by W. R. Benton
After Wilson was seated, Judge W.D. Robbins said, “Let's take a short recess and I'll be back with sentencing, once I reach a decision. The defendant's own admission of guilt allows me to sentence, and do so on this day. I will return when I make up my mind.” He struck his wooden hammer once.
As Judge W.D. Robbins stood, the bailiff called out, “All rise.”
An hour passed before the Colonel returned and when he walked into the courtroom, his face held no emotion at all.
“All rise.” was heard again and once the Judge was seated he said, “Please, be seated.”
He looked through a stack of papers and finally pulling one, he said, “Private Wilson, I have given your reasons for wanting Colonel Williamson dead much thought, and find your actions motivated by pure personal greed. You have admitted your guilt and I now have the grave responsibility of sentencing you. To attempt murder is a very serious charge, so my decision in your case was not easily made, greed or not. I gave it very serious thought and I have reached a decision. Would the defendant and his legal counsel please stand for sentencing?”
Both stood and Wilson was once more trembling.
“I, Judge W.D. Robbins, do find you, the defendant, guilty of spying for the Russians and passing classified information on to them, assaulting an officer of the Partisans of the United States, conduct unbecoming a member of the partisans, and attempted murder of a senior member of the same organization. It is my sentence that you, Private Thomas Woodrow Wilson, be taken from this courtroom and hanged by the neck until you are dead, dead, dead. You will remain hanging for a period of not less than 24 hours and once removed, you will be buried in an unmarked grave. Your admitted criminal behavior has brought great shame on yourself, and it was fed by personal greed. May God have mercy on your soul, because this court will not and I hope you burn in hell.”
The Judge then looked around the courtroom and added, “Bailiff, see the convicted man is secured and the sentence is carried out within the hour.”
“Yes, sir.” the Master Sergeant, who was also the bailiff said and moved toward the prisoner.
As soon as the Judge said, “This case is closed,” his hammer sounded once.
The Bailiff said, “All rise.” He was still moving toward Wilson.
It was then Wilson grabbed his lawyers briefcase and swung it as hard as he could, striking the Master Sergeant full in the face. Once the bailiff was on the ground, Wilson moved to him, pulled his stub-nose .38 pistol and fired one shot at the Judge. He then shot the Master Sergeant as the man stood, blowing blood and gore from his back.
People screamed and everyone attempted to leave the courtroom at the same time, which just blocked the doorways. Some were wounded, most hit by ricochetting bullets, but all wanted out at the same time. Colonel Williamson was surprised that he seemed to be the only person armed in the room.
Two court appointed security policemen shot at Wilson, with one shot missing him but striking his lawyer in the jaw. The other round took Wilson in the calf, more or less burning the skin as it passed. The bullet then hit a piece of metal on the briefcase and ricochetting in to the air, finally stopping in the ceiling. Wilson fired another shot, and this bullet hit the prosecutor in the face, killing him instantly. Wilson was laughing insanely now.
Wilson then fired at two policemen and struck both. They screamed as they fell and while one stopped moving once on the floor, the other kicked and jerked. As the young man moved to the bailiff looking for more ammunition, First Sergeant Allen Norris fired, as did Colonel Williamson, with both bullets hitting home. Wilson, knocked to the floor by the bullets, moaned and groaned as he raised the pistol, placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
The gun snapped on empty.
The First Sergeant ran to Wilson and kicked the gun from his hand. He then forced the man on his stomach and using his belt, secured his hands behind his back.
“His gun only had five loaded cylinders or he'd be dead right now.” Norris said as the Colonel neared. “Like most old troops, he rested the firing pin on an empty slot.”
The Colonel turned and yelled at some men and women near the door. “Any medics or doctors in the group? If so, we need your help, please.”
When three men neared, the First Sergeant said, “See to the wounded, but one of you needs to look the Judge over too. I saw him drop when the shooting started.”
Blood was splattered around the court room and once the medics had an ambulance for Wilson, he was forced to stand.
