by W. R. Benton
“Let's move, folks.” John ordered, then adjusted his backpack, and started walking.
They'd moved about a hundred feet when off in the distance they heard three gunshots and Tom approached from the rear. The big dog, Dolly, growled and looked at their back trail.
“The Russians just found the shotgun shells I had resting on nails, so someone is short a good set of balls or leg right now.”
“Those toe-poppers are good. Had they turned onto this trail?”
“No, they continued toward the mansion.”
“I planted the poppers down the other trail a ways and then planted others on this trail. I don't think we'll ever be in this swamp again. But, if so, we damned sure want to avoid this trail.”
“I'll mark my map. Let's increase our speed. I'll move forward and tell Esom.”
“I think we need to move a hell of a lot faster, because I've never seen so damned many Russians in my life.”
John didn't reply but trotted to his point man, who he saw stopped near a big stump.
“Damned gators.” Sandra said as she pointed to a huge one swimming near the bank.
“Don't bother 'em and he won't bother us none.” Mollie said, and then grinned. She was comfortable in the swamps and knew most of the others weren't. She'd discovered the biggest fear in the wetlands, was fear of the unknown or ignorance of the place. Most of the gators, snakes and other animals would leave a human alone, except for mosquitoes and they'd attack anything with blood.
Soon they were moving quickly down the trail and it was soon mid-afternoon. Since the earlier explosions, they'd heard nothing, except the sounds of the swamp, and not even the sounds of aircraft searching were heard.
Suddenly, Esom froze.
Everyone stopped and after a few minutes John moved forward.
“What's the matter? Why'd you stop?”
“I . . . I think I'm standing on a mine. I heard a noise when I put my foot down and if so, it'll not blow unless I take my weight off.”
“Shit! Which foot? And, your ass is lucky it's not a contact mine, or you'd be hurtin' right now.”
“My right one.”
“Okay, the key is to replace the weight of your body on the depressed part of the mine. If it snaps back again, it'll blow.”
“H . . . how can we do this?”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Hell, I don't know, maybe 150 pounds.”
John motioned Tom forward and said, “He's standing on a mine. I'm thinking of placing weight on his boot and then having him remove his foot. The boot will have to stay behind.”
“Esom, unlace your boot and pull the laces out, so they hang loosely.” Tom said.
“I'll look for some large rocks or logs.”
“W . . . what if this doesn't work?” Esom asked.
“Uh, we'll be shy a sniper, but I'm sure you'll be fine.” Tom said and then added, “Relax, I've seen this done before.”
“Did it work then?”
“In one case yes, but not in the others.”
“H . . . how many others?”
“Two. In both cases the victim moved before the weight was lowered.”
“Shit.”
“I've a huge rock here, but need some help moving it.” John said. Dolly stood behind him and moved when he did.
Esom unlaced his boot and sweat was starting to form on his face. He'd never been so frightened in his whole life. Damn me, he thought, I've been through a lifetime of pure hell since the fall and now this shit. Lord, I ain't much of a man and I ain't going to promise you a bunch of things I don't intend to do, but save me right now and I'll try to be a better man.
It took three of them to move the rock to the mine and once there, John said, “Do not remove your foot until I tell you. If you move before then, you'll end up killing all of us. Do you understand me?”
“I . . . I hear you loud and clear.” Esom said, his voice trembling with fear.
“I think, but I'm not sure, these mines require only 30 pounds of force to keep the plunger down.” Tom said and then added, “So just the tip of this rock will do the job, I hope.”
“You hope? Hell, what about me?” Esom asked, his eyes huge.
“We're at risk here too, buddy, so remember that.”
“I know y'all are and I appreciate you helping me, too. I'd rather be in a firefight any day than step on a damn mine.”
John grinned and replied, “We're all in this together. I know beyond any doubt, we'd all try to help each other if need be.
Now, close your mouth and keep it closed, until I get this rock on the boot, and you're free.” Tom said.
Tom lifted the front of the rock and said, “Y'all help me drag it to the boot. Once in place, I want all of you to move to safety.”
Three minutes later, John said, “I'm moving away from you now, Esom. When you remove your foot, do not let the rock fall or shift weight. Try to come up and out. Dolly, come.”
“I'll t . . . try.”
Once John was at a safe distance Esom tried to remove his foot, but it refused to move at all. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “My foot is stuck and won't move.”
“Damn.” Tom said.
Standing, John said, “I'll go cut his boot off. I don't see any other way.”
“It's your funeral, but I think you already know.” Margie said.
“Margie, what in the hell do you expect me to do, let him blow up? Damn, you're a pain in the ass at times.” John said as the stood and moved forward.
“Be careful.” Sandra said.
Once at Esom's side, John explained his plan.
He kneeled beside the boot and pulling a skinning knife, started cutting the leather. Ten minutes later, Esom's boot was removed, with just the leather of the toe caught under the rock.
“Try to pull your foot out now.”
“You move first.” Esom said.
“No, I may have to tilt the rock to free your toes.”
“Okay, here goes.”
John watched as the foot backed out of the toe and actually quivered when he realized Esom was safe. Esom's ebony face was covered with sweat and it ran down his cheeks like tears.
