by W. R. Benton
“We're semi out of danger, so we'll let her travel in style now.” Smith said, gazing into John's eyes. Then he asked, “You understand I couldn't endanger all of us for her, don't you?”
“Yes. I was pissed at the time, but I would have made the same decision as you, if our roles were reversed.”
“Good. My wife was killed right after the fall, so I know what it's like to lose a loved one. It hurts, but the pain grows less over time.”
“I lost my first wife and it turned me into a drunk for a few days, but then the booze ran out and I had to sober up.” John said.
“Good; now Pete and Jim, I want you two to carry this woman until you get tired. Once you're beat, I'll have you replaced.”
All day they moved toward Alabama, but they varied their course so often the Russians couldn't know where they were actually heading. It was late after noon when they heard a chopper and since they were crossing a clearing, the aircraft had them cornered.
“Scatter!” Smith yelled and the men moved off in all headings of a compass. Sandra was dropped and John moved to her side. A loud hammering sound was heard and men began to fall, with one of the first being Smith in an explosion of red mist. When the chopper started turning, after completing a pass, most of the men were in the trees. The bird lined up once more and started an approach.
Smith was screaming from pain and one other man was down, but silent. The chopper fired the mini-gun once more and the Captain's screams grew quiet. The chopper returned a third time hovered in the air near Smith, as it looked for other targets. Five minutes later it gained altitude and the aircraft turned west, likely returning to Edwards with a grossly exaggerated body count.
Finally, after many long minutes, John check Sandra, found her breathing, so he moved toward the two downed men.
Smith was dead, with most of his head missing and his left leg gone at the knee. The second man was hit hard, but he'd live. John discovered the man's right foot gone and a chunk of flesh was missing from his left ass cheek. Standing, John called the other men to him and quickly realized he'd only lost the two men, when it could have been much worst.
“I want a man on point, one on drag, and two others carrying the litter.”
“Let's move, because the whole Russian army will know our location now.”
“Which direction?” One of the men asked.
“Back toward Edwards. I doubt they'll expect us to head that direction, and move quickly.”
They continued to move for three hours after darkness and it was a tired group that stopped for the night in some thick pines. They'd just stretched out when the guard said, “Company coming.”
CHAPTER 22
Colonel Duboff was livid as he walked around the completely destroyed cell block, chain smoking cigarettes in the early morning light of a new day. He'd suffered ten dead, all guards, and both Colonel Eline and a big Private named Artyom were dead on top of that. A brand new facility had been blown away, with only a black spot and some bricks to show it ever existed.
“Colonel, dog teams have the partisans moving east, toward Alabama.” A radio man yelled from the communications building.
“Send everything that will fly into the air after them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Catch the bastards and bring them back to me to question, by God, and I will get some answers.”
“Sir?” Colonel Ivanov asked.
“I am talking to myself, Colonel.”
“I do that as well at times. My guards estimate, from the prints in the dirt and bent grasses around our camp where they shot at us, an even twelve men, but that figure could go up or down a man. We found three empty LAW launchers and brass from a Russian RG-6, our 40 mm semi-automatic, 6-shot grenade launcher.”
“Damn it, Ivanov, I know what a damned RG-6 is, for heavens sake. Did you find anything else?”
“One of the prisoners escaped, but I do not think she was the reason for the attack. And, sir, to answer your next question, we have no idea which of the women got away at this time. I am waiting for laboratory results to give me names. We noticed spots of blood leading from the building so we know she has been injured.”
“It matters little if one woman got away and you can be sure if she was a guest of Colonel Eline, she was injured in more ways than one. I want a hundred prisoners shot this morning and within the hour.”
Snapping to attention, Ivanov said, “It will be done, Colonel.”
John, now leading the group, moved about ten miles into Alabama and took shelter in an old house. He'd decided, at the last minute, to keep moving east and not return west yet. While he'd fixed Sandra's broken arm by setting it, and then securing it in place using two pieces of wood, her face was a real mess. The shoulder injury was healing, but he suspected she'd faint when she saw her face. The tip of her nose was missing, long and deep knife cuts were in both cheeks, and her forehead was a mass of knife marks. He was scared the damage done would kill her will to live. Sandra had once been a stunning woman.
“John, what are you thinking about?” She asked from a blanket beside him. Dolly had her head in Sandra's lap.
“Baby, you've been cut pretty bad on your face.”
“I know, because I felt it every time the knife blade struck me, and Colonel Eline promised to make me ugly.”
“He could never make you ugly, but you will have some scars.” He pulled small mirror he used to shave with at times and handed it to her.
Sandra took and mirror in her hands. After she raised it, she said, “Well, the Russian was a man of his word, because I'm for damned sure ugly. Nonetheless, I'm alive and that sonofabitch isn't.”
Silence was heard.
“John, if you don't want me anymore, I'll understand.”
“Baby, I fell in love with the you inside, not the packaging. I still want you and love you, so don't worry about that at all. It's your very soul I love, really, and it's still there.”
“John, I was raped. I was used so many times I lost count at twelve.”