“The Judge will live, but he's hit hard.” a medic said as he wiped the blood from his hands on his trousers.
“Someone take . . . that sonofabitch . . . outside and . . . hang him. I've already . . . passed sentence! He has no need . . . for an ambulance.” the judge yelled as two men helped him from the building.
“The Bailiff will live too, but he'll need some recovery time. The defense and prosecuting attorney are dead; the back of both skulls are missing.”
Minutes later, after wrapping Wilson's injury, another medic approached John and said, “We have four dead and six injured after his shooting spree. The ricocheting rounds after they passed through others caused most of the injured.”
“Thank you, and are you a qualified medic?”
“I went to college to be an emergency medical technician, graduated, and I'm a card carrying Army medic too. Why?”
“We have a man to hang. Since the bailiff has been shot, someone has to see this sentence carried out. I need you to verify the man is dead, after it’s all said and done.”
“Sure. When are you doing this?”
Moving as he held a death grip on Wilson's earlobe, the Colonel said, “Right now, if you'll help me, Sergeant Norris.”
“I'd be honored to assist you, sir.” the Sergeant replied.
“He doesn't weigh much, so we'll have to add some weight to him before we hang 'em.” the medic said and then added, “If you want his neck broken cleanly. Other than that, he'll just choke to death.”
Once outside, the Colonel stopped a man driving a deuce and half truck with no cover on the cargo area.
“What can I do for you, sir? I can't stay long, because I'm needed to transport some troops.”
“Just remain long enough to drive out from under a man we're hanging. Then, continue on your way.”
“Well, I don't —”
“Let me put it this way, you'll do as I requested or I'll make it an order. Which will it be? But you are part of this now.”
“I want nothing to do with a hanging. I'll do as ordered, but that's it, okay, sir?”
“Fair enough. Drive to that large oak tree by the corner and let me get some rope and weights to do this properly.” the Colonel said, and he and Norris began looking around.
Minutes later they had rope but no weight, so Norris removed the spare tire from the deuce and half and tied it to the legs of Wilson.
When the Colonel threw the rope up and over a large limb, Wilson asked, “Ain't you going to blindfold me or put a hood over my head?”
“Unless you have one in your pocket, no, I'm not. You admitted to trying to kill me, boy, and you were sentenced to die in a military court. So, die you will do, pretty or not. I take attempts on my life seriously.”
“Driver, when the Colonel gives the order, goose your truck and continue on your way. You have no desire, I'm sure, to see a man hang.”
The driver stuck his arm out the window, and gave a thumbs up. Now folks were gathering to see the man hanged and justice served. Many of the people gathering were those who'd run from the courtroom when the shooting started.
A classic hangman's knot was not used, but a simple slip knot was tied in the rope and it was placed around Wilson's neck. The knot was just slightly behind the young man's left ear. Wilson was starting to panic now, realizing he was going to die and having a sudden change of heart.
Glancing at his watch, Colonel John Williamson said, “Private Wilson, you have exactly one
minute to pray and then you'll be standing in front of the good Lord in person.”
“Don't hang me, please! You can't hang me, I killed no one. I just wanted to scare you, sir, and never really wanted to hurt you.”
“I'd suggest you pray, because the fact you admitted to being a spy is also punishable by death. You have twenty seconds.” the Colonel said.
When exactly one minute passed, John yelled, “Go, driver!”
The truck driver revved up the engine, popped the clutch, and drove out from under Wilson. The doomed young man fell, a loud snap was heard and his head separated from his body. The body fell, jerking and twisting as the head struck the concrete and rolled. Blood was spurting from Wilson's neck, pooling in a recessed area on the pavement as his body twitched violently. John saw the man's eyes blink a few times and then they opened wide and finally stopped moving half way open. His body kept moving until he bled dry a couple of minutes later.
“Damn it,” Sergeant Norris said, “I thought that spare tire might of been too heavy.”
