by W. R. Benton
“Good work, Delov, and when we return come by my quarters, it seems I have a bottle of vodka I no longer want.”
“I will be there for sure, sir. We should be done searching within thirty minutes or so.”
Two hours later, Joshua awoke startled and then realized his hands and feet were secured to something. His chest hurt and he was sitting in a large metal chair, with a single bulb burning overhead. Glancing around the dimly lighted room, he saw an IV bag and the line ran into his arm, and little else, except a wooden box near the door. He was completely naked, chilled, and saw a bloodstained bandage on his chest. The bullet had struck him about an inch below his collarbone, so he knew his injury wasn't fatal.
Two Russians entered and in perfect English the smallest man said, “I am Lieutenant Dyomin, your interrogator. This big monster beside me is Private Vasnev, and he is the muscle behind our little talks. Let us begin by you telling me your name, shall we?”
Joshua looked at the big man and quivered because he was closer to seven feet than six, and he must have weighed three hundred pounds, all of it muscle. The big private was wearing a dull smile, like someone who has, at best, borderline functioning. Lawdy, I hate to piss this big bastard off, but here goes, he thought and then replied, “I'm not telling you shit, asshole.”
The lieutenant said, “Now, think about what I have asked, which is not much. I only want your name. If you refuse me once more, the private will eventually convince you to answer. Why not avoid unnecessary pain?”
Joshua spat a glob of bloody mucus toward the Russian, but missed. The Private raised his huge fist and didn't miss as he struck Joshua hard on his injury.
Screaming and hoping he'd pass out, he saw the world turn gray and then black.
How long he was out, he had no idea, but when he open his eyes, Dyomin asked, “Your name, please.”
“Bubba, Bubba Lee Claremore.” He manage to get out. He then glanced down and his injury was bleeding again. These jokers will kill me anyway, so I'll lie to them, he thought.
“Why are you, a black man, fighting for white men? Do you not see they are using you so they can return you to bondage?”
“You're wrong, peckerwood,” he replied, “because the only white men that are my enemies speak Russian. May God bless the United States.”
Vasnev moved to the wooden box and removed a steel pipe. He slapped his hand a few times with it, testing his grip. He moved to Joshua's side and waited.
“Now, Bubba, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, and it does not matter much to me how we do it, because you will talk when I'm done with you.” Dyomin said with a false grin.
“Go to hell, you vodka slurping piece of—”
Dyomin nodded and the Private struck Joshua hard on the left leg and the bone snapped. With his fists clinched tightly, Joshua screamed and twisted in the chair. Reaching down, Vasnev began to slowly rotate the foot, which brought excruciating pain. Screaming louder, as tears formed in his eyes, he wasn't sure he could take much more. Then he began to pray aloud. First, he prayed for God to save him and then he prayed for Him to end his life. Once again, he blacked out.
When he next awoke he was wet and looking down he saw wires leading to his balls. He met Dyomin's eyes and asked, “W . . . what are the wires?”
“Well, my friend, the wires are connected to a hand cranked generator and while the pain, from what I understand, can be severe, it will not kill you. Shall we start this conversation once more?”
“Y . . . yes.” Joshua saw the wires were connected to a box with a rotating handle, so he knew Private Bad-ass would love to turn the crank.
“Who is your leader?”
“Willy is the name we know him by and nothing else. I was told in case we got captured we couldn't tell what we didn't know.”
Pulling a small pad and pen from his shirt pocket, the Lieutenant asked, “His rank?”
“Full colonel.”
“Where can this Willy be found?”
“I honestly don't know.”
The lieutenant nodded to Vasnev and he turned the crank hard and fast.
Due to the water on him, the electrical current didn't just go to his balls, it shot through his whole body and he lost complete control of his whole nervous system, as he jerked and twisted violently in the chair.
The interrogator held an open palm toward Vasnev and he stopped. Giving Joshua a minute or two, Dyomin asked, “Where can he be found?”
“I . . . I'm just a . . . private, how much . . . do you . . . think I know?”
“Much more than what you are telling me. Private Vasnev, remove the first three finger nails on his left hand.”
Pulling a pair of pliers from the box, the big man moved to Joshua and pried his fingers from the balled fist. The pain from the removal of the nail, added to his electrical shock and his bullet injury was too much and once again he passed out.
How long he was out, he had no idea, but when he awoke, he was in a field with others. Unlike them, he was chained to a support pole and the prisoners were all on the other side of the compound, because no one wanted to be associated with him. His hands were also chained together, with about three feet of chain between his wrists. They did a half-assed job, because they've broken my leg and don't see me as a threat now. They know I can't escape.
The bone from his shin was clearly seen and no effort had been made to set the break or even wrap it. Death is my only option now, because I'll not get far with a broken leg. Pain filled his whole body and he had a hard time focusing his eyes.
I have to resist, for no other reason than to show these bastards what Americans are made of, so they'll learn to respect and fear us. He looked around and it was night, which surprised him, because he'd been captured during the early morning. He saw some of the guards watching and then a man pointed at him and said something to another man. The man walked away at a fast pace.
