The Fall of America | Book 2 | Fatal Encounters

by Benton, W. R.

  “Will he live?”

  “She swears he'll recover in a few days. But, my experience tells me a head injury can go either way.”

  “He's a brave man and has twice downed a chopper, so prepare a litter and bring him out with us. Are any of our injured unable to move under their own power?”

  “All can walk, even the one with a sucking chest wound claimed he'd walk out under his own power.”

  “Take any gear we can find in this weather, herd the troops in close, and let's go home. We've had a busy night. I'm sure this rain will remove all traces of our tracks so make a beeline straight to our encampment.”

  Back at camp, Sandra placed John beside Dolly, who moved to him and put her head on his thigh. She then squatted by the big dog, petted her a few times to let her know all was well, and then said, “He'll be fine, girl. He took a glancing blow from a rock to his noggin. He should be up and around by tomorrow at some point, which is more than I can say about you.”

  Top entered the room and asked, “Did John come around? I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

  Sandra gave a tired laugh and said, “Dolly. She's worried about him, because she can smell the blood.”

  “Don't laugh, critters have more sense than most people I know. She knows he's hurt and she's scared for him. He's like a father to her, always fussing over her food, water, and comfort. I'll bet you she keeps her head there until he comes around.”

  Sandra nodded in the dim light of a small candle.

  Top said, “You need to eat something and then get some sleep. We may have to move in the morning.”

  “I figured as much. But how will the Russians react to the fact we killed an important Colonel and they lost two choppers, a staff car and had at least eight or nine dead?”

  “How do I think they'll react? They'll be pissed, and I'm sure they'll murder some more of our people to show us just how damned mad they really are. They're a brutal bunch, but you know that by now. This is enough talk. I want you to drink some water, eat, wash up, and then get some sleep.”

  Morning dawned with more rain, and it was heavy at times. The old house leaked and a number of containers were positioned around the floors to collect the leaking water. John was awake, but wasn't his old self, complaining of a headache and blurred vision, which Sandra knew was normal for a head injury. She gave him a Lortab 10-500, which would kill his pain, but not put him to sleep as fast as morphine would. If they needed to move, she wanted him alert and ready.

  Dolly had spent a good five minutes licking his face and hands when he'd sat up, and the love between the two filled Sandra's heart with warmth. It was such a cold and horrible time to be alive, so any affection was rare. She loved John with all her soul and knew he loved her as well, but they hadn't had the place to show their love for each other in some time.

  Once the medication was working, John smiled and asked, “Could you bring Willy to me? I'm afraid if I try to stand I'll fall on my ass.”

  Ten minutes later, Willy was sitting on the floor beside John and they were talking about a possible move, which both knew would have to happen now. Sooner or later, the Russians would learn where they were located.

  “So,” Willy asked, “this place in the swamp is okay, you think?”

  “Better than most. They might blow the place up with rockets, missiles or bombs, but ground troops will never find it. There must be a thousand turns leading to the place and if you take the wrong one, you'll never find it. See, none of the trails are on maps and the top of the house is covered with moss and grasses from over the years. It wouldn't even show on a satellite photo. ”

  Mollie, who'd been sitting across the room walked to them and then asked, “Are you talkin' 'bout the old Parkerman place?”

  “Yep, I am.” John said.

  Margie, who was sitting up against the wall said, “I spent a week there one night. Heard and saw all kinds of strange shit, but nothing I could identify.”

  “Bullshit, Margie.” John said, chuckled, and then asked, “How well do you know the place, Mollie?”

  “I know a good dozen trails leadin' to it, because my man used to hunt gators back in there. I heard tell the place has haunts in it, so I ain't never been inside the place, no sir, not me. I heard that over fifty slaves were kilt there durin' the war of Union Aggression and they still move around that old house at night, lookin' fer revenge is what I heard.”

  “What kind of shape is the roof and basic structure in?” Willy asked.

  “About like this place. It'll leak, but only when it rains pretty hard. I'd guess over half the windows are out, due to folk shooting at them before the fall. I think it's the safest place for us, only we'll have to mine the trails, mark the trails leading to the place, and educate our people about both. If not, the first patrol we send out will never get back.”

  “The question I really have is this; Do you think our people can mark the trails in some manner so only our folks will know which way to turn? Hell, we can't send a guide with them on every mission and even if we did, if the guide died they'd be screwed.”

  “We can figure that all out later, if you want to give the place a try.”

  “I like the idea, myself, but let me run it by Top first and see what he thinks.”

  “Well,” Mollie said, “I don't like the idea worth a tinkers damn. Only I guess I ain't got much say in the move, huh?”

  “Nope.” Willy said, and then grinned.

  John asked, “Mollie, do you really believe in ghosts and such?”

  Her eyes grew large as she said, “Yes, suh, I surely do, don't ya?”

  “No, I guess I don't, but you're entitled to your thoughts and feelings, so I won't laugh at you like some will if they hear you talk about it.”

