by W. R. Benton
“Do you have any military experience?”
“No, never been in the military, but I'm a hunter from way back, and was a police officer for about five years, back in my younger days. I can hit a man-size target at hundred yards with open sights.”
“I see no problem, but our life is filled with death, injury and hardship, so let me know for sure in the morning. Right now, eat a little, but not too much or it will make you ill.”
Margie said, “I've a biscuit and some jam she can have, as well as tonic water.”
John had just dozed off when Tom woke him once again and said, “Russian aircraft flying low overhead, spraying something. Due to wind drift I didn't smell or feel anything. I did see a slight discoloration of a vapor against the night sky and especially around the moon. The snow has stopped and it's partly cloudy overhead, but still cold.”
“Gas, it's likely poison gas.” John said, and then stood, “Gas, find your masks now! Margie, give Kate's mask and gear to Sally.”
“What about Dolly?” Sandra asked.
“She'll have to make do without. Maybe we can leave the area before the droplets hit the ground.”
Tom yelled, “Don your chemical warfare suits and masks. We need to get out of this cellar, because the gas will settle in low areas. Move, folks!”
CHAPTER 16
Vetrov awoke in a hospital, and it took him many long minutes to remember the attack, due to the pain killing drugs in his system. He looked to be in post recovery, so he raised his head and looked his body over. Other than a bandage on his chest, he saw no other signs of injury. A doctor, seeing him awake, moved to his side and said, “Colonel, you have sustained a serious chest wound, but your prognosis is excellent. We expect a full recovery in a few months.”
“Months? That will not happen, doctor, and I shall return to my unit tomorrow.”
“I suspect you will be flown home to Moscow for recovery, so you will not be going back to your unit any time soon.”
“Oh, I disagree, Captain, and as the anti-terrorism commander, I am in charge, not you. You work for me, so remember that fact. I will continue to work out of Edwards until I fully recover.”
“Sir, I must protest and as the—”
“As a man who works for me, you will do exactly as ordered, understand? Now, I want you to collect the members of my staff and we will have a meeting in my private room. If you have need of help gathering the men, see my executive officer.”
“He is dead, sir.”
“Then have Master Sergeant Belonev assist you.”
“He was seriously injured and will not be doing any talking for days. He took a round in the chest as well, and his lungs were slightly injured. He should live, only he will face some severe pain first. He needs to leave on the first plane to Moscow for better treatment.”
“Gather up those you can find and get them to me as soon as possible. Oh, and Master Sergeant Belonev will recover here with me, not in Moscow.”
“Yes, sir.” The doctor replied and then left the room.
An hour later, Vetrov was conducting his first staff meeting since the attack. He felt weak, but if he returned to Moscow after suffering so much damage during the attack, someone would have him imprisoned or killed. He'd stay on the job or die trying. Currently he had a difficult time organizing his thoughts and his mind was dulled by drugs.
“A total of twenty-two personnel were killed near the prison camp, five others working in the fuel storage area are missing, and we are not sure yet of the exact count of those working in munitions. We have confirmed five more dead and six missing from the ammo explosions. Most of those missing were truck drivers and it is not likely they will ever be found.” A major from supply replied.
“How many dead partisans were found?”
“One, a woman.”
“Do you mean to stand there and suggest all this damage was done by a single woman?”
“Oh, not at all, sir. We found brass from at least six other positions around the camp. We currently have a dozen teams out looking for them, only blowing snow has covered their tracks.”
“Recall the teams. I want every aircraft available that can fly out delivering poison gas. Plot a circle, say twenty miles around us, and stay within that area. Deliver nerve gas and do it in alternating sections or grids. Then tomorrow fly over the grids missed today. I hope they will run to the grids we miss today, thinking they're safe. But use some common sense and do not spray upwind of us.”
“Sir,” the Major said, “The operations executive officer has taken command, since the commander of the squadron was one of our dead. He attempted to rescue you, after you were hit, except he took a bullet to the head. I will pass the word on to him, and order it started immediately.”
