by W. R. Benton
“Pass that information on to all troops and, besides the guards, I want fifty percent alert all night.”
Fifty percent alert meant in theory half of the men would be awake at all times, but in the past it was really closer to thirty percent that would be awake. Some will try to stay awake, but fatigue will claim them, while others won't even bother to try. The Master Sergeant also tried to smell alcohol on the breath of his men and he know some had flasks of vodka. While he carried his three flasks, his rank gave him that privilege, but not private soldiers. Private soldiers are forbidden any alcohol in the field, unless given by the commander.
“I will see it is done, Master Sergeant.”
He is a good Junior Sergeant, but he has a lot to learn about life before he is an excellent Junior Sergeant, Rusak thought and then sat in his hole.
He pulled a flask of vodka, took a long pull and then thought, I want to see my Esfir, take her out to the theater and watch a musical. Then, a nice supper in a good restaurant, followed by a few drinks on the balcony of our apartment.
They lived in a small apartment in Moscow and on his income they rented a better than average place. They had good meals and even had enough left over to enjoy a movie or theater once a month. While in America, he was drawing additional pay, due to his access to classified information, assignment to the United States, and dangerous duty, which when combined was close to a 100% increase in his base pay. Esfir was instructed to bank the extra income so they'd have it when he retired. Many Russians discussed the rubles fluctuating value, but Rusak figured he'd never leave the country so it's exchange rate didn't bother him at all.
It was full dark now with the night sounds starting. First the crickets, then the whippoorwills and finally the tree frogs, were heard. Rusak glance upward and saw a million stars sparkling overhead, as if someone had take a handful of diamonds and threw them into the air. The temperature was in the mid-sixties, but he suspected over night it would get cool, and by morning he'd not be surprised to see frost.
All went well until close to midnight, when one of the unit's machine-guns opened up on the left side. Jumping from his hole he ran for the gunner, still half asleep, with his mind functioning poorly. Before he could get to the gun, a loud explosion erupted and the blast knocked Rusak on his ass.
Damn, that was not a grenade but a LAW, he thought as he moved to a foxhole that held a single soldier. His soldiers opened fire and different colored tracers zipped through the air, just above his head, as the Americans returned fire. He glanced at the sky, saw the clouds were gone and yelled, “Radio man!”
The man ran to him, lay outside the hole and handed the handset to the Sergeant. As he spoke with Base, they seemed irritated that he needed assistance. “Look Corporal, I need some flares out here, so I can see what I am up against, and I want them now! Also, standby for a request for artillery fire. Give me some light, numb-nuts, or the next time I return to the base I will beat your ass! I don't care who in the hell you have to ask!”
A minute later the voice on the other end changed, “This is Colonel Sokol. What sort of assistance do you need, Master Sergeant? The Corporal lacks the authority to give orders for fire missions.”
The Sergeant once again explained his needs and said, “I need the light now, sir, because I hear them moving toward us.”
“The light is on the way, Rusak, and the artillery is here if you need it. Be sure to get me a full body count.”
Your damned body count might be of Russians, Colonel, he thought but said, “Yes, sir.”
There came three loud pops and then the darkness turned as bright as day. It took a minute for the eyes of the Russians to adjust to the brightness, but once able to see clearly, a huge mass of men were moving toward them.
“Base,” Rusak said, “I need some artillery mixed with white phosphorous 100 meters North of my position. Do you require me to resend my location?”
“Have you moved since you called it in last?”
“No, and I need the help now.”
“On the way.” Colonel Sokol said.
A few seconds later a loud whistling sound was heard and the first two rounds struck in the middle of the Americans with a boom. Bodies flew apart or were thrown high into the air and screams were heard. Men were knocked over like bowling pins.
“You're on target, keep it up!” Rusak yelled to be heard.
Then white phosphorous started exploding, sending long white twisting fingers high into the air that reminded Rusak of a peacock's tail. Horrific screams were heard as the white phosphorous caused burns and fires.