“Now, let's get back to everyone else and let you rest a minute. In the mean time, we'll try to make a shoe of some sort to allow you to move.”
“I can fix him up a crude shoe from some of the canvas I have in my pack. He'll still feel every pebble and stick, but not as much. At least he'll be able to walk.”
“I'll get some new boots from the next Russians we kill.” Esom said without a trace of a smile.
Ten minutes later, Tom returned from watching their back trail and said, “No Russians heading this way yet, but I don't like being here this long. We need to be moving and now.”
John nodded and said, “Saddle up, and let's move. Tom, you take point and Mollie, I want you on drag. Keep the pace fast.”
Near dusk, just as they were about to walk from the swamp, a bright light flashed in front of them and a sharp crack followed. Rain was coming. Tom raised his right hand and the group stopped. John moved forward, Dolly at his side, and asked, “See anything?”
“No, but we need to check it out before all of us walk from this swamp. This clearing would make a perfect ambush site.”
Taking Dolly with him, John moved forward, knowing the big dog would alert him to any dangers. After circling the area slowly, he returned and said, “It's clear.”
It was then they heard the sound of a helicopter flying near. Each went to ground and Dolly was now conditioned to remain unmoving. The chopper moved over them fast, banked hard and then returned—hovering to the left of them.
Esom, pissed at the Russians in general because of the mine, raised his sniper rifle, looked through the scope and sighted in the pilot. He took a deep breath, held it and as he slowly released it, he began squeezing the trigger. The door gunner must have seen movement or suspected something, because the barrel of his machine-gun came up as the
sound of Esom's shot echoed in the swamp.
Esom was watching his target in his scope when the aircraft commander's head exploded, so he moved his sights slightly to the left and lined up a shot at the co-pilot.
The door-gunner opened fire, but he had no idea where the threat lay, so his firing wasn't anywhere close to the group.
Just as the chopper started to raise, Esom squeezed the trigger and the co-pilot slumped forward. The chopper, now out of control, nosed down, due to the dead co-pilot's body on the control stick and crashed into the swamp. As it fell, John saw a body fall from the door, but knowing the danger of an explosion, he buried his head in his hands. A huge fireball developed and the heat was intense for the small group, but they stayed in position as the flames rolled. A Russian ran from the flames, looking more like a miniature ball of fire, than a human. One shot from Tom dropped the man.
“Let's move, people, and at a trot.” John ordered, and they began to move away from the swamp. As they ran, all could hear the munitions going off and then a loud explosion as something explosive went off from the heat.
After moving for over a mile, John said, “Okay, Esom, take point and I'll take drag; we need some distance between us and the crash site, so keep the pace fast. Avoid all trails and move overland. Let's move, people.”
It was near daylight but a couple of hours of darkness remained, when John said, “Four hours of rest, then we'll move again until dark. Keep the noise down and no talking. I want three claymore mines put out and that should be enough. We're off the beaten trail and I think we're as safe as it gets here.”
Moving to some large oaks, the members of the small group began looking for food in their backpacks and hoped to eat before falling asleep. John sat under a huge oak and opened a Russian ration. He pulled out crackers, beef stew and a can of meat spread. He opened the cans and fed the meat spread to Dolly, dipping crackers in the meat. She wasn't crazy about it, but ate anyway. She was as tired as he was and sleep weighed heavy on her mind. John ate the beef stew without much thought and was eating to live, not for enjoyment.
“Tom,” John said as he gathered his emptied meal and placed it in his backpack, “You guard an hour, then me, Esom, and last Margie. At the next break, I'll rotate so Sandra and Mollie will start first.”
Not a word was spoken as folks stretched out in the grasses and fell asleep. Less than an hour later, the mosquitoes were so bad that John awoke cursing under this breath. Finally, pulling a rag from his backpack, he opened it and then placed it over his face. A few minutes later he was back asleep. The shift John pulled was rough, not because of a light rain that fell, but because he was still tired. He remembered the days before the fall, how he'd sleep in late on Saturdays, and now there was no rest, unless a person was seriously injured. His mind jumped from thought to thought and he spent a lot of time thinking of foolishness. He passed his shift and then woke Esom.
He had no idea how long he'd been asleep when Esom touched his ankle and whispered, “Movement.”
John sat up and listened, knowing his mind was still heavily drugged by sleep. He heard metal striking metal, then a command in Russian. The noise stopped and a different Russian voice replied.
The earlier rain had moved on, but thick clouds still blocked most of the moonlight; at times, it'd peek from a clear space between the overcast. There came a splash of moonlight and John quickly counted the Russians. Ten, so it's a squad of men, but are they the point for a much larger group? he thought as he slipped the safety on his weapon to off. I hope they move by us.
Suddenly, a Russian officer said something and the squad stopped. Men were seen sniffing the air and John realized they might be smelling them, because all of them had to stink. His last washing had been a month earlier.
He picked up a clacker to a Claymore and waited, anxious and worried that a larger group may be behind this one.