Going to tell the Lieutenant I'm awake for another round, I bet. His right hand throbbed and when he looked, all five nails were missing and the whole hand was covered in dried blood. I can't take another interrogation, because it'll kill me. I need to end this shit the first chance I get, so I can die much faster than the way they're doing the job now. I don't fear death nearly as much as I do the pain of torture. I just can't take it.
A few minutes later, Private Vasnev showed and yelled something in Russian. The gate was instantly unlocked and opened. The huge man walked to Joshua smiling and used a twisting motion of both of his hands to show he intended to twist the broken leg.
When the Private reached for Joshua's feet, to drag him to interrogation, the wounded man threw the loose chain between his hands over Vasnev's neck, and then crossed his arms as hard as he could. Something broke in the Russian's throat and he began chocking as blood ran freely from his mouth and nose. Two guards near the gate yelled and then moved toward Joshua with their bayonets reflecting in the light.
The thrust of the first soldier entered the quivering body of Vasnev, but the sharp point on the second bayonet struck Joshua in the left side of his chest and he howled with pain. Then, with the two Russians standing on each side of him they began to stab him repeatedly, until Lieutenant Dyomin yelled, “Stop, you damned fools, do not kill him! Stop! He has important information I need.”
Both guards stopped and snapped to attention. The bayonets on their rifles were covered with blood.
“Sir, he killed Private Vasnev!” The taller of the two said.
“Vasnev, like the two of you, is expendable.” He moved to Joshua's side and then squatted. The black man's eyes were open, but unseeing, so the Lieutenant closed them with his fingers. Vasnev was dead, his mouth filled with blood, and the bayonet had entered the very center of his chest. The Lieutenant stood and said, “Get a truck and remove both bodies. The dead partisan you can dump on any street in town, but take Vasnev's body to the mortuary. Damn me, the first prisoner I have had in almost a year and you fools killed him.”
“I am sorry, s
ir, but I was attempting to save a comrade.”
“Yes, yes, yes, but what am I to tell Colonel Vetrov? He will be filled with anger.”
Knowing he was in trouble, the guard said, “I will get a truck.”
Half an hour later, Lieutenant Dyomin was standing in front of his commander, along with Major Gagarin, and Vetrov was so mad his face was scarlet. He was still in bed, but the IV was gone, and he was healing. He leaned forward and asked, “Do you expect me to believe an average size black American killed Private Vasnev? Hell, that man was the biggest man in the whole Russian army! Then, two idiotic guards killed the prisoner before you could get any information of value from him? You got his name, Bubba something or the other, and that is all?”
“Sir, he crushed the throat of Vasnev, using the chains on his hands. However, at one point, when he was near insane with pain, he mentioned a cellar five miles south of here. He said it was his father's old place and the remains of a house still stood. He said the locals call it “The Plantation,” in a joking way. Also, he mentioned a Colonel Willy Williams, but his last name did not come out openly. Just before he passed out the last time, I asked for Willy's name and he gave it, unknowingly.”
“So, there must be a million American's named Williams.”
“He called the man, Bro Williams, which means the man Willy is black as well.”
“Maybe, but Christians call each other brothers and that is the same, right?”
“When I attended college in the states, I learned black people use bro or sister to associate with each other. Often the women address each other as 'sistah.' Christians use the more formal 'brother' when addressing each other.”
“It is a terrible language anyway, English is, and full of nonsense.”
“Yes, sir, but I ran a computer check on a Willy Williams, Negro, and I found three of them in our data base, which you know was stolen from the American Department of Defense.”
“And?”
“The first Willy Williams died almost five years ago in a car accident. The second was injured on active duty and retired a major for medical reasons. He was injured when his parachute failed to open properly. The last man was in the U.S. Army Special Operations and a member of the elite Green Berets.”
“Surely you joke? I have heard of their special operations, of course, and the Green Berets, but I know little about them.”
“It is my opinion,” the Lieutenant said as he met Gagarin's eyes, “that the special forces group he belonged to was equal to our Spetsnaz.”
“Would you agree with that, Major?”
“Yes, sir, I would. Before the formation of Special Operations as a specific organization, the Green Berets were called Special Forces. They earned a hard reputation in Vietnam as being good at any assignment given to them, but America didn't use them as they should have. I consider any prior members of their special operations units to be dangerous men, sir.”
Handing a thick folder to Vetrov, the Lieutenant said, “I printed all the information I could find on the man and he is well trained.”
Gazing into Dyomin's eyes, the Colonel asked, “Do you have any idea where this Williams is now?”
Shaking his head, the Major replied, “No, sir, we do not, but we know exactly where the cellar is and want your permission to go there. Lieutenant Dyomin and I found it on a map.”
“Then stop talking with me, gather up a company of men and go visit the cellar. I would suggest you have some helicopters or jets flying cover for you. If you run into Williams, there will be a fight. Try, if possible to bring some prisoners back so we can learn more about the partisans.” For the first time in weeks, Colonel Vetrov almost felt like his old self and even smiled.
