by W. R. Benton
Laughing, Zheglov replied, “No, of course not, but we do have a large fenced in area we can place them. We feed them little, surely not enough to live on, and provide them with nothing else. But our workers have started building barracks for them and we will have a limited supply system in place for their support within a month. I think by the end of the month, they will be taking in about a thousand calories a day.”
“Are they to work?”
“Some will, once we sort through all of them and determine their skills, if any. However, that is a long time down the road—perhaps a year or more. Have the tracks for the train been repaired between here and Vicksburg? If so, perhaps you can send me additional prisoners using trains.”
“Yes, the tracks are serviceable and trains have been using it, but not frequently. Each train has a company of infantry to act as security. At times the rails have been loosened or completely removed, so we have to move slowly. However, I think if we shackle a few prisoners to the front of the engine on the trains, maybe the partisans will leave the tracks alone.” Colonel Izhutin replied and then asked, “More drink, my friend?”
“No, no I've had enough already.” Standing, Zheglov added, “Thank you for the help. I am sure Colonel Vetrov will wonder where I have been able to round up so many people. As for shackling prisoners on a train, hell, give it a try.”
Grinning over the top of his vodka glass, Colonel Izhutin asked, “Oh, and what will you tell him?” He then downed the remainder of his drink.
“I will simply ask if it matters. They will make him happy and right now he's the most important man in this region, bar none.”
Extending his hand, Izhutin said, “Have a safe trip and call me if you need anything else. It is always an honor to help an old friend. Now, I have assigned extra trucks to help you transport your prisoners, but they must return tomorrow to pick up those we cannot transport today. You and I together do not have enough trucks to move all of them at once.”
Shaking hands, Zheglov thought, bullshit, you will remember this and when you need something from me, you will bring this up. Because that is how life works, my friend. Finally he said, “We will take all we can now and pick up the others later.”
Zheglov walked from the office, called out to the senior sergeant and said, “Get the prisoners loaded, because we need to get moving. I do not want to be caught on the main highway after darkness.”
They were a little less than half way back to the base at Edwards when the sun went down. Zheglov noticed the sergeant riding in the front of his staff car flipped the safety off his weapon. The man then donned NVG's so he could see in the darkness.
“Sergeant, radio all drivers to be alert and for their guards to prepare for an ambush. While I do not think we will be attacked, there is always a chance.”
“Prepare for ambush, sir? How do you want that done?”
“Just as you have, safeties off and NVG's on their heads. I want everyone awake and alert for danger. I have discovered it pays to always expect the worst.”
An hour later, the motorcyclist riding point never felt the wire stretched across the road that struck him in the neck and decapitated him. As his severed head rolled into a ditch, his motorcycle fell to its side and began to send sparks high into the air as metal struck concrete. A second or two later the bike flipped high into the air and landed in the median of the highway.
Machine-gun bullets walked the length of the convoy and then back again. Grenade launchers gave their familiar thump, as 40 mm grenades were sent into targets. Trucks exploded, sending pieces of metal, tires, and prisoners high into the air, along with the drivers and guards.
“Faster, move faster, we must ride out of the ambush zone! Sergeant, radio my message now.” Zheglov yelled, and then pulled his pistol.
Suddenly the driver of the staff car took a bullet to his head, spraying blood and brains on Zheglov, and the car went out of control. The sergeant attempted to control the car's direction with the steering wheel, but the dead man's foot had the accelerator to the floor. The car slipped around trucks and entered the passing lane. The sight of a staff car moving alone, brought more partisan fire on the vehicle, and the sergeant screamed and then slumped.
The car ran off the road, struck a ditch in the median and then flipped three times. It was during the second flip, when Zheglov was ejected and landed in the grass, unconscious. The car then lay still as dust filled the air. A minute later, fire was seen near the engine and flames grew quickly. The injured sergeant, his leg caught in the wreckage screamed for help.
