and attack again.
About twenty minutes later, Steve arrived and discovered a large number, well over a hundred people, waiting to be organized so they could attack the Russians. There was one Major and while he was trying, no one was listening to him. They all milled around talking to each other in low tones.
Someone yelled, “Hey look at the way that jet to the north is lining up. Do you think he's lining up on us?”
The jet was now streaking for the group and Steve yelled, “Scatter, he's got napalm.”
People began to run in all directions. Pulling his last missile, he stood on the grass and faced the Russian jet pilot. Just before the pilot released the napalm, Steve squeezed the trigger on the missile launcher.
Steve stood spellbound as the two canisters of napalm flipped over and over as they fell to earth. The containers struck the ground maybe 500 feet behind him and when he turned there was a huge wave of flames thrown up and over the running partisans. Then, a second later the wave fell and people were heard screaming as the sticky jell stuck to their bodies. Seconds later the screaming stopped.
The Mig was hit in the left engine and half of the wing was missing when the smoke cleared. The pilot was clearly seen ejecting from the aircraft and his parachute opened. The jet crashed about 200 yards from Steve; it caused a huge explosion and smoke, dense and black, began reaching for the sky.
Sighting in the pilot, Steve shot at the man, still in his parachute, and at one point the Russian went rigid and then fell limply. To insure he was really dead, the Private shot him f
our more times without any movement from the pilot. Once he landed, Steve shot him another half a dozen times.
The Major neared and called out, “If you are able to still fight, form on me! Hurry, the base is almost ours. Everyone, form on me!”
Steve walked to the man and said, “Can I help, sir?”
“You can and as of right now, consider yourself a Staff Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
Few partisans formed on him because many had been killed in the fire, but some were alive and able to fight, while others were in pain from the sticky napalm jell. Out of almost 200 men and woman, exactly 21 stepped forward to do battle against the Russians. They ran forward and were soon grouped and roughly formed behind the Major. They then started over the base. Few Russians were resisting now and even the plane flights were stopped. Americans lined the runway, with machine-guns, RPGs, and missiles pointed in the general direction of the aircraft. One small commercial plane, a single propeller model, took off and was quickly brought down by ground fire, a mixture of machine-gun fire and three RPGs.
John, in the middle of the bunch, was happy they were now the holders of an entire Russian base and for the first time in the history of the partisans, they were winners of territory and not just a hit and run. Right after they'd killed most of the airborne troops that landed in a field next to them, they were picked up by Chinese Helicopters and brought back to the Dallas/Fort Worth base, so they could be part of the attacking force on this Russian Base.
“Copperhead, this is Cobra Two, over.”