by W. R. Benton
I stuck the pint bottle in my housecoat pocket and wrapped it tightly around me, so it'd not be seen or fall out. I tied it in place with the strap on my housecoat.
The building shook hard, some dust fell from the ceiling, and a window shattered as bombs fell, and some must have been pretty damned close. Laying in bed wired to all the machines gave me one hell of a hopeless feeling, and I wanted to find a hole. The nurses came in at a rush and slipped something into my IV INT site, and I was out quickly. My world faded in a matter of seconds.
I came to hearing voices and when I opened my eyes, my room was a mess. Part of the roof had fallen in and the west wall was missing. The whole right side of my room had fallen when the wall gave way. My windows were blown out and smoke or dust filled the air. I prayed it wasn't smoke or I would soon be dead. Two small men entered wearing masks and one walked to me and started disconnecting me from the machines. He picked me up over his shoulder using his right hand to hold me down and carrying my IV bag in the other hand and carried me outside. He moved me to other patients from the bombed hospital. He held my IV until his buddy found a stick long enough to push into the soft loam. Once the stick was in place, he placed my IV at the top and they left me.
Soon a Chinese doctor was looking us over. I noticed his English was terrible, but he looked me over, shouted something in Chinese and two Asian women, who looked alike to me, ran to his side. He pointed at me, said something and then left.
“We are to wash you. Your hair and face are dirty from the bombs.” one of the twins said.
Out of the blue a Russian fighter, a MiG of some kind, lined up on us and began firing his Gatling gun. Chunks of concrete, dirt, and rocks flew ten or more feet into the air and then rounds entered patients. I heard screams of the wounded and dying and closed my eyes, expecting death at any second. Within less than a minute he was gone. I glanced at the nurses and one was dead, the other dying. Blood now covered their pretty white uniforms. The wounded one kept saying something over and over, but I have no idea what, and a few seconds later she grew quiet. When I looked at her again, she was dead. Hopefully it was a prayer.
I must have passed out then, because I woke up in a tent, wired to machines again, with my IV over my head once more. I raised my head, looked around, and saw I was in a large tent. Medical personnel were hurrying all around me, and I had no inclination of what was taking place.
I looked to my left and smiled. In the bed next to mine was Carol and while she was sleeping, she looked good to me. I'd been so busy worrying about me that I'd almost forgotten her, plus drugs and exhaustion had my thinking all messed up. I needed about half the pint bottle of whiskey and two days of rest and sleep. I felt fine, overall, except my shoulder was sore again.
I finally flagged down an American doctor and said, “I'm in pain, Doc, can you see I get something?”
The man yelled something in Chinese and a minute later a young Chinese nurse added something to my IV. I found out later it was morphine and my pain went away, but I grew sleepy once more.
I woke to Carol talking to a nurse and when she noticed me moving, she glanced at me and smiled. Once the nurse left, she asked, “Are you okay? I saw you fall in the school so I knew you were hit, and hard too. I was so worried about you.”
“The wound in the school was light compared to a round I took to the back boarding the Chinese chopper. According to the doctors here we were both messes when we arrived, and you died on them a couple of times.”
“Weren't we in a building of some sort before?”
“Uh-huh, a hospital, but the Russians bombed it, either on purpose or by accident. Then they put us in this tent.”
“Where are we? I know we don't have tents to use for a hospital.”
“Louisiana, but I have no idea where in the state.”
She nodded and said, “They just gave me a painkiller, so I'm getting sleepy. I love you . . . and glad we were . . . able to talk.”
“I love you too, and I've been worried about you.” I said, but she was already asleep.
I had a big hole in my chest where the bullet had exited, but it was up high near my shoulder. Each day when they bandaged the nasty looking thing, I'd take a good look, making sure I had no infection. Time passed, but slowly.
At the end of two weeks, I was up walking around and the doctors released me for light duty, meaning paperwork, and only for four hours a day. I'd do my work and then return to the hospital to visit Carol the remainder of my day.
I'd been given a private tent due to my rank of Full Colonel, but I was rarely there except to sleep. I expected the food to be Chinese but it was American, usually meat of some kind, beans, and potatoes. It was bland and the same day after day, so I enjoyed it when the Chinese cooks began to serve their foods as well. I'm a big hot pepper fan and love hot foods, so I enjoyed anything spicy I could get in the chow line.
Two months after being wounded, Carol was released from the hospital and, while still weak, she'd had to leave to make room for more seriously wounded coming into the hospital. She was strong enough to walk slowly, and ate well.
My biggest problem was controlling my bladder after my hospital stay. The tube they had inserted into my bladder did the job of peeing for me so once the tube was removed, I had little or no control over my urine. It took me some time until I could control it most of the time. The first couple of weeks I felt so helpless as I'd be standing in my tent and suddenly feel my urine running down my leg. But, as time passed, I slowly gained almost normal control. I did learn that lack of bladder control can humble a hard man fairly damn fast.