“See the dead man is submitted for an award, since he died trying to save his commander, and get him a posthumous promotion, if possible. Now, what other damage was done?”
Once again the supply officer said, “We lost most of our aviation fuel, maybe forty percent of our munitions, and other buildings have suffered damage, including this hospital building. Additionally, about a hundred and seventy-five of the prisoners were killed.”
“How many of the twenty-five got away clean?”
“We have recaptured fifteen, so our total prisoner loss is a hundred and ninety.”
“Fifteen are nothing and we'll find the others at our leisure, later. Kill the remaining prisoners in revenge for the attack, but do it in a gruesome manner, so it attracts attention. We must show the partisans what we are willing do in retaliation when other camps are attacked.”
“Yes, sir, but any idea of how to kill them? I am a supply officer and not an infantry man.”
“Burn them alive or decapitate them in public, hell, use your imagination, Major. Only do the job today. Once they are dead, hang the bodies near the main road with signs around them, stating they are in retaliation for the attack on the base. What is your name?”
The Major, a pencil pusher, felt squeamish at the thought of killing innocent people, gave a loud gulp, snapped to attention and replied, “I am Major Anosov and I will see to it this morning, sir.”
“Tell the operations officer if he does a good job with the delivery of the gas, he will be the new commander.”
Belonev was awake and had been for some time. He was sharing a room with another senior sergeant and so far he had no idea who the man was. The man had been brought in after surgery and placed in a bed on the other side of the room. Drugged and sleepy, the Sergeant heard two orderlies discussing the attack. When he heard part of the hospital was hit, he asked, “Can one of you see if a Master Sergeant Durchenko has left or is safe? He was in the wing of the hospital that was hit, I think.”
“Sure, let me go see.” A private said and then quickly disappeared.
“What is the extent of injuries to the man by the wall?” The Sergeant asked.
“Massive burns, so it does not look good for him. I think I heard seventy-five percent of his body was burned, which most do not survive.”
“Any idea where he got burns like that?” Belonev was getting sleepy.
“Truck driver on a fuel truck. I heard he ran out of a fireball in flames, but they managed to get the fire out. Personally, shoot me any day before burning me. If he lives, he'll suffer some horrible pain in recovery. Burns bring horrible pain even to the survivors.”
The private who'd left returned, lowered his head and said, “The ward Master Sergeant Durchenko was in sustained total destruction, and he is currently listed as missing in action. Seems a fuel truck was passing the hospital when it exploded during the attack. He may be someplace, but they have not found him yet.”
“There is always confusion following a big attack.” The Sergeant said, and then drifted off to sleep, thinking of his old friend.
The next time he awoke, the orderlies were removing the injured man. Belonev did not ask any questions, because the blanket over the man's face answered all questions; he was dead. The
orderly, seeing the Master Sergeant awake said, “Master Sergeant Durchenko's body was found under a wall. The doctor said he died instantly, if that helps any. I am sorry you lost your friend, Sergeant.”
Durchenko dead, it seems impossible, because he was so full of life, Belonev thought, and then said, “Get the hell out of my room, boy, and leave my ass alone.”
“Yes, Master Sergeant.” The orderly scurried out.
Major Anosov sat in his supply office dreading the executions of the civilian captives, but could find no way to avoid the nasty task. Finally, he decided to give the responsibility to his lieutenant.
“Lieutenant Bortnik, come here please.”
The young officer walked into the office, assumed the position of attention and asked, “Sir?”
“I want you to take two trucks. Load our fifteen prisoners in one and a machine-gun in the other. Take them to the road where it enters town and shoot all of them. Then place signs written in English on each body. Warn others we will kill those involved with the resistance. Hang their remains on light poles or telephone poles. My orders come from Colonel Vetrov and must be obeyed.”
“Uh, when am I to do this, sir?”