The trucks from the convoy, those still moving, rolled past the staff car without a second thought. All drivers were concerned about survival, not risking their necks for some colonel that rode their asses all the time. Grenades still exploded, screams were heard, and bullets continued to strike the big vehicles. One was seen to leave the road at a high rate of speed, knock down a fence, and then collide with a huge oak tree. It suddenly burst into flames, either from a ruptured gas tank or a 40 mm round. Shrieks of fear and pain were heard, but not for long, because it exploded. The resulting fire set the woods aflame as well.
The trucks continued to move away from the ambush site and within a few minutes the survivors were moving, as fast as the governors on their engines would allow, for Edwards. The scene of ambush grew quiet, with the exception of crackling flames, small secondary detonations, and the moans and screams of the injured. Out of the blue, Zheglov's staff car exploded, sending a huge rolling ball of reddish-black flames high into the air. With the explosion, the injured sergeants screams stopped.
Many long minutes passed before Colonel Willy Williams walked from the trees and yelled, “Check out all the trucks and remove anything we can use. Shoot all the injured and no captives.” He then moved to the closest truck, discovered the driver dead, his bloody head slumped over the steering wheel and the guard laying half out of an open door. His feet were were entangled in the dash of the vehicle. Willy sent a round into the man's head, just to be safe, because he saw no blood.
He and some of his men moved to the rear of the truck and looked inside. A young partisan, barely over 15, turned his head to the right and puked. The back of the vehicle was covered in blood with body parts littering the floor. The dead civilians, most thrown to the rear of the cab when the truck struck a guardrail, were laying in unnatural positions.
“We had no idea what they were carrying, so don't let this get to you son.” Willy said to the young man who was wiping his mouth clean of vomit.
A man neared and said, “We've found a bunch of civilians in these trucks, but no supplies. What do you want us to do with the people?”
“Check all the trucks and remove any civilians that are able to move on their own. If they can't walk, put 'em down. Take every pair of NVG's and spare batteries you can find.”
“Y . . . you mean, kill them?” The man asked.
“That's exactly what I've ordered, Lieutenant, or do you have a problem with my orders?”
A pistol shot was heard and then the Lieutenant said, “That's murder, sir.”
“Phil, how long do you think someone seriously injured will live in a prison camp? These folks were going to Edwards and they don't even have housing for them. They will be given no medical treatment and simply dumped on the grass inside the wire. It might take some of these folks days to die and they'll do so in great pain. Now, do as I asked, because I'm doing this to be merciful, not because I'm a killer.”
Phil muttered under his breath as he walked off and started giving orders to his men.
“Let's hurry folks, because choppers will be overhead shortly. I want to be miles from here before they arrive.”
A woman neared Willy and reported, “The officer from the staff car is alive, but with a broken neck.”
“Take me to him, Lieutenant.”
A few minutes later, in the median, Zheglov met the eyes of Colonel Willy Williams.
“I speak your language.” Willy
said as he squatted beside the injured man.
“Will you now kill me?”
“I have not decided, but you deserve to die.”
“I am soldier obeying orders.”
Willy laughed and then said, “Is that why you were carrying people instead of supplies or soldiers? Do not insult my intelligence, Colonel. You were carrying innocent people gathered up to fill your prison camp.”
“I hurt. Can you not give me anything for the pain?”
Pulling his pistol, Willy said, “No, we will give you nothing for your pain. My medics think your neck is broken, so to make sure you are removed from all future battles, I must do this.”
“Plea—”
The two shots were loud as both bullets struck Zheglov's knee caps, shattering them. The Russian screamed, but more out of fear than pain, because he actually felt nothing from the neck down.
“Colonel Williams, we have choppers in the air!” Someone shouted.
“Disperse, and do the job now! Break into small two man teams and meet back at our base when you can.” He placed his pistol back in the holster and said to Zheglov, “You may live, Colonel, but you will never use your legs again and I pray your neck is truly broken. Tell your boss we will resist the Russians until no single American lives. We will have our country back!” He placed an ace of spades card in Zheglov's shirt pocket.