Bullets kicked dirt high into the air in many places around the Russians, bringing an occasional scream of “Medic!”
Rusak now stood and walked among the men yelling, “Pick your targets, squeeze your triggers, and put your man down. Those we do not kill now, we will fight later.” While Rusak was scared too, he had to appear unafraid to his men to avoid panic.
Suddenly from the right side, Americans moved from the treeline straight for the Russians, most of whom were watching the artillery land. The first indication that something was wrong was when Master Sergeant Rusak fell, a bullet to his shoulder.
One man, yelled, “From the right—Americans!”
The Americans moved forward, shooting down into the holes or impaling the unlucky with bayonets on their rifles. Screams were heard and Rusak moved to some brush, which offered his only protection. Pulling his pistol, he fired until empty, and then reloaded with a fresh magazine. The Americans under the artillery fire ran to the Russian position and began their killing spree. Rusak, seeing his position could no longer be held, crawled to the woods, hoping to escape the slaughter. A minute later the artillery fire stopped, most likely because the radio operator was dead.
Willy, the overall commander of the partisans picked up the handset and in Russian said, “Your men are dead now, every single one. You will find your senior man dead, with the Ace of Spades in his mouth. Do you understand?”
Colonel Sokol asked, “Who are you, because your Russian is excellent. I am Colonel Sokol, the man who hunts you and kills Americans. I will eventually kill all of you.”
Willy laughed and replied, “Bring it on, you Russian bastard. My name is of no importance, but the fact I will personally kill you one day is something you should remember.”
“You toy with me, huh, Yankee?”
“No, I do not toy with you. I speak the truth. One day you will be found with an ace of spades card in your big mouth, comrade.”
Switching radio frequencies, Sokol said, “Scramble two jets with napalm. Once airborne they are to drop their canisters on the coordinates I give them. Now, damn you, get them in the air!”
Master Sergeant Rusak reached the tree line, stood, and then ran as fast as he could deeper in the trees. It was standard Russian policy to viciously attack any position that was taken by the enemy. He knew in a bit, either artillery, helicopters or planes would strike hard. Obviously the Americans knew it as well, because they gathered up Russian arms, gear, and ammo and then ran North.
Ten minutes later, as wounded Russians looked to the sky, two jets dived at their position. At the last moment, the jets pulled up and two aluminum cylinders tumbled toward the injured men. There came a loud bang as the containers struck the ground and ruptured, sending a huge wave of fire over the Russian foxholes. Seconds later, Rusak saw men moving around inside the flames, with some jerking, as they performed a comical dance as they burned to death. He turned his head away, vomited, and then moved further into the woods.
About a mile later, he heard a voice say in Russian, “Stop.”
He stopped, flipped the safety off on his Bison and waited.
“Is that you, Master Sergeant Rusak?”
“It is me. Who are you?”
“Corporal Babin, and I have two other men with me; both are Privates. We were all slightly wounded but none are life threatening.”
“Did you bandage the injuries?”
“Yes; now, Master Sergeant, I have no idea where we are and do not know which direction to walk.”
“Edwards is due north as a crow flies. In the morning, I will take a look a the map I have and determine our position.”
“Do you think any other men survived the attack?”
“It is possible, but no, son, I do not think so. I was knocked on my ass by a LAW and took a bullet, which I need to fix.”
“Where did the bullet strike you?”
“In my shoulder, and it passed through me. Can one of you bandage me?”
Babin said, “Sit in the grass and I will bandage you. I will throw a poncho over the top of us to keep the light from being seen. I have a flashlight.”
Ten minutes later, the small group headed west, away from the Americans and the scene of the battle. Rusak was on edge, concerned about the number of dead he'd experienced. He had too few men to stop the Americans, who must have numbered into the hundreds, and his count was conservative. They must have had someone watching us all day, because they knew exactly where we were in the woods, he thought and then killed the vodka in one flask and opened another. After taking a second gulp, he passed it around to the other men, because they were hurting too.