Russian words were exchanged by the group and they seemed to be discussing something. Finally, in a tone that sounded like an order, the group grew quiet, and three men moved toward the alert Americans. The Russians held their guns at the ready, obviously aware someone was in the area, but unsure exactly where.
A claymore was pointed right at the Russian squad and John was waiting for the first man to get just a little closer. While he had absolutely no fear of killing these men, something in the back of his mind warned him other Russians were around. Other Russians around or not, when this sonofabitch gets three steps closer, I'll send him and most of his squad to hell, he thought. He felt the small animal gnawing at his belly again and knew fear was starting to eat at him. We'll deal with the others when we have to do the job.
CHAPTER 4
Master Sergeant Rusak was pissed. The Americans had his men pinned down, with heavy machine-gun fire and rifle fire, and they were unable to move. Senior Sergeant Turchin was down, a bullet to his shoulder and right arm. He'd taken a number of killed and wounded.
His radio man crawled to him, drawing fire from the Americans and handed him the handset as he said, “Helicopter pilot of a Black Shark.”
“Do you need some help, comrade?” the pilot asked.
“We are pinned down and need a few rockets placed north of our position, say a hundred meters.”
“What of the tanks?” the pilot asked.
“I do not trust them, but I am out of safe range for using them anyway.”
The pilot quickly read off some map coordinates and asked, “Is that your position?”
“Yes, but hurry. We have a number of dead and wounded and their fire is continuing to kill us.”
The firing from the American's suddenly stopped, as if turned off by the mighty hand of God.
A wounded Russian near the point yelled, “They are pulling back, and fast too.”
Lieutenant Markov said, “They are smart, these Americans.”
“Helicopter is two kilometers out and starting their approach!” the radio man said.
“Tell him to hit 200 meters further from us, because the Americans are running.”
“He said he'll do that.”
“Everyone get down, now!” the lieutenant yelled.
The familiar “whop-whop” of the chopper blades were heard and when Rusak glanced at the aircraft, it seemed off course. It suddenly dawned on him that the chopper was going to attack them and not the Americans.
“Give me headset and now!” the Master Sergeant yelled.
Just as he took the headset, he saw four puffs of smoke and knew rockets were heading for his position. “Break, break, you are firing on Russian troops, break!” he yelled in the headset and then lowered his head, waiting for explosions.
The four explosions were so close together they almost sounded like one. Men and body parts were thrown high into the air and then fell to the swamp. Screams were heard and one man walked back down the trail, his left arm off at the shoulder, and a trail of bright crimson marking his movements.
Picking up the headset, he spoke again, “I have an unknown number of dead and wounded. Your intended target is approximately 400 yards north. I repeat, your intended target is approximately 400 yards north.” The radio man had his back to him as he spoke.
“I understand, 400 yard north of our last target.”
“Base, this is Badger, I have numerous casualties and dead at my current position, all due to friendly fire, do you copy?” As Rusak spoke he heard the chopper approaching again, but this time closer to their real target. Explosions and screams were heard, but they were American screams this time.
“Understand you have taken friendly fire and have dead and wounded. Can you continue your mission?”
“Unknown at this time. Let me get a count of dead and wounded.”
“We are sending four Ka-60 helicopters to assist.”
“I understand and we will be waiting. Out.”
“Corporal Elout, get me a count on our dead and wounded.”
“Yes, Master Sergeant.”
How in the hel
l did that dumb sonofabitch screw up and hit us, he thought, and then asked the radio man, “Did you call in our position last night?”
Silence.
Reaching with his left hand, he rolled the soldier onto his back and saw a wide piece of metal stuck in the man's forehead. A puddle of blood was forming under his head.
“Damn, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, Master Sergeant?”
“Do you know if our position was called in last night?”
“I had the radio man call in our position when we stopped last night for a break, but that was about 300 meters back. We finally stopped here to spend the night, why?”
“I do not think our radio man called our night position in and when the pilot read off the coordinates to me, well, they sounded correct. As far as the two pilots knew, we were 300 meters further south. It was our mistake.”
“Discipline will be rough on the radio man. I want him arrested now and he can return by helicopter.”
Rusak gave a dry laugh and said, “Sir, he is dead, so we had best pray the commander does not come looking for a scapegoat, or we are both in trouble. It was, sir, both of our responsibilities to see it was done and we failed.”
Elout returned, his hands and clothing bloody, and said, “We have ten dead and fewer injured than I suspected, but fifteen out of a hundred. I have two men missing. From the fifteen injured only five will need medical care at a hospital. The other ten can still walk and fight.”
The smell of cordite filled the air, smoke was still rising from the impact points of the rockets, and the gators were chewing on bloody bodies in the water. The sweet coppery smell of blood was growing stronger.
The radio came alive with chatter, so Rusak raised the handset to his ear. He listened and then replied, “We will be ready.”
“Helicopters?” Lieutenant Markov asked and the Master Sergeant nodded.
“Sergeant Bluska!” Rusak yelled.
“Yes?”
“Prepare our dead and wounded for removal. The helicopters will be here in about five minutes. Have Corporal Babin toss a smoke grenade when the helicopters arrive.”
“They will be ready to move, and Babin will wait for your order to toss the smoke.”