“Immediately.”
Saluting, Bortnik said, “I will leave now, sir.”
The Major waved a casual salute and warned, “Do the job properly, or the next time our army shoots prisoners, you and I will be standing beside them.”
“Yes, sir.” Bortnik said and paled at the thought of murder.
“Now, go.”
The lieutenant quickly gathered up two trucks, a squad of men, and a machine-gun crew. Then, they moved to a temporary tent that was being used to house the prisoners. He walked into the tent and ordered in fair English, “Everyone get into the truck on the left. We are taking you to a new place to stay until we can rebuild the camp. Once at the new tent, you will be fed and given a bed.”
The prisoners smiled at the thought of a good meal and warm bed to sleep on. They'd been getting a cup of soup a day to eat and sleeping on the grass. Most climbed into the back of the truck willingly, but a pregnant woman and a small child had to be assisted.
Bortnik had attended college in the states a few years back, as an exchange student, and once in Russia, he'd forgotten most of his English. As the driver beside him shifted gears, he thought, may God forgive me for what I am about to do, but I cannot kill these people in cold blood. I know I can kill another soldier in a battle, except these are old men, women, and children.
Once at the spot, which he'd previously pointed out to the drivers on a map, the lieutenant climbed from the truck and said, “Everyone out, now.”
As soon as all were out of the truck, including the pregnant woman, Bortnik said, “My commander wants all of you killed, but I cannot do this.” Since he was speaking in English, none of the Russians understood a word, nor did they know why they were selected to transport the people.
“Why are we here, and where is the food and shelter?” An old man asked.
He is old and must not understand the danger, Bortnik thought and then said, “Behind you are the woods; run, because you are now free. In the future, avoid the Russian army.”
A woman beside the old man grabbed his hand, turned, and started to run for the forest. The rest followed. Yelling in Russian to be heard by all of his men, Bortnik said, “Let them go. They are to be freed.”
A sergeant shrugged his shoulders and said, “They are your responsibility, sir, not mine. I simply follow orders.”
After ten minutes had passed, Bortnik said, “I want three long bursts sent into the woods.”
As soon as the machine-gun grew quiet, the Lieutenant ordered the trucks returned to the camp, never realizing the people he'd just released were running toward an area sprayed with deadly nerve gas, just an hour before. Within twenty-four hours, not a single released civilian would be alive.
As soon as he returned to camp, Bortnik reported to the Major.
“I heard the machine-gun fire. Are all the civilians dead?”
“No sir, I did not kill them.” He was standing at attention, his eyes straight ahead.
“Did you return them here?”
“No, sir, I released them.”
Slamming his hand down hard on the top of his desk, Major Anosov screamed, “You damned fool! Now your actions have caused the deaths of both of us. Colonel Vetrov warned me if the job was not done properly, he'd personally shoot me.”
“S . . . sir, I'm a soldier, not a murderer. I could not do what was asked of me.”
“Let me ask you a personal question, if I may, Lieutenant?” Major Anosov began to walk slow circles around the younger officer.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you believe in God, Lieutenant?”
Once behind Bortnik, Anosov pulled his pistol and held it flat against his leg, but continued walking.
“Yes, sir, I practice my faith, which is why I could not kill those—”
At the word, those, when he was behind the lieutenant, Anosov raised his pistol and fired into the back of the man's head. The man fell to the floor, quivering as his body shut down. The Major glanced at the blood and brains spattered on his desk and shook his head at the stupidity.
He walked to his desk, opened the top drawer and removed a bottle of vodka. He gulped a quick drink, picked up a framed photograph of his beautiful wife, and placed the barrel of the pistol in his mouth. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he pulled the trigger. His blood, bone and gore joined the lieutenant's to run down the wall. The frame fell to the floor, spattered with blood, and the glass shattered.