Just before daylight they came to macadam road. Staying in the bushes, Rusak pulled the map from his shirt and knew where they were within a few seconds. Placing the map on the ground, he said, “This road runs north, straight into Edwards.”
“Then,” one of the Privates said, “all we have to do is walk the road into town, right?”
“Wrong. We'll stay in the woods and walk beside the road. The road may be mined or there may be partisans out looking for us. We will not walk in the open if we can help it.”
“Is it not safe to walk during daylight hours?” Babin asked.
“Hell, I do not know, not really, but most of the time partisans move at night. I think we will be safe enough, if we move slowly and keep the noise down. I want no talking from now on, unless it is an emergency.”
They moved north and in less than a mile, one of the privates tapped Rusak on the shoulder. When the Sergeant Major turned, the man was pointing a brass wire tied to a tree. Following it out a ways, he saw it was stretched across the roadway. He knew if a man on a motorcycle struck the wire, he'd be decapitated, or seriously injured. Pulling his sheath knife, he cut the wire.
Two miles later, Babin, who was in front stopped and motioned the Sergeant forward. Without speaking a word, he pointed at four Americans digging a hole beside the highway. About ten feet away, laying in the grasses, was a Russian 113 Kilogram bomb. The Sergeant Major motioned for the men to get down lower in the bushes.
Taking an old SKS rifle from one Private, he waited for the partisans to pick up the bomb. Then, he thought, It is not like a bullet will cause the bomb to blow up, so I will toss a couple of grenades when they are near the hole. If a grenade does not cause it to explode at least I will get the partisans.
An hour later, the hole was completed and the men walked to the bomb. They'd secured the explosive with two green oak limbs, making it easier to pack, and each man picked up an extension of the limbs and lifted. When they neared the hole, Rusak threw the first grenade and it landed right under the bomb and then the second grenade landed within a foot of the other. The Americans seemed confused for a second and then one yelled what must have been a warning. The first grenade exploded and then the second, follow by a huge explosion that knocked leaves and small limbs from trees. Dust, smoke and debris filled the air.
Minutes later, after the dust cleared, there was a fine red mist in the air, which the Sergeant knew was blood. There was no sign of the four men or the bomb and all that remained was a smoking hole, with blood in scattered pools on the ground.
“Let us move and do the job fast. We have no idea who heard that noise and may come to investigate.” Rusak said as he handed the SKS back and took his Bison. As they moved his ears were ringing from the explosion.
Colonel Alvang had the American Colonel released as soon as the prisoners he'd named were confined. He'd not been allowed to return to the gulag and a private soldier escorted him to the gate. He kept thinking it was all a trick, but when he actually stepped from the Gulag, he knew he was free.
Unknown to the Colonel, his interrogator was in a tower near the gate with a sniper. The Colonel stopped about six feet from the gate, looked over his shoulder and saw the guard was gone. He checked the towers and saw no one looking at him, so he started down the road. Even if they shoot me in the back, it's a better death than burning alive, he thought. I'd not put it past the bastards to shoot me either. If nothing else, the six names I gave them will rid the gulag of those we didn't trust and some who are known thieves.
A hundred yards later, just a few feet from the forest a shot rang out and the Colonel collapsed to the ground.
CHAPTER 7
John walked into camp, turned the directional indicator on and then moved right to Sandra, Good God, no, his mind screamed.
“What are you doing?” Sandra asked and then added, “What is that beeping?” Her face was scarlet.
“Baby, I can't believe you're the traitor.” John said as he moved the device up and down her body. Finally he stopped, moved to her, and pulled a bug, identical to the one he'd found earlier, from her left coat pocket. He held it in front of her eyes and asked, “What in the hell is this?”
“I found it on the trail, John, and that's the truth.”