He pulled her close, noticed she was silently crying, and it almost broke his heart. Kissing her chin, he said, “It still changes nothing. You, Sandra, mean more to me today than at any other time in my life. I thought I'd lost you and I feel so blessed that God returned you to me. No, you'll recover and we'll always be together.”
He hugged her closely and felt her body shudder as she cried.
After five days, John awoke early and said, “Everyone up. I want to be moving back into Mississippi within an hour.”
Sandra still in pain, took a pain pill from John's first aid kit and climbed to her feet. Her shoulder wasn't as painful as before, only it wasn't strong enough to carry a pack yet. As they donned their heavy packs, he said, “Skeeter, I want you on point and Ware, you pull drag. Now don't think the Russians have given up looking for us, because they haven't. I suspect most of the air traffic looking for us is over, because it's too expensive to search for us by air very long. You can be assured, there are ground troops still looking.”
When they crossed over into Mississippi no one knew, not really, because there were no signs or markers deep in the woods. They continued to walk until threatened by darkness and then John called it a day. Sitting by the fire, he watched Sandra swallow another pain pill. Dolly, usually with John, spent the day beside Sandra and at times the dog would look up at her to make sure she was okay. He suspected dogs had a way of knowing when the humans they cared about were hurting or worried. Dolly evidently knew something was wrong with Sandra.
“We should be nearing the Pearl River, the day after tomorrow and our meeting place with Colonel Tate.”
“Good,” Sandra said, “because I need some time to heal.”
Squeezing her hand, which he'd been holding, he replied, “Let's hope you get some time to rest. I have no idea if the man is still there, so we may have to keep moving.”
“I'll do what it takes.”
Two days later, Ware dropped back and said
, “I see Colonel Tate and some others I recognize under the overpass.”
“Were they armed?” John asked.
“Relax, they looked like they always do, tired, hungry and armed for bear.”
“Lead us to the man.”
Tate grinned when he saw John and his group returning and the frowned when he realized he lost two men. “So, tell me, John, how did it go?”
“Very well, or at least the attack did. We lost two men later, after a Russian Ka-60 popped up on the horizon and fired a Gatling gun. I was, I'm happy to say, able to rescue my wife.”
“What of the Russian facility?” Colonel Tate asked then looking at Sandra he quickly added, “I see, my dear, that you've been a guest of the Russians. Thanks to them my chest and back are deeply scarred and I have one less testicle than I had before I met them. Rough hosts, the Russians are.”
“Well, I'm not sure, sir, but I think the no good bastard that removed my ears and cut my face is dead. Then, there was a huge Private named, Artyom. I hope he burns in hell forever. I had the privilege of seeing the Private on fire, so I know he's gone.”
“Colonel, the building is gone, but it'll not even slow the Russians down. I'm sure they put up a tent or will start interrogating in the field.” John said.
“Again, John, you fail to see the big picture. What matters is the destruction of Russian property and the killing of her men when we can. Now, some Colonel is going to have to explain to Moscow how a bunch of backwoods rednecks killed their men and destroyed their interrogation center. Moscow will be pissed and maybe even mad enough to remove some commanders.”
“So,” John said, “that has nothing to do with us.”
“Son, it has everything to do with us. Eventually, we'll wear the Russians down and they'll grow tired of burying their sons and daughters, rebuilding, and hunting for American phantoms. They'll one day realize what you and I know, that most Americans are dedicated to living in the best damned place in the world.”
“It's hard to prove it, by looking at how we live now.”
“We'll get up and dust our asses off, become determined, and in a couple of years we'll have our country back. One thing about Americans I don't want you to ever forget, we are not a nation of quitters and in the end, well, the Russians will realize that fact as well.”
“But, what do we do in the mean time, sir?”
“Why that's easy, John, we keep killing the Russian sonsofbitches as fast as we can. We blow up their trucks, planes, buildings and we fight their asses tooth and nail. Always keep in mind, we are Americans and we're winners.”
The End
Coming Soon, Fall of America: Death Comes to Visit, Book #4
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About the Author
W.R. Benton is an Amazon Top 100 Selling Author and has previously authored books of fiction, non-fiction, and Southern humor. Such notable authors as Matt Braun, Stephen Lodge, Don Bendell, and many others have endorsed his work. His survival book, “Simple Survival, a Family Outdoors Guide,” is a 2005 Silver Award Winner from the Military Writers Society of America. James Drury, "The Virginian," endorsed two of his Western books, "War Paint" and "James McKay, U.S. Army Scout."
Mister Benton has an Associate Degree in Search and Rescue, Survival Operations, a Baccalaureate in Occupational Safety and Health, and a Masters Degree in Psychology completed except for his thesis. Sergeant Benton retired from the military in 1997, with over twenty-six years of active duty, and at the rank of Senior Master Sergeant (E-8). He spent twelve years as a Life Support Instructor where he taught aircrew members how to use survival gear, survival procedures, and parachuting techniques. Gary has attended the following United States Air Force Survival Schools:
Basic Survival Training
Water Survival Training
Jungle Survival Training
Arctic Survival Training
Sergeant Benton also has over 12 years of experience as a Life Support Survival Instructor, where he trained thousands of men and women.