Hearing the sound of the chopper, Willy broke for the trees at a hard run. Once under cover, he squatted beside three of his men as the chopper landed on the highway, close to the staff car. He watched as men exited the chopper and ran to each truck, and two made their way to the staff car, stretchers in hand. A gunner was scanning the countryside, his nerves obviously on edge. Another chopper circled overhead.
Suddenly Willy had a change of mind. He motioned to a man beside him that he wanted his weapon. Taking the RG-6 in his hands, he waited.
Minutes later, two men walked toward the helicopter, packing Zheglov on a stretcher. The other men were boarding on the other side. As the stretcher was placed inside the aircraft, Willy quickly fired two grenades from the RG-6. One struck in the cockpit area and the second struck the tail boom. The resulting explosions were loud, and then the fuel went up with a loud swoosh. Engulfed by flames, two human torches moved from the flames walking aimlessly as they screamed. An explosion vibrated in the trees and a giant ball of fire suddenly appeared where the aircraft had been resting on it's skids. The two burning men, were knocked to the ground by the detonation and remained unmoving.
Turning to his men, Willy said, “Move, but take the long way back to camp.”
The chopper flying overhead saw the explosion from the aircraft on the ground and quickly radioed the main base to report the aircraft down. Then, the aircraft commander zoomed down to tree top level as they searched for partisans. Spotting a small group of three men, the door gunner reported, “Three men at your three o'clock position, sir.”
“Fire, fool, and if you kill them all, a bottle of vodka will be given to you.”
The rat-tat-tat of the machine-gun was heard and the gunner walked the bullets into the men. Dirt, grasses, stones, blood and bones flew high into the air as the bullets passed through two of the men, but the last seemed unharmed.
“Go around, go around now!” The gunner screamed into his intercom system.
When they returned, two men were seen on the ground, but the third was gone.
“Start circling slowly, sir.” The gunner said as he kept his eyes on the ground and his finger on the trigger, ready to spit lead death at the last man.
Slowly the aircraft circled and was about to turn away, when Willy stood from some brush with a smile on his face and the RG-6 in his hands. The Russian gunner saw Willy a second too late and before his mind could register what his eyes were seeing, the thump of a launcher was heard on the ground.
The big 40 mm round struck the chopper in the engine area and then exploded. Smoke began to stream from the engine and flames were shooting from access panels. The aircraft fought to gain height, and was running rough and shaking violently as the pilot made an attempt to get to the highway to land. The pilot was about ten feet from the ground when the engine seized and it dropped hard to the concrete.
On impact both the pilot and co-pilot suffered severe back injuries, but the pilot quickly reached up with his right hand and hit the fire agent discharge button, which shot a thick fire preventing foam into the engine compartment smothering the flames. He then turned all power switches off. If the aircraft was leaking fuel, the sparks of any electrical device could cause an explosion.
The gunner crawled from the chopper and took his machine-gun with him, guarding against any ground attacks. The man had a cut over his left eye, where the edge of his helmet had struck him when they slammed hard to the ground. He removed his helmet and pulled his first aid kit open. Removing a bandage, he soon had his injury wrapped.
Five minutes later, a helicopter arrived with Colonel Pankov as the senior officer on board the aircraft. A team of medics jumped from the aircraft and moved to the downed bird.
Then more and more choppers landed and infantry troops began to secure the area. As soon as the troops were off the aircraft, each chopper returned to the sky, flying in lazy circles. A Lieutenant Colonel walked to Pankov and said, “We have secured the area, sir.”
“Thank you, Yakubov, now have some of your men remove our dead. Be sure to get me a body count of our troops.”
“What of the dead civilians, sir?”
“Leave them where they lay. Pour gas on each truck that is beyond repair and when we leave, burn it all.”