“Don't worry about it, and the sentence has been fulfilled, except we'll have to hang him for 24 hours by the ankles. I'll remove the rope and then we'll lift him up.”
“This hangin' just shows, sir, we really can't trust anyone in our line of work these days.”
Chapter 9
Junior Sergeant Luka Denisovich moved down the trail cautiously and slowly. He stopped, gagged a few times, and then turned his head to the left to vomit. The area around him was burned clear of all vegetation as a result of napalm. He'd already identified two black smoking bodies and both were booby trapped. He expected to see many more of the dark forms. The area looked like a forest fire had taken place, except the smell of burnt bodies was strong. He finally pulled his chemical/biological mask out of its storage bag and placed it on his head. The mask and filter stopped the smell, but not the sight.
He walked another fifty feet and when he moved to the left to mark an anti-personnel mine, a toe popper went off and he felt sudden pain in his lower belly and balls, as he fell. Two Russian troops, one a medic, ran forward. As they were moving him to check for injury, another toe popper went off, catching the trooper in the crotch, and repositioning her intestines. Anya screamed loudly as she fell, landing on the anti-personnel mine Luka had not had time to mark yet.
The explosion was loud and Luka felt his chest and face struck by bits of gravel, or so he thought, which brought no pain. He'd actually watched her left leg leave her body and fly into the air where it was lost from sight by the smoke and dust. Anya screamed and continued to scream until the medic gave both of them shots of morphine. A tourniquet was used on the stub of her left leg, and her right arm was mangled badly. The medic then wrote the date and time with the word morphine on their foreheads with a permanent black laundry marker.
The last thing Luka heard was the Senior Sergeant saying, “I have a medical helicopter enroute and they will be here in ten minutes or less.” His world gradually faded into blackness.
“Good, she's in sad shape and may not survive the trip to the base. Luka looks worst than he really is, because of all the shrapnel that peppered his chest and face. They will spend a lot of time pulling iron from the man over the next few months.” The medic then filled out two casualty cards and attached them to his wounded. “Radio base and tell them I need another medical bag. They carry spares on the aircraft for situations like this.”
Sergeant Slavavich shook his head and asked the bleeding medic, “You okay? You are wounded too.”
“I took a couple of chunks of steel in my arm, but I am okay. If you will bandage it up as we wait, I would appreciate it. I can take a pain pill for the hurt, but little cuts can bleed a lot.”
Ten minutes later, as the helicopter moved overhead, a litter was lowered with another medical bag and within a couple of minutes Anya was secured to the stretcher. Luka went up second and just as the stretcher was pulled inside the aircraft, a machine-gun was heard firing and the tracers zipped by the nose of the aircraft. The pilot then applied more power and a minute later he was climbing steadily for more altitude. Smoke came from his engines, but Slavavich thought that was natural and turned his mind to other things.
“Yura!” the Senior Sergeant said.
“Yo?”
“You are my point man now. We know the area is heavily mined, so remember this is not a race and all we want to do is count dead partisans.”
“I hear you, Sergeant.” the young man said, and Slavavich liked him because he was a poster image for the Russian Army. He was clean cut, looked sharp, was smart, and on his third combat tour in America. He had just turned twenty years old a month back.
Not fifteen feet further and Yura stopped and said, “I can count twenty-four bodies from here, Lieutenant, but the ground in front of me is full of mines. I recommend we go around this section of the forest.”
Three hours later they broke clear of the mines and Yura said, “Being point this morning took five years off my life.”
“Uh, we just got word that Anya did not make it, and I know the two of you were close. There was just too much internal damage done by the mine.”
Yura lowered his head and his eyes filled with tears as he said in a trembling voice, “She was a good woman, Senior Sergeant. All she wanted was to complete her tour of duty so she could get into college free. She did not want to be a farm girl all her life.”
The Sergeant tossed him a canteen with vodka in it and said, “Take two or three long snorts of that, son, and the world will look like a better place. I watched men and women die before you were even born, and it gets no easier over the years.”