  “I don't give a damn, and I mean that. Folks have been laughin' at me since I was a little kid and it don't bother me no more. First, I ain't pretty like most women and second, I don't talk good. See, I never got much education, because my daddy didn't think a woman was made for anything other than havin' a passel of kids. So my brothers got to go to school, while I stayed home and took care of the little ones. Then, as soon as I could, I got married up and out of that place. I loved my daddy, but his thinkin' was bass ackwards at times.”

  “I'm going to call a meeting and we'll discuss your swamp house. I'm sure most will like the idea, because I damned sure do. If it'll be hard for us to find the place, it'll be pure hell on the Russians.”

  Belonev realized after he'd covered less than a mile, he'd taken a wound to his back, but it was minor. The rains soaked him and he had no idea if the injury was bleeding or not, but he felt no weakness, so he kept moving. Each time he thought of Vetrov pushing him out of the way and then leaving him behind, the more he felt the man deserved his horrible death. That sonofabitch thought only of himself, but he did not know that by pushing me to the ground, he was saving my life. Thank you, Lord, for saving me, he thought as he moved.

  The rains were less now, so he could see better, but mud was ankle deep. I need to look for tripwires or mines as I move, or I can still end up dead. All others in the car dead but me, and is not that strange? Folks used to laugh at my prayers, telling me there was no God, well, I am proof today that there is a God. I am coming Alena, my wife, and we'll soon make that old farm work. I want to work hard on my farm, make enough money to live on, and sip vodka as I sit in my rocking chair. I am too old to be a soldier now. I must survive.

  As the sun came up, Belonev saw the road to the camp off his left side, so he changed direction. “This is the road from the town of Edwards, so I am close.”

  He stepped from the brush, frowned at the muddy road, and then started moving toward the base. His back was hurting him now; the slight throbbing he'd initially experienced was replaced with a deep pain. He had morphine in his first aid kit, but knew if he used the drug he'd be unable to travel. His uniform was filthy, covered in mud, blood, grease from the guns, and even scorched from the car fire. H
e looked down at his filthy hands and suspected his face was no cleaner. It is hard to be clean, when you have to fight in a pigsty, with two pigs.

  His vision was blurred and he felt weak, as if his body had no power or energy. It is the blood loss, he thought, but he couldn't reach the injured position alone. Suddenly, he fell to his knees in the mud and his world grew black. He never felt his body fall to the muddy road.

  “Master Sergeant Belonev, can you hear me?” An unknown voice asked.

  He opened his eyes and discovered he was in the hospital.

  “I hear you,” he replied.

  “I am your doctor, and you have been injured in battle with the Americans. Your back took a bullet, from side to side, and a vertebrae has been seriously damaged. You have a burn on the right side of your face and numerous small cuts and bruises.”

  “How long will I be here?”

  “Do you mean here at this base or in the army?”

  “I do not understand, Doctor.”

  “Your days in the army are finished, due to your back injury. I doubt, once healed, you would be able to carry a pack over fifty meters before you would have to stop. You will suffer from back pain the remainder of your life, but you have enough years on active duty to retire. Along with your retirement pension, you will receive a slight disability payment each month. I hope to have you on the next aircraft out of here and on your way back to Moscow. It will not be a straight flight, I am afraid, but a series of hops on different aircraft, until you get to the east coast of this Godforsaken country.”

  “What will my retirement rank be, sir? I need another six months of active duty before I have enough time in grade to retire as a master sergeant.”

  “Well, I cannot be sure, but the word I had earlier this morning is your rank will be Junior Lieutenant, and you have been submitted for the Order of Saint George, 4th class, for your personal bravery, courage and valor, which allowed us to defeat a strong partisan force. Major Usov, the pilot in the lone surviving Black Shark, recommended your immediate promotion, which was approved, and did the paperwork for the medal. However, the medal will take some time before it is approved, I am sorry to say.”

  “Sir, I have no education and cannot be a Lieutenant. As for the military action, I do not think we won the fight; after all, Colonel Vetrov died. How do they figure I deserve a medal for just doing my job? Or, do you think Moscow is desperate for heroes here?”

  Moving his hand, as if swatting a fly, the Doctor said, “You will be medically discharged, so do not worry about your battlefield promotion, regardless of the reason it happened. It will mean your retirement pension and disability payment will almost double. As a retired Lieutenant, you will only wear the uniform at odd times, so an education is not needed. Major Usov said when you were on the radio to him, you did all the coordination for ground action with the two attack helicopters. He also saw you leading the two officers while defending a ditch. He stated that once the Colonel came on the radio, he could hear the man's fear and confusion. You are now a Russian hero, Lieutenant.”

  “I will be damned.”

  The doctor laughed and said, “Now, let me give you some morphine to kill the pain and you need to get some more sleep. Later today, you will be moved into a single room, which as you know is a benefit of the officer class. Congratulations on both the promotion and submission for the medal. I think you deserve both.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now, I have to make my other rounds.” the Doctor said and then walked from the room.

  A Senior Sergeant, in a bed near the window, with his leg in a cast and in traction said, “Well done, sir.”

  “Sir? Now that is going to take some getting used to, I think. What is your name?”