The trucks had problems the minute they pulled up in front of the old house beside the cellar. The truck in front suddenly exploded as the bumper pulled a tripwire, which triggered a Claymore mine, killing most of the men in the cargo area. Those that were not killed, were injured. The second truck's front right tire contacted an anti-personnel mine, which exploded and severely damaged the front quarter panel of the truck.
“I want a mine detecting team to sweep this area and do the job now!” Major Gagarin yelled, pissed that men had died and they'd not even left the trucks yet.
As the team worked, Lieutenant Dyomin said, “As the teams sweep your area, dismount the trucks, but stay near. If you step away, you might discover a mine.”
One man, a private, moved about four feet, beside an oak tree, to pee into the grasses. He'd just unbuttoned his trousers, when he felt his left foot tangled in something, so he moved his leg slightly. He spotted a sudden movement in the limbs of the tree and a split second later, saw a limb moving toward him, and on the branch was four spear-like stakes. Three of the four stakes entered his body, with lowest about an inch above his penis, the second in his belly and last in his chest. He gave warbling scream and danced madly on the stakes.
“Medic!” Someone screamed.
“Help . . . me.” The injured man managed to get out between his clenched teeth.
“The medic is coming, so you will soon be fine.”
“I—h..hurt.”
The medic neared, scanned the ground around the man, and saw the almost invisible two pound fishing line on the man's left boot. Placing his medical bag on the ground, he saw immediately the man would die. The barbs sticking out his back were soaked with blood and debris, and already the injured man was leaking blood from his ears, nose and mouth. The medic reached into his bag, pulled out a needle and filled the syringe with morphine. I'll give him too much of the drug and it will kill him without pain, he thought as he moved to the front of the man where he could insert the needle in a vein in his arm.
The medic took two steps, when the ground gave way and his right foot fell into a hole. Inside the hole were sharpened oak stakes, smeared with dried human dung, so his foot was immediately impaled on one. He screamed, tried to jerk his foot up and out, but he was unable to do the job. Two men moved to his side and using pure force, they jerked his foot free. He screamed and then passed out, as the injury bled profusely. One of the men, knowing the medic was in pain, picked up the syringe and injected the morphine into his right arm.
The man standing with the stakes through his body had stopped screaming, only now he was whimpering like an injured animal. The whimpers were low and could barely be heard. One of the men moved to the man's side, nearest the tree, and unknowingly stepped on a mine. There was a loud detonation, the air filled with smoke and detritus, and men screamed. The one who'd activated the mine was now short a leg, the man working on the injured medic had taken the blast in his face, and the man standing beside him was killed instantly.
Dyomin yelled, “Everyone stay where you are until the area is cleared of mines and traps. Damn fools! ” He then moved close to the tree and said, “You men, remove your comrades and place them in the truck. Once in the truck, I want a medic to work on them.”
When the men hesitated to move, Dyomin pointed with his right index finger as he said, “You, you, you, and you, get those men and do it now.”
A few minutes later, the four were in the back of the truck and a medic climbed inside. He worked on the man with the missing leg, then the man with the injury to his face. He checked the man that had the injuries from the barbs in his chest, but he was dead. Finally, moving to the medic, he found no serious injury, but the man was dead, too. He stuck his head from the canvas cover and said, “We have two dead, one has lost his leg, and the other has most likely lost his eyes. Actually, his face is so mangled he must have some brain injuries. We need a helicopter to remove our wounded, sir. We have ten others injured from the second truck alone.”
“Radio man, contact the helicopter and have him land on the road approaching the house. There are no trees in the way and the area is clean.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dyomin turned and walked to the Major where he said, “We are not dealing with a group of ignorant part
isans that are angry, sir. We are dealing with professionals who are as calculating as they are deadly. We have over twenty dead and ten wounded, and we have not even stepped from the driveway yet.”
CHAPTER 21
Ruben was wrapped up in his blanket and placed in the grave John and Tom had prepared. Mollie stood crying beside the hole and quivered, devastated by the death of her only child. Removing his boonie hat, Tom asked, “Do you want to speak a few words, Mollie?”
“I— I can't.”
“John, you say something then, from the Bible.” Tom said.
John cleared his throat, held his hat in both hands, and said, “We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed; always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body. Knowing that he which raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also by Jesus, and shall present us with you. For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen, for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal. This I say in the name of Jesus, our Lord and Savior, amen. This is from 2 Corinthians 4.”
“T . . . thank . . . you.” Mollie fell to her knees beside the grave as Tom and John filled it with dirt.
When they were finished, John whispered, “Let's leave her alone and let her have some time with her son.”
Tom nodded and they walked away.
An hour later, they were moving again and Dolly was walking beside Mollie, as if she felt the pain the woman held inside. The weather had turned cold just before the funeral and now it was starting to spit snow.
“Any idea where we're heading?” Tom asked as he slipped back to walk beside John.
“I know of an old junkyard, oh, maybe another mile, that may be okay to use for a few days. It's off the beaten path and I don't think the old owner ever made much money from the place. It looked rough on it's best day.”