The young Sergeant took a few long drinks and then handing the canteen back, he said, “The army life is 99% boredom and bullshit, then 1% pure terror. I will miss her, and I had hoped we could have made something of our relationship. I will not say I loved her, but I was fond of her. Very much.”
“Come with me, son, we have to get our troops ready to move. The day is not over and Mother Russia wants us to move a few miles south.”
“Thank you, Senior Sergeant.”
“For what?”
“For understanding my feelings. I never knew my real dad so you are the closest thing I have ever had to a father. I thank you for being here for me when I need you.”
“That is what all Sergeants are suppose to do, when not chewing ass.” He winked, then Yura looked at him grinning through tears. “Come with me, we have a busy day ahead of us.”
The Lieutenant took the handset of the radio and said, “Yes, sir, this is Panther 1 Actual.”
“We lost a few, but I counted 147 bodies from our napalm. I know some of their dead were carried off, but we confirmed One, four, seven bodies.”
“Base Actual, here. The radio man copied 147 dead partisans, is that correct?”
“Roger, that number is affirmative, over.”
“Our losses were nothing compared to theirs. Keep up the good work and you'll be a Captain before the end of the month.”
Just let me survive this hell-hole and I will be happy, the Lieutenant thought but said, “Thank you, sir, but I have good troops.”
“Even good troops are useless without good leadership. Continue your mission.”
“Roger, copy. I will continue my mission.”
“Mount up and prepare to move, folks.” the Senior Sergeant said as he gulped the rest of his tea. He tossed his teabag to the grasses.
He'd just bent over to pickup his backpack when he was knocked off balance and felt a hot poker burn through his chest. The impact was hard enough it knocked him to his knees and then he fell to his left to his left side. It was then he heard a single rifle shot. He raised his right hand and wondered how it got covered in blood. A second later, he realized he'd just been shot. He remained still, and did so to avoid being shot again by the sniper.
The Russian cell opened up on the treeline, where the fire had come from, and two of the Senior Sergeant's
troops pulled him to safety. Just as they pulled him behind a log, Private Vasya Kusyavich screamed and fell, the top of him, her head missing. She fell to the left of the Sergeant and he was looking into her eyes as she died. Her body jerked and quivered as her central nervous system shut down, and strange grunt like noises were coming from her. She gave a loud sigh, there was a rattling sound from deep inside of her, and a light moan. All movement from her stopped.
“Hold your fire! Cease firing! Stop firing you damned fools, it was a sniper.” the Lieutenant yelled.
The Senior Sergeant's body was now jerking and thrashing around, but he remained very much alive. His pain level was high and he was near losing consciousness. The medic ran to the log and squatted between the two injured.
“Vasya is dead, beyond a doubt, because the top of her head is missing. The Sergeant needs to be evacuated and as soon as possible. He was struck in the middle of the back, and while it looks like it missed his spine, his inner organs have been damaged. Inform base he is a category one evacuation.”
The radioman said, “I am on the radio with them now.”
The Lieutenant was laying beside the radio man, listening to the conversation.
“Roger, Base, and inform Medic One he can expect some ground fire from the woods. The medic requests a category one pickup. There is at least one sniper holed up with the dead bodies in the tree line, over.”
Yura bandaged the Senior Sergeant with an airtight bandage and once he could breath again, his thrashing around stopped. The medic then gave the Sergeant a shot of morphine, filled out a casualty tag and taking his laundry marker, wrote the time and date as well as the drug given for pain, on the man's forehead. His pen was getting a real workout this week.
With the help of two others they placed the dead woman in a body bag and another tag, a red one, to indicated the patient was deceased, was filled out and attached to the rubber bag. Private Vasya Kusyavich was going home.
The helicopter arrived about twenty minutes later, a smoke grenade was popped, and the pilot landed, but never left his seat. The door gunner on the side of the aircraft facing the woods began to fire into the burned trees. Master Sergeant Kovarov jumped from the helicopter and made his way to the Russian troops.