  “I am Senior Sergeant Tikhokhod, sir, and was injured by a booby-trap. As senior non-commissioned officers, we both know how the game is played. It is more than likely you deserve both the promotion and medal, but then again, Moscow may be looking for a hero. I left Russia just a little over a month ago and from what I could tell, this war is not going well for us. I suspect they will wine and dine you for a year and then put you out to pasture for the remainder of your life.”

  Belonev grunted and asked, “What do you mean, wine and dine me?”

  “Sir, they need a real hero and you are it, I think. Your story will be in all the newspapers, both in print and online, you will be on the television, and they will have you doing public speaking. They will milk all the propaganda they can from your bravery and then send you home all used up.”

  “Well, I do not give a shit what they do. I survived, while many others did not, and they can give me a medal and promotion if they want. Just surviving this hellhole is enough for me. I will do what I am told and then return to my wife and take up life as a civilian.”

  Senior Sergeant Tikhokhod reached under his pillow and pulled out a pint of Vodka. He tossed the almost full bottle to Belonev, grinned and said, “I was teasing you with the sir, Master Sergeant, so have a drink.”

  Belonev took a long drink of the clear alcohol and then tossed the bottle back to the Senior Sergeant. He gave his new promotion some thought; The base pay for a lieutenant is 20,000 rubles a month, at which I can retire with 40 percent of that as income. I will draw an additional 10 percent because I worked with classified information so, before my disability payment, I will make close to 10,000 rubles a month. As a Master Sergeant, my base retirement would have been around 3,250 rubles a month. That's a pay increase of almost three times as much as a master sergeant and that is a big deal. Of course, I will not know how much my disability will pay until I meet a medical board.

  “What are you thinking on over there?” the Sergeant asked.

  “Not much. I am getting sleepy and think the morphine is starting to work, or the vodka.”

  “Best of luck to you, Master Sergeant Belonev, in the future, and thank you for your service. I suspect they will move you to a private room shortly. They do not like having officers in rooms with enlisted swine.” The Sergeant chuckled at his own humor.

  CHAPTER 27

  At the swamp house, Willy was grinning from ear to ear, and shaking his head. “By God, this place is perfect for our headquarters. It'd take the Russians fifty years to find this place on foot.”

  “Choppers can see tracks on the trails and smoke from fires, so we'll still have to be careful.” Tom said.

  “Lawdy,” Willy said as he walked to the large window in the living room, “I walked here with you, John, but ain't no way in hell I could walk out on my own. More twists and turns than a rattlesnake. You're right, Tom, we need to sweep our trails clean and watch for smoke from our fires.”

  John said, “I have teams out now laying mines and making booby-traps. They're also marking any intersections along the trails so we will know which trail to follow. Out here, and this is no joke, if you get lost, you have a better than average chance of experiencing a poisonous snakebite or having a gator eat your ass alive.”

  Willy sat on the floor, near the window and said, “I've a team upstairs now placing a heavy machine-gun and turning the place into an observation post for us. It's the highest place around and while the floor is weak, it'll do the job. I don't want more than three men up there at a time, because much of the flooring has rotted. I want a sniper, machine-gunner, and an ammo man. No others.”

  “What kind of machine-gun do you have?”

  “We have an M-60, but I've placed a Kord upstairs. It's a belt fed- ”

  “It's the latest heavy duty machine-gun the Russians use. I'm aware of it and have captured a few, too.” John replied.

  Sandra, who'd been quiet, suddenly said, “I'm concerned about malaria, West Nile, or other mosquito borne viruses or illnesses. This may be a good place to hide, but I suspect we'll have some fevers after being here a week or so.”

  “Do we have any malaria tablets?” Willy asked.

  “I have a few, but not enough to treat everyone that will likel
y come down with a fever. West Nile might just kill their ass, too, if they get it, because it's rough to treat even in a hospital.”

  “Tom, put the word out to all cells that anyone that finds or has any malaria medications to turn it over to Sandra. When we hit Russian convoys, look for malaria medications or even quinine. I can write the few different words out in Russian, so our people know what to look for on the markings on the boxes. I never thought of malaria, but your point is well taken.”

  Tom grinned and said, “The menu just went up, too, because gator and snake are good eating. Hell, I saw enough gators on the way here to feed us for a year.”

  “There are some big fish in this place too, but you'd think the gators would have eaten all of them by now, huh?”

  Willy chuckled and then said, “All gear, supplies, and ammunition will need to be stored on the ground floor, for quick use. We buried a great deal of stuff near the house we just left, in the floor under the barn, dead center, too. I don't want to risk losing it all if we have to run from here one day. Now, I saw some big trees on the way to this location, so let's place some snipers in them and get them as close to the mines as we can. That way if a man is seriously injured by a mine, maybe we can shoot two or three of the others coming to give him first aid. And don't just place the snipers on the actual trail that leads here, or they'll figure that out eventually. Place them on dead-end trails or those that meander all over the place as well.”

  “Who in the hell wants to spend all day in a tree?” Margie asked.

  “They'll spend three days out and then two days here, so they'll not get bored. We'll also alternate trees, so they'll get a different view on each trip out to the bush.”

  “Willy,” John said, “I hate to bring this up, because I know you dislike the subject, but when are some additional people arriving? We lost a lot of people killing that Russian Colonel.”