Mr. Benton and his wife, Melanie, live near Jackson, Mississippi, with four dogs (Dolly, Newt, Benji, and Skillet) and two cats. To learn more about him, visit
https://www.facebook.com/gary.l.benton or https://www.facebook.com/wrbenton01
Excerpt from
EAGLE PEOPLE
by W.R. Benton
THE BITE OF AMON'S AX was deep, striking the woman at the base of her neck, and if he hadn't hit her with a downward angle, the blade would have decapitated her. As it was, the hand sharpened bronze cut through her collar bone and blood flew in all directions. She gave a piercing scream and her eyes grew huge in pain and fear. A long spear fell from her hands and she instantly reached for her injury, as if any effort on her part could stop the bleeding. He let her fall and shifted his attention to the man behind her.
He was a big man, tall, but not fat and looked to be in good physical condition, which worried Amon. He'd been living on wild game, wild cows, dogs, and an occasional cat, so he wasn't in the best shape in the world, but he ate what his tribe could provide. Just as the man stabbed at him with the metal tip of his spear, an arrow took the stranger in the throat and he fell, blood spewing in all directions. He began to choke and claw at the ground, but Amon ignored him; he was dead meat, except his mind didn't realize it yet.
The woman he'd struck with his ax was having trouble breathing and her body quivered as she looked at him with pleading eyes. Eyes that, under different circumstances, he might have even found appealing. As it was, her and the man who'd attempted to kill him would soon be dead.
Mongoose walked from the tree line, gave Amon a smile, and then moved to the woman. She pulled her knife as she walked and he saw the sharp blade flash once in the bright sunlight. The woman with the ax injury gave a loud gargling sound and began to choke on her own blood. In less than three minutes she'd be dead, bled out like a hog at a butchering. Later, he would notice her open, but unseeing, eyes filled with fear and pain.
“Thomas, gather their gear.” Mongoose ordered as she stood on the trail and scanned the countryside.
A thin, but tall black man walked from the trees to the dead and started removing anything of value. He removed anything that could be used by them in the field or in barter with others. Amon counted an even dozen dead and there were no wounded, but few captives were ever taken. Men taken captive were usually tortured to death, or if a woman or young child was discovered, they were more often than not adopted into the tribe.
“Ralph!” Mongoose yelled, “Return for our horses.”
“I'll be right back.” a voice called from the protective cover of the oak and hickory trees.
Thomas returned a few minutes later and said, “I found a few spears, seven bows with an equal number of quivers, and one rusty old pistol. I'm not sure what the man had the gun for, because he only had one bullet, and it looked like hell. It was green from oxidation and badly corroded.”
Amon asked, “Which was corroded, the gun or bullet?”
“Both. It looked like an old .45 Colt, with the rotating cylinder, but the hammer was rusted shut.”
“Any barter?”
The black man grinned and said, “A small pouch on one of them with gold teeth, two diamonds, and about a half dozen jewels of lesser value.”
Amon said, “They've been in graves if they have gold teeth. Hell, there ain't a practicing dentist alive today, or so I think. I ain't never seen one, but my great great granddaddy remembered a few of 'em.”
Thomas shrugged and said, “I found about two dozen gold teeth and most are molars, likely from graves. I did find a partial with gold, but I'll have to break it down and separate the gold from the other metals and porcelain. When we return to the village, I'll melt the gold and make small ingots to trade with and they're valuable.”
At that point, Ralph returned and said, “Our horses are in the woods and ready when you are.”
“Let's move, people, I don't like stayin' around an ambush site.” Mongoose ordered, and then moved toward the trees.
They mounted and rode at a fast walk to the south, where Amon knew at some point they'd swing west and then north again. They never rode from an ambush straight back to the village, for safety reasons. There was no need to give their enemies a clear path to their home.
As they rode, Amon gave thought to the way they now lived. His tribe had once, by accident, captured a library after some bitter fighting during the Civil War and they'd brought every book they could carry out with them. They'd taken the books as a source of entertainment and not so much as for learning. However, they now had a small library in the village and each child attended school in the library, from the age of six until sixteen. Their education was nothing fancy, but they learned to read, write, do basic math, and a little of the arts. Since books were no longer published they were desired because they were rare, thus valuable. He'd often spent hours looking through a set of encyclopedias, seeing how America and the rest of the world once lived.
He'd grown up in the tribe and had no knowledge of a different lifestyle. He was a warrior, and his village was organized along the lines of a Native American village in the early 1800's, except for a few minor differences. Their first leader was named William Burrows; he was a great thinker and had once taught history at a university as a professor of history. After people began to split into small groups, he'd organized his group along the lines of Sioux Indians. He'd always felt the Sioux were a well coordinated bunch, with a shaman, war chief, peace chief, council and even a police force. He'd extended it some, since the Sioux didn't have a written language in the early 1800's, and included a teacher and a man dedicated only to God. Additionally, this spiritual leader was much different than his shaman. This man of the spirit world was called preacher and he led the tribe only in religion.