by W. R. Benton
“You are a bit old to be a Corporal, are you not?
“I drink, fight, and lose a stripe. Such is life in this mans army. I made it all the way to Senior Sergeant once, only to lose the stripes over the following months.”
“I will tell you what I will do. If you help me get us back to Edwards, I will make you a Senior Sergeant again and keep you at that rank, as long as you break no serious laws. What is your name, Corporal?”
“I am called Koslov, which means—”
“It means goat or goat herder, I know the meaning. I want you on point, with the compass, and it will be dangerous. I will keep track of our paces. We have units out and so do the Americans. By all means, move us deeper into the forest to start and we will continue moving once daylight.”
The Corporal took the lead and moved deep into the forest and once locating a small clearing, he turned and asked, “Will this do?”
“Yes, this is fine. We move after first light. When we leave, we will be in no hurry, none at all.”
“I like your thinking, sir, but you sound more like an NCO than an officer.”
“I was a Master Sergeant until a month or so back and then the army promoted me. Now, no talking and if you want to eat today, do it now. I want everyone back to back, so we can cover the area around us. Do not fire on anything without my approval first.”
“I do not like this.” the Private who'd surrendered the compass said.
“What is your name, son?” Koslov asked.
“I am Private Abram Orlov, Corporal.”
“And the rest of you?”
A tall thin soldier replied, “I am Private Alkaev.”
A chubby looking man said, “Private Boris Arent,”
“Private Baskov, Yegor Baskov, Corporal.”
“Do what the Major suggested and eat now, because it will be a long day, and we will not stop until darkness. I want the meal done and all of you sitting in a circle, awake, the remainder of the night.”
“Can I build a fire?” a voice that sounded like Private Orlov asked.
“No light at all. You will eat in the dark and your food will be cold. If we make a fire out here and our helicopters do not kill us, then the Americans will. We do not want either side to see us right now.”
Private Yegor said, “But, we are Russian soldiers. I do not understand why we do not want other Russians to see us.”
Shaking his head in frustration, Koslov said, “Just follow orders, Private, and all will go well. Now, eat.”
The night passed slowly and it was near 0300, when Rusak heard the sound of people walking. He heard noises, as someone walked through leaves and another person stepped on a stick. He had no mines or anything for defense, except a half-dozen grenades. He heard other sounds and was unsure how large a group was nearing him.
He elbowed all the men and no one said a word. They waited in silence and listened, while hoping for the group to move away from them. Rusak heard a dog growl and a command was given in English. The group stopped and the dogs growling grew slightly louder.
If he lets the dog off the leash, it will come right to us. Looks like no choice except to fight, The Major thought, as he made his gun ready.
There sounded an unknown number of shots fired quickly and two Privates, Baskov and Arent, fell screaming as they were struck hard. The other four men returned fire and moved to the scant cover offered by nearby bushes. Koslov tossed a grenade and Arent must have been struck again, because his shrieking suddenly stopped, mid-scream. Americans began screaming as soon as the grenade exploded, but the Russians had no idea if the explosive did any serious damage or not. Bullets, fired by the partisans, made zipping sounds as they flew through the foliage and continued on to strike the ground or trees behind the four men.
They are using NVG's, Rusak thought, which explains how they can see us.
Soslov neared the Major and said, “They are wearing NVG's and we need to get out of here now. Arent, I think is dead, as all of us will be if we do not move and now.”
“Get the two Privates and follow me. We will return to near the old camp and wait for help.”
“If they come. They very well might write us off, but move, sir, and we will follow.”
The four Russians ran through the woods and more than one had minor injuries from briars, limbs, and falling after tripping. The moon was out, but in the woods, it was pitch dark. Curses were heard, until Rusak ordered the men to keep quiet.
I do not think the partisans will follow us, but they might, the Major thought, but said, “Slow to a fast walk now and for God's sake, avoid any trails. I know the partisans will have them mined or booby-trapped. Are any of you injured?”
“Something slapped me in the back, but it does not hurt, and I can feel a wetness in the area.” Private Orlov said.
“Check him out, Senior Sergeant Koslov, and let me know what you find.”
The wind picked up a little as Koslov moved to the Private. He pulled a flashlight from his web belt, draped the man and himself with a poncho, and instantly saw a bullet hole. Using his knife, he cut the shirt, gave a low whistle and said, “Bullet to his shoulder and it hit from front to back, shattering bone when it exited. He is in shock now, but will need morphine within the hour, once the shock wears off. I will bandage him and we need to get where we intend to be quickly. Once he has the drug in him, he will be useless to us.”
“Okay, as soon as you have bandaged him we will move straight to the spot I have in mind.”
Colonel Dubow was livid and paced a circle around his desk as his top officers met with him for a staff meeting. Cigarette smoke filled the small room, and more than one flask of vodka was seen as a quick snort was taken by one of the senior officers. It was very early, or very late, at 0400, and a light rain was falling.
“Major Falin, you mean to sit there and tell me that Major Rusak's position, with over a hundred armed men, was overrun and all were killed?”