A sergeant, who'd been outside stringing barbed-wire, ran into the building, his pistol in hand, and discovered the two dead men. He picked up the phone and dialed a number and said, “Send an officer to Major Anosov's office. There has been a serious accident.”
“The attack on this base has cost me the lives of forty men, thirty-eight directly and two suicides for failure to carry out their duties. I no longer hold a single prisoner and all that were released, by the damned fool Lieutenant Bortnik, are dead by now. Moscow will want to know what I have to show for the expense, so what will I tell them, gentlemen?”
All were standing around his bed, heads lowered as if in prayer, but not a one spoke.
“I want answers, damn it!” He shouted.
“Sir, may I suggest we strike another town and round up the civilians. Since you are the overall commander for the fight against the resistance, you have the authority to collect anyone you wish.”
“Lieutenant Colonel Zheglov, I want you to take a company of men and hit whatever town that you wish. I want at least a thousand people collected and I want it done quickly. If you fail me, I will add your name to the growing suicide list I have.”
“I will not fail you, sir.”
“Have the alternate sectors been sprayed with the nerve agent?”
“Yes, sir, and while we have counted some dead deer, horses and cows, the only bodies discovered were civilians, most likely the ones released from here.”
“I want intelligence to determine, by checking with supply, if we have lost a great number of chemical biological suits, masks and filters over the last year. I want a count down to the last mask filter. It may be gas is not going to do the job.”
“Is that all, sir?” Zheglov asked.
“One more thing; I want armor and troops on the major roads. I want helicopters in the air as our troops travel, too, so they can respond to the first hint of trouble. Jackson has a few fixed wing aircraft, so call on them to provide support. Get me a team of jets and place them on standby. Zheglov, you are free to go now, but the rest of you stay.”
Zheglov left the room and moved toward his office. In his office, he picked up the phone, called an old friend and said, “Give me Colonel Izhutin, sergeant.”
A minute later a voice said, “Lieutenant Colonel Izhutin, how may I help you?”
“Anton, Kolya here. How are you?�
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“I am on the promotion list, how about you?”
“Good, I am glad to hear the news; so what day does your promotion arrive? I will not put mine on for another six months.”
“I have three months, and then I will be a full colonel.”
“I am happy for you my friend. Listen, I need a favor.”
“Name it and if it is legal, I will do it. If it is illegal, I will consider it.”
“Colonel Vetrov needs prisoners, so I need you to round up a thousand for me. Do you think you can get than many?”
“Kolya, for you I can get twice that many.”
“Seriously? Can you get that many?”
“Sure, but not quickly. I can have a thousand by the time you get here by truck and the others within 24 hours. Why all the prisoners?”
“Let me just say ours are gone. We were attacked and they escaped. We need others to replace them.”
“Sure, Kolya, I will have my troops start busting doors down. When can I expect to see you in Jackson?”
“I will leave in a few minutes.”
“I will have a vodka bottle ready. Spend the night, Kolya, and tomorrow we can round up the rest of these trouble makers. How does that sound?”
Laughing, Zheglov said, “Get a big bottle and I will be there in a couple of hours. I am bringing armor with me, so we will take a while getting there.”
“Stay safe and take no chances. The resistance is growing bold.”
“Goodbye, and I shall see you in a little while.” Zheglov hung up the phone and called for his Master Sergeant.
When the man arrived, the Colonel said, “I want every available truck ready to move within the hour. I also want a tank ready to leave as well. Tell the crews we are going to Jackson and we will be spending the night.”
“And the purpose of our mission, sir?”
“To pick up prisoners, Sergeant, prisoners. I want to leave soon, so stress the one hour time limit. It is now, 10 hundred hours.”
At 11 hundred hours, on the dot, the convoy was leaving Edwards and moving toward the highway. Once on the main road it was a straight shot right into the capital city and there would be no other traffic. The trucks, if traveling alone, could do the trip in a little more than an hour, but the tank would slow them down. However, the firepower of the tank made it a nice addition to the group.