One morning about a month after I left the hospital I entered my work tent, which was divided in half. The first portion was for Sergeant Warren and the other half held my office. The Sergeant looked up from some papers he was working on and said, “There are six officers in your office, sir, with the lowest rank a Full Colonel and the highest a Major General.”
“Did you offer them coffee?”
“Yes, sir, and I moved the pot to your desk so they could have easy access to more.”
I nodded, entered my office, and saw a lot of gold and brass in that small portion of the tent. I snapped to attention.
“Relax, John, and take a seat. Colonel Porter is here to brief you on the results of your last mission, which appears to have a been a great success. Our intelligence section claims the Russians are up to their necks in official protests from around the world. Colonel, please start your briefing.” Major General Weaver said as he sat on the corner of my old wooden desk.
“Colonel, it is estimated that your mission has completely taken Jackson and the surrounding area well out of anti-partisan operations for the remainder of the conflict, while inflicting the maximum number of casualties on them as well. Our estimates are nearly 50,000 Russians were killed outright and we know the upper northeast of the state is still getting fallout from the blast. The number of Russians with radiation sickness is guessed at another 10,000 plus in this country alone.”
“What of civilian casualties?” I asked.
“We have no real idea because many people in Jackson and surrounding small cities had been rounded up by the Russians, fled, or have died over the years from starvation. My numbers, this is a wild guess, oh, maybe 250,000 deaths, and twice that number in sicknesses following the detonation.” Porter said and then smiled.
“My God!” I said, and know I turned pale. I hated the man's smile and said as much, but the General told me that I'd only followed orders. The mission would have been completed even if I had not been the trigger man.
“The Russians cannot admit that we did this or the whole world will know we have access to their nuclear bombs. That we possess their weapons of mass destruction would make them look weak. So, they've publicly announced that there was a mishap moving one of their bombs and it exploded.”
I was still numbed by the number of civilian deaths, but knew most of those folks would likely have died before the war wa
s over anyway. My mind rushed to find a dozen reasons it was good to have detonated the bomb.
All my reasons were lame excuses until the General said, “The Russian people grow tired of this war and today, for the first time, there were thousands of protesters in Moscow.”
“I'm surprised the Russians allowed a protest march.” I said.
“They don't like it, but there are too many news people from around the world in Moscow. Since the bomb blew, the place has been crawling with reporters.” the General said.
“What of the United Nations?” I asked, knowing they'd never defend or assist us.
“Formal protest to Russia about using the bomb twice, but we didn't expect anything else. It pisses me off that we spent billions over the years as a member of that organization and all they are now is a loud mouth. We need help, but they ignore us.”
“I agree, sir. What now for me and my troops?”
Colonel Porter, who'd grown very quiet after I confronted him, said, “You and your troops will be transported to the Missouri theater and you'll continue your fight there. Mississippi is in total chaos at this time and we're moving most of our troops out of the state.”
I smiled because I knew the state very well, especially the Ozark Mountains. I thought for a moment and then asked, “Where in Missouri?”
“Your records show you know the southern portion of the state very well, so you'll be running partisan operations in the Ozarks, Colonel.” General Weaver said, and than added, “Unless you'd rather have a different part of the state.”
“Oh, no, I'm very comfortable in the Ozarks. I grew up there and have or had family in the area.”
“Good, now one last thing. Colonel Porter, tell our Colonel the good news about our free state.”
“As of noon two days ago, the Russians left Alaska and stated they were gone for good. It seems our activity in Mississippi caused the Russian bear to move his troops to the mainland. I also have reliable information that they'd never gotten out of Anchorage, and the partisans were tearing them apart during attacks. I think they really moved to cut their losses and to relocate to the continental United States, where most of the serious partisan threat is located. We know they didn't move because of the weather; hell, it's just like Siberia there.”
“No, the weather didn't faze them,” I said and then asked, “When do we leave, and what is our method of travel?”
“You'll fly there on a Chinese aircraft that is similar to our C-130. Their aircraft is a Shaanxi Y-9, which is their work horse for general transportation. It has 106 troop seats in the troop compartment and can carry 25 tons of material. Now, we have no safe area in the state of Missouri where we can land an aircraft, and right now we're looking for large fields that will allow us to place you there. If we cannot find enough open spots, we'll either position you north of the Ozarks and let you move into the region, or we may drop you by parachute.”
“I understand, sir, but not all my troops are jump qualified.”
“They soon will be, if we have to drop you. This is an emergency situation and if need be, I'll drop them with no training at all. The Russians have been coming up the Mississippi River to supply the state and also flying into the Saint Louis International Airport. Remember, Lambert Field is an international airport, so planes of all sizes can land there. The Russians have every kind of aircraft you can imagine on that field right this minute, and most are bringing in much needed supplies and materials to their troops.”
“I understand, sir.” I replied, but thought I'll need to give my troops some rushed parachute training or we'll take some injuries during a jump.
“Any questions?”
“How many troops will jump or go with me?”
“Right now it looks like a little over 200 people, but they'll leave the aircraft in different locations. Your administration folks will number 20 and out of that, one squad is combat reserves. Once we have more men and women, you'll get more from us. I plan to increase your numbers slowly until you have about 500 people. I also plan to resupply you with the Shaanxi Y-9's and on a regular basis. Any other questions?” the General asked.
