The Best Defense

by Todd A. Stone

  Stanev eyed his demolition chief with disdain. I know your game, old timer, he thought. Anything to make your life easier. But I have an answer.

  “Of course you may. As long as you are here and personally in charge of the security detail, then you may rotate the soldiers so that they have an opportunity to rest.”

  The team chief’s face fell.

  “But enough of this. We are wasting time,” Stanev said. “Let us inspect the next site so you may release some of your soldiers.”

  ~*~

  A group of eleven weary Special Security soldiers trod down the street.

  “It will be very, very good to get some sleep,” said one.

  “Da, I cannot wait to find a bed. How far is the building?”

  “Not far,” another replied. “I bet those hogs have filled them all.”

  “Silence, fools!” Stanev demanded in a hoarse whisper. The ten off-shift members of the demolitions team snapped their mouths shut.

  “Observe some noise discipline and quit chattering like school children.”

  “Sorry, Captain. But all the Americans are beneath us. There is no danger.”

  “Will you bet your life,” Stanev asked, “just as Captain Ravchuk bet his?”

  They walked on—in silence.

  ~*~

  “We’ve found them,” whispered Christine to her team leaders. Sixty Russians asleep in a barracks building, she thought. It was too good to be true. Suddenly uneasy, as if she was being watched, Christine looked up from the huddle and scanned the area. Nothing. She glanced over at the two guards captured by the patrol. Bound and gagged, the Russians could say nothing, but their hate, their fear, and their humiliation at being caught sleeping poured from their eyes. Christine shook it off. It’s just them, she thought. “Let’s get the demo in place and get out of here.”

  “Ma’am?” It was Sergeant Rich. “Don’t you think it would be better to go in and slit their throats?”

  That’s what the glances and whispering when they thought I wasn’t looking were all about.

  “Negative. It’s against the major’s orders, too dangerous, and it’s…well…it’s not right.”

  “It’s not right that two women get raped to death and yet none of those bastards pays. They ought to get more than just dying in their sleep. That’s not the way Watchdog Five went.”

  Christine remembered—not that she would ever forget. They deserve more than to have their throats cut, she thought angrily, we ought to cut...

  Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the sergeant. She knew then why Rich volunteered, why Rich recruited volunteers so carefully. The hatred deep inside Rich burned clearly through the coals of her eyes, swept over Christine, engulfing her and filling her mind with an image of delicious revenge. They would line the dazed Russians up against a wall. Then the patrol would take out their bayonets, slowly, deliberately. Then Christine and her women would show the Russians that women could be just as brutal as men. They’d show the Russians what they were made of. One at a time, as the Russians stood as they must have stood lined up for their turns at Watchdog Five, her soldiers would pay them back. They’d show them.

  That image made Christine understand what she must to do.

  “We go with the demo, nothing else. I won’t jeopardize this mission and these women with some fool stunt.” She stared directly at Rich, whose return stare told Christine that she, too, was now Rich’s enemy. “Nothing else. Period. Take your team and go set the demolitions like I said in the order. And remember, you’re responsible for security against anything coming down that street to the rear. Move out.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Rich hissed out as her hand clenched and unclenched the rifle’s trigger grip.

  “The good guys’. Which is why we’ll do it my way. Now move out. That’s an order.”

  Her eyes smoldered at Christine for a few seconds more, then Rich turned to her team members.

  “Let’s go,” she spat out, jerking her head like a gang leader. As they passed by Christine at the RP—release point—each member of Rich’s team turned her head away. Just before they turned a corner Christine saw Rich turn around and take one last burning stare. Then they were out of sight.

  Christine turned to her second team leader. “Two minutes and we go.”

  “What about them?” The sergeant motioned her head toward the prisoners.

  “Leave them—tied up they can’t hurt us. Someone will find them in the morning.” Time dragged until at last she nodded to the sergeant. The six women slid through the night toward their assault positions.

  ~*~

  Four women hauled the two bound Russian soldiers to their feet. Without a word, the Americans guided them around the building’s corner. An M-16 barrel under each gagged man’s chin induced compliance.

  “Bring them here,” Rich ordered. The other members of her team stood as Rich shoved the two Russians against the wall.