“Sonofabitch! Do you take me for an idiot?” he screamed and Dolly sat watching the conversation closely, unsure why John had raised his voice.
Tom moved to his friend, placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “She might be telling the truth. Think about this, John.”
“Don't talk to me like I'm a damned fool, Tom, because we both know that didn't happen. All this time when our hiding places were found, good people died, and I now discover my wife, my damned wife, is the traitor!”
“I want to know why, Sandra!” he moved toward her, but Tom stepped between them.
Tom raised both hands and said, “She'll get a chance to tell her side to Willy.”
John pulled his pistol and said, “Why wait? I'm torn apart by this, Tom. She's my damned wife and how many deaths is this bitch responsible for? Huh? How many? I love her, but I don't want anything to do with her from this day forward. Keep her away from me, or I'll kill her!”
Tom shook his head and said, “Margie, tie Sandra's legs and hands. Tie her hands behind her back and I want everyone to listen up. Right now, Sandra is suspected of aiding the Russians, but she has not had her day in a court of law. Until that time, she's to be guarded well, fed and in no way mistreated. Nonetheless, if she tries to escape,” and he met her eyes as he said, “kill her.”
John was sitting on a stump crying, with Dolly's head in his lap, and he was unaware he was petting her. The last person he loved on earth was a damned spy for the Russians. He'd trusted her, loved her, and thought they'd spend their lives together, but now she was likely to be executed for being a traitor.
His mind was going a thousand miles an hour, when Tom walked to his side and said, “John, I think she's telling the truth about finding the device. I'm sure Willy will decide fairly when he hears both sides.”
At the mention of Willy, John's head snapped around hard and he gazed into his friends eyes as he said, “I won't talk about this. I want nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, to do with her. From this second on, I wash my hands of her. Y'all can feed her, beat her ass up, or even kill her and I won't try to stop you. She did this, knowing full well our people would die. How—could—she—do—this?”
“I don't have an answer. Hopefully, we'll turn her over to Willy in a day or two and he can deal with the issue. The truth will come out then.”
John turned to face Tom, his face wet with tears and his red-rimmed eyes reflecting his anguish. Tears flowed from his eyes and down his cheeks as he said, “She . . .
was my . . . wife and I love her. I . . . I'm . . . alone now.” He sniffled and then continued, “All I have . . . left now is . . . Dolly. I'm alone . . . Tom, completely . . . alone. How could any American . . . do this to others? How!”
Tom said, “That's enough of this feeling sorry for yourself bullshit. I can fully understand your grief, as well as your shock. Remember, I had to deal with death too, but we haven't heard her side of the story yet. Besides, we don't even know if she's guilty. Now, find something to keep your ass busy for a while.”
John, pushed his fears and grief aside as he asked, “Don't you think we should be moving? This is the last known position the Russians have of us and when the squad we killed fails to radio in, they'll come looking.” He then wiped his running nose with the back of his hand.
“Good point. Margie, rig a stretcher for Esom, because we'll have to pack his ass out.”
“What about Sandra?” Mollie asked.
“Untie her feet and run a rope around her neck and keep the other end in your hand. Keep her hands tied, but put her pack on her and tie her hands in front of her. Make the rope around her neck a slip-knot, so it'll be easier to control her. I don't want her mistreated, in no form, but like I said before, if she runs, kill her.”
Twenty minutes later, they were moving through the woods, with Tom on point and Margie on drag. Each wore NVG's, except Sandra, and seeing in the dark was easy now. Tom spotted a huge buck standing on the edge of a field and appreciated the beautiful animal, even seeing it with the green tint of the goggles.
As they moved, Margie planted mines and set traps for anyone who would follow them. Often the Russians would send a dog handler and his animal to follow partisans. Some dogs, but not many, would identify mines by smell, so she only planted a couple of explosives. Her primary goal was to make anyone following them slow down and use extra caution, thus giving her group more time.