“That is what our initial intelligence says, sir, but we have a flight of Ka-60's with two Black Sharks going to the spot as we speak. It will be daylight by the time they arrive.”
“Sonofabitch, now, how did this happen? Huh? How did one hundred well trained Russian soldiers get killed by some raggedy-assed country peasants? Colonel Sokol, what are your thoughts on this situation?”
“It is simple, sir, superior numbers. Plus, with all due respect, these are not peasants by any stretch of the imagination. No, sir, many, if not most, of the partisans are prior military, or police, and they have been well trained in fighting. It is to our advantage to remember these men are a well disciplined and a substantially armed group.” the Colonel spoke, and then emptied his flask with one long drink.
“Bullshit, Colonel. I want the resistance crushed and I want the job done today! Are not most Americans Christians, Sokol?”
“Yes, sir, but few actually practiced their religion just before the fall. Americans had gotten to the point they no longer needed or followed God, or so I have read. Why do you ask, sir?”
“I want you to take 500 prisoners from the gulag and kill them as an example of what we will do each time a Russian soldier dies. From now on, we kill five of them for each of our loses.”
“Sir,” Sokol stood, wobbled from his morning drinks, and then said, “I may be a drunken fool, but I strongly suggest, sir, you not do this. Now, I hate Yankees as much as any Russian alive, except all this will do is bring them together, much stronger, against us.”
“You are partially correct, Colonel Sokol, you are a drunken fool. Now, carry out my orders immediately, or I will have you shot for being intoxicated while on duty! I am tired of the resistance and demand we put a stop to it, and by God, I mean now, today! And get your worthless ass sober! That will be all, gentlemen.”
As Dubow moved for the door, a Master Sergeant yelled, “Ten—hut!”
Chairs screeched as men stood for the commander, but once he was outside the doorway, the talking started right off.
“The killings will just unite the Americans in their effort against us. This should not be allowed to happen.” Major Falin said.
“Then, sir,” Colonel Sokol said, “you run and tell Colonel Dubow he is wrong. This is his camp, we are his men, and the prisoners in the gulag belong to him as well. He can killed every damned one of the prisoners, if he chooses to do so. Hell, he has already threatened to have my ass shot and I believe him, too.”
“Well, then, Colonel, you had better run and do your killings, do you not think?” Falin asked.
“I intend to do the job, so if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have some Christians to kill.” As he walked out the door, Sokol yelled, “Master Sergeant Turchin, have the camp guards round up five hundred prisoners from the gulag and have them readied, in batches of twenty, for transportation to an area for execution. Of course, do not let the guards know the nature of the trip, and keep your mouth shut as well. I need to think of a new way to kill this batch so it grabs the eyes of the Americans.”
Turchin clicked his heels together and replied, “Yes sir, I will see to it right now.”
Waving the Sergeant away, Sokol kept thinking of a way to kill the prisoner's to attract the most attention, thus bringing shock to the Americans. He walked back to his quarters to have a few drinks and to refill his four flasks.
The first batch of prisoners arrived and unloaded smoothly enough. Twenty captives, most were men, stood together near the back of the truck in a misting rain. Fifty Russian soldiers surrounded them and two machine-guns were placed to shoot any who might break and make a run for safety.
“Line them up in a single column.” Sokol ordered as he walked from the nearby shelter of a huge oak tree. He had a cigarette in his mouth and a pistol in his right hand.
A few minutes later, Master Sergeant Turchin said, “They are ready, sir.”
“Sergeant, have the first man brought behind the building.”
When Turchin grabbed the first man, the American screamed, “What do you want of me? I have broken no camp rules!”
The man was pulled by two guards to an unseen position behind what looked to have been a bakery at some point in the past. Screams were heard and a pounding noise. A few minutes later, Turchin appeared with the two guards, and all three uniforms were spotted with blood.
“Next prisoner!” Turchin yelled.
Two men made a mad dash for the safety of the woods behind them, only to be cut down by the machine-guns. As the smoke rose from the machine-gun barrels, the men were heard screaming in pain as Sokol walked to them. Near the two men, he raised his pistol, the weapon coughed twice and both men instantly grew quiet. The man on the left quivered a little, gave a loud sigh and joined his partner in death.
Turning to face the prisoners and his troops, Sokol yelled, “Hurry and complete the crucifixion of this bunch, because we have many many more to do before this job is done.”
When the next man was led behind the building, Sokol walked along, behind the condemned man, to see if his orders were being obeyed to the letter.
“Move to man.” a soldier who spoke poor English said, as he pointed to a huge Russian.
The captive, frightened, moved slowly to the big Russian and was quickly grabbed and placed on his back. It took Sokol, with his alcohol dazed mind, a few seconds to see the man was being tied to a crude cross, constructed of tree trunks. Once ropes were wrapped over his arms, chest and legs, he was nailed to the cross. With each strike of the hammer, the man gave horrible screams that echoed between the buildings. Then, before he was moved to be raised on the highest hill, long deep cuts were made in both thighs, so the man would bleed and feel pain. The prisoner's head was moving from side-to-side, in fear, as he suddenly realized what his enemy had in store for him.