“When do we leave and what time do we load on the aircraft?”
Smiling, Colonel Porter said, “You're scheduled to leave at 0500 in the morning. Good luck to you, Colonel.”
“Oh, before I forget, the weather over the state of Missouri tomorrow will be clear with a temperature of about 70 and with no winds, so if you are forced to jump the weather will be ideal.” Colonel Porter quickly added.
I nodded and replied, “Yes, sir.”
I stood at attention as they left my office.
“Sergeant Warren, I want all officers and senior NCOs going with us in my office in an hour. See it gets done.”
“Yes, sir.” he replied, grabbed his hat and left the tent.
Chapter 2
I discovered a Shaanxi Y-9 was about as uncomfortable as a C-130. About a fourth of my officers and senior NCOs were jump qualified, meaning they'd jumped out of an aircraft before, and it also meant they'd spent a busy evening the night before teaching others how to do a parachute landing fall, and covering emergency procedures. I realized they were poorly trained and for some, their first jump could very well be their last. Some of my people had never been on a plane before and this would be their first flight. And, those that were “jump qualified” may not have jumped in ten years or more. But the orders given by Major General Weaver were legal, and off we went.
I had a headset to communicate with the crew, but their language was difficult to me and I had no idea what was being said. Dolly, my German shepherd, was attached to my parachute harness and when I jumped, if I did, she’d go with me. I sat and scratched her ears. I love the way she smiles when I give her just a little attention.
“Colonel, this is the Captain speaking, sir. You will not be using parachutes on this trip, or so it seems. Base has stated there is a field eight miles South of the town of Rolla, Missouri where we will land.”
“Copy, and thanks for the information.” I replied, and said nothing of his excellent command of the English language.
“Now, that's not written in stone, sir, so it could change at the last minute.”
“I understand, Captain. Thank you.”
About three hours later, the Captain spoke over the aircraft communications system. “This is your Captain speaking, and we're ten minutes out from our landing. Please fasten your seat-belts and prepare for a combat assault landing. We will be on the ground for approximately five minutes. Once you are off the aircraft, two pallets of gear and supplies will be unloaded. I suggest you break the pallets down quickly and then disappear. There are a number of radios in each pallet, along with spare batteries. On the behalf of myself and my crew, good luck.”
I knew a combat assault landing would be a sharp angled landing, and the aircraft would not stop running engines once on the ground. The ramp would be lowered, we'd leave, and then the supplies would be pushed down the rolling rails in the middle of the aircraft to the ground.
Suddenly the aircraft pitched nose down, and I knew the landing was near. The aircraft leveled a few seconds later, the ramp went down, and I felt the wheels touch down. The ride was bumpy as hell, and small things bounced into the air. I saw one troop lose an ink pen and another a Styrofoam cup of water. I was thrown in all directions as the engines reversed and flaps came up to assist in slowing the aircraft down.
Once at almost a stop, the Captain told me to unload and prepare for the pallets. I was also to meet two members of the Missouri partisans at the rear of the aircraft once off the plane.
Within three or four minutes we were off the 'bird' and I watched as two pallets rolled toward us. The aircraft had never come to a full stop and was slowly creeping along the field. I moved to the rear of the Shaanxi Y-9 and met two partisans. Dolly growled as the two men neared.
I shook hands with a thin man, but both were closer to six feet tall than five. His eyes were c
old gun metal gray, salt and pepper hair, and he looked to be totally professional. His hair was long and his beard trimmed.
“Colonel, I'm Major Joe Eller and my partner in crime is Captain Thomas 'Tom' Hensley. Tom is my chief of intelligence. Are we glad to see all of you! Looks like your dog doesn’t like us much.” He then turned toward a wooded area and waved. I spotted a team of partisans moving toward us.
“We'll help you unload the pallets. What we needed most were some replacement folks and supplies.” Hensley said.
I heard the aircraft engines increase power, so I turned and watched the Shaanxi Y-9 taxi to the end of the field. Minutes later the aircraft flew into the air, banked sharply to the left and began to climb for altitude with the nose pointing high. I knew for this day the crew had survived their mission.
“Dolly is not trusting until she knows you a while. Sergeant Warren!”
“Yo!”
“Get the pallets broken down and move everything to the woods. Help is coming, so let them assist you in unpacking and moving the loads. Let's do things quickly, folks, others may have seen or heard our aircraft this morning.”
The first pallet was soon stripped clean and we were halfway done with the second pallet, when one of the partisans opened fire. Across the field, opposite where the partisans were taking our supplies, I quickly spotted a couple of squads of Russian troops moving toward us.
Bullets began to impact the pallet, so I sent two squads to confront the threat as our Missouri partisans moved to flank the Russians. The gunfire grew louder and I knew the battle was in close, because I heard grenades exploding and the screams of the injured and dying.
“Break contact, break contact! Move out of the field and now!” Major Eller screamed into the radio.