A medic neared and said, “The co-pilot has a broken back, we are not sure about the pilot's back and both gunners sustained injuries, with one having a concussion.”
Pankov walked to what remained of Zheglov's helicopter and realized they'd never find enough of the man to bury. Three fourths of the aircraft was gone and the only bodies seen were two men laying on the pavement, burnt to a crisp. Both were so badly disfigured by the fire, their own mothers wouldn't recognize them. Smoke from the fire still reached for the sky, but thinner now than just minutes ago.
Two hours later, dozers from the base cleared the highway and the troops returned to base. Pankov was pissed about the attack, but not overly so, and returned to his room. Once showered to remove the smell of death from him, he had supper in the officers mess and returned to his quarters for a few drinks. He picked up a book and began reading when there came a knock at his door.
A young lieutenant was standing in the hallway when he asked, “Yes?”
The young officer saluted and said, “Colonel Vetrov has asked to see you immediately, sir.”
“Return to the Colonel and inform him I will be there as soon as I get my boots on.”
“Yes, sir.”
Pankov closed the door and thought, What does the damned fool want from me now? I suspect he wants an update on the partisan attack, but why at this hour? He placed his feet into the boots and then moved for the door, thinking, Well, he cannot blame this last attack on me, it was all Zheglov's idea.
He entered the hospital ward to find Vetrov looking sour and pissed, staring at his hands. The Colonel looked up and asked “And, where in the hell have you been? I expected a report from you right after you landed.”
“I showered, had a bite to eat and had no idea you wanted to speak with me, sir. You sent no word to me, nor did you say anything at the staff meeting this morning.” Like I can read your small brain.
CHAPTER 19
Three days later, as John and Joshua scouted in cold weather, they spotted men moving toward them. They crouched in the bushes and waited for the men to get closer. Seeing they were Americans, John said, “That's close enough. Who are you and what do you want?”
The man on point stopped, swung his weapon in John's general direction, but said nothing.
Long seconds passed before the man called out, “Bill, come to me.”
&
nbsp; A minute later a tall man with black hair, said, “I'm Bill and was sent by Willy Williams. We need to talk, if your name is John or Tom.”
“My name is John. What does Willy want?”
“He wants a strike on Russian railroad traffic started immediately. If possible, derail the engine and other cars when you do the job.” Bill removed his pack and sat it on the ground beside him.
John smiled and said, “We can do that.”
“In the mean time, all other rail lines will be hit, too.”
“We'll start tonight. Was that all he wanted?”
“Nope, I have a few pounds of C4 explosive for you to use on the job.” He pulled a paper-wrapped bundle from his pack, handing it to John.
“Do you have time to eat?”
Shaking his head, Bill said, “No, I have to get back. I'll inform Willy you'll start this evening.”
Donning his pack, Bill and the rest disappeared into the trees.
Glancing at the low clouds overhead, John said, “Let's get back. It looks like rain or snow coming, and we've a mission to prepare.”
Once back at the cabin, they discussed the mission and how to do the most damage with the least effort. Ideas were kicked around and around, until John said, “I like Tom's idea and think it will cause the most damage with the least danger to us. We move at dark, only Dolly will stay here to give you a little more protection.”
At dark, three of them were moving north toward the railroad and it was quiet. A light drizzle fell, so each wore a poncho, and the weather was cold. It was perfect hypothermia weather with temperatures in the mid thirties. According to Sally, a train pulled into Edwards each night near midnight to offload supplies for the military. Civilians were not allowed on the trains and the only traffic was military. The only dangerous part of the mission, so far, was crossing the main highway, which they did one at a time. They'd encountered no problems and a little before 2300 hours arrived at the tracks.
They quickly placed two Claymore mines facing each other on the opposite sides of the tracks and ran the wires from the mine on the far side, under the steel beams and covered them with small rocks. Then fifty yards down the track, east, they placed some C4 which Tom rigged up to blow on command.