“Why are you doing this to me?” the captive screamed as they moved him toward a large flatbed truck. Blood from his injuries ran down the cross and fell to the dirt, leaving a line of crimson to the vehicle.
Sokol replied in English, “I find it appropriate for Christians to die as Jesus died. Do you not agree?”
“God will be the end of you, you murdering animals! What you're doing is wrong and you know it, but God Almighty will judge you. Do not do this to us. Shoot us, if you must kill, but this manner of death is sacred to us.”
“What is the matter with you, comrade, do you not see the humor in your own death? What better way for a Christian to die?” Sokol said and then turning to his men he said, “Take this one away. Master Sergeant Turchin, this method of killing takes too much time, so we will have to speed the process up or find another way to kill them. At the rate we are doing this, say ten minutes a man, in an hour we've only crucified six people and after ten hours, only sixty. Way too slow. Finish this batch up and then we will talk some more on this subject.”
When the last man was hanging on his crude cross, three hours later, Sokol said, “Of the next bunches we will kill them much faster. We will still hang a hundred on crosses, but the remainder will be burned to death or shot. Find a large building and cram two hundred people in it, especially any children, because most of our men hesitate to shoot children, and then soak it in petrol. Once that has been done, set it on fire. When it is burning well, you may leave. For the shootings, use a large field and the machine-guns. I want no one to escape, do you understand me? If a single person lives, I will shoot you myself.”
“I fully understand, Colonel.” Master Sergeant Turchin said, but thought, You are about a ruthless and coldblooded sonofabitch, sir. What have these people done to mother Russia to deserve such a horrendous fate?
A young child of about ten cried out and when Turchin glanced at the noise, he spotted the child crucified and on a cross with the adults. Blood ran freely down the child's legs, from deep cuts made to speed up the death of the victims. For the first time, in his many years as a soldier, Master Sergeant Turchin bowed his head in shame.
“Get the men ready to return to camp with the trucks. I will be returning with them, since the killing is in such capable hands, Master Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.” Turchin replied. As he spoke to the truck drivers, he thought, More than likely, you need to return for more vodka, Colonel. I can't believe a drunken fool like yourself would leave me to do your nasty work for you. Nonetheless, it is a lawful order and as such, I cannot refuse, but it disgusts me.
When the next batch arrived, it would take the four trucks three trips to bring 200 prisoners, Turchin had them placed in an old warehouse he'd found. The place had old gas cans, remains of chemicals, and other flammables stored inside. He hoped the resulting fire would kill them quicker, if some explosions occurred as well.
Major Falin arrived and said, “The Colonel sent me along to keep the Americans under better control.”
“Do what is needed, sir, because they are scared to death right now.”
In excellent English, Falin said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the gulag was becoming over crowded so we have moved you to this warehouse for a few days. No later than two days from now you will all be moved to a new prison about three miles west of here.”
Some women smiled, but the men returned hard looks of distrust, so Falin added, “Once all of you are here, we have a big meal of beef and vegetables we will feed you. The new camp will have much better food and you will all be fed three times a day.”
His comments relaxed most, but a few of the men glared at him, which mattered little to the Major, because these Yanks would soon burn to death. Even the cries of small children didn't have any impact on the man, but it did his Sergeants and Private soldiers. A good twenty-five percent of the selected victims were kids.
“Come,” Falin said and then added, “we have work to do to prepare for the next batch of prisoners.” Once outside the warehouse door, he locked the door and had all windows nailed shut, from the outside. He then had ten men pour petrol around and on th
e building.
“Now, everyone back away from the warehouse.” Falin said, and once all were clear, he struck a match on his boot heel and tossed it to the gasoline.
The flames, fed by the fuel, burned hot and soon the whole structure was ablaze. Screams of fear and pain were heard as smoke filled the facility. The wood was as dry as a desert and soon the roof was burning as well.
“Look below the door!” a private yelled.
Turchin looked in horror as the right arms of two men were extended from the building as they attempted to crawl under the small space under the door. The arms were blackened and dirty. Then the small right arm of a badly burned child popped out from under the door and the Sergeant turned away, sickened by what he was a part of this day.
CHAPTER 14
John cursed that his group had only killed the two Russians that lay dead at his feet. Both were Privates, and he suspected the Commander of the Headquarters had been with the dead men. They'd been lucky that Dolly had smelled them, or it was very likely they would have never discovered them at all. The green camouflage of the Russian uniforms made them hard to see at night, even with NVG's on. Pulling a hand drawn ace of spades card, John placed it in the mouth of the older looking Private and then said, “Let's move. I want to be at the garage before sunup. Same positions as before.”
Jets were heard almost constantly moving overhead, their engines whining as they passed from every imaginable compass heading. John wasn't worried about the jets so much as the Black Sharks and Ka-60's, both of which carried special gear to allow them to spot humans on the ground. The earlier mist had turned to rain and the safety of the group had gone up considerably. The infrared technology used to spot targets failed to function at a hundred percent. They needed to move now and do it quickly, while the weather was against the enemy.
When they neared the garage a couple of long hours later, Tom said, “I'll go check it out. We may be the first to return, but I doubt we're even close, not at the speed we moved.”