  She pulled a gag out of one Russian’s mouth.

  “Do you speak English?”

  “No,” came the stammered answer. “Nyet.”

  “Then how did you know what I said, dirty pig?” Her backhand slap knocked his head to one side. The second prisoner jerked in his bonds, but Rich’s fist in his face knocked him back as she split his lip. Rich turned to her soldiers. “Go inside, bring me another.”

  “But Sergeant, the demo charges? The security team?”

  “Get him!” She hissed. Two women slid through the barracks’ back door. Short minutes later a third Russian soldier in his underwear stumbled out of the building and joined his comrades up against the building. The women’s rifle barrels stuck into his back and he stretched his hands above his head.

  “Cover his mouth.”

  “Sergeant, should we really do this? The lieutenant said...”

  “Cover his foul male mouth!”

  The private shoved a wadded sandbag into the Russian’s face.

  “Make sure he can see,” Rich said, “I want them all to see, all of you to see.” All eyes were on her. She jerked her bayonet from its scabbard, yanked the wide-eyed prisoner’s underwear to his knees, then grabbed his penis.

  “This is for Watchdog Five and for women everywhere,” Rich pronounced.

  Her arms were strong, her bayonet sharp, the cut clean and complete. Despite their horrified fascination the women of her team first watched, then turned their heads away. Despite his gag the Russian howled.

  ~*~

  Two buildings away and around a corner Stanev and the demolitions team members froze. Stanev slipped the safety off his submachine gun and waved a “move out” signal.

  ~*~

  The two bound Russians thrashed in panic as Rich stalked toward them, her bayonet glinting in the security lamps’ glow. A thin stream of blood ran dark against the bright metal. She grabbed the first by his shirt and pressed her face to his.

  “Sergeant, don’t!” begged a voice behind her. “We gotta finish setting these charges and get on with the mission.”

  Rich ignored her. “You’re next, pig.” She gave the Russian a second to think about it, then without releasing him drove the blade in low and twisted, smiling in triumph as she saw the agony sear up through his eyes.

  The others had turned away, but instead of watching the street they stared numbly, guiltily at their feet. Stanev and his soldiers turned the corner and dropped to fire before the clustered Americans had a chance to move. Well-aimed bullets riddled the women; stray shots put the two dying Russians and terrified third out of their misery. Rich gurgled “bastards” as she crumpled over.

  ~*~

  “The raid’s blown, let’s go!” Christine shouted. “Everybody back to the rally point! Move, people, move!” The sounds of rifle fire—all of it Russian—ended Christine’s vision of a clean sting. Only getting those of her soldiers left alive back below ground remained important.

  “Ma’am? What about Sergeant Rich’s team? What about these demo charges?

&nb
sp; It only took Christine a second to decide. “You take charge of the rest of the team and move back. I’ll be check on Rich and follow you.”

  Christine ducked around the corner before there could be any objections.

  ~*~

  Stanev and the other Russians spread out, leaving the dead Americans for later. Christine waited for them to leave, then crept to the pile of bodies. One of her soldiers still clutched the firing device. Christine traced the fuse to where it connected to the explosives. Almost unable to think in her anger at Rich, she reached for firing ring. The dead soldier’s hands were still warm; it was easy to move her fingers away. Lemme think, Christine said to herself, remembering. In the ordnance school they said this stuff burns at about a foot a minute. Sounds right, so I got about three minutes, maybe a couple more. She pulled the ring and heard a satisfying hiss as the fuse started to burn.

  Christine decided it was time to leave.

  Minutes later she stood at the bottom of the emergency exit, head craned so far back that the helmet’s rear brim rested on her shoulders. The last member of the last security descended the long ladder and finally plopped down in front of her. Christine eased one foot on top of a pile of sandbags, as if to prevent the soldier from tripping over them.

  “That’s it, Ma’am. No sign of anyone behind us, either.”

  “Good. Go down around the first corner and wait for me.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, but…?”

  “Move out!”

  The soldier shrugged and left. Christine waited until she had turned the corner, then carefully dug the igniter and attached fuse from beneath the piled sandbags. Not a single day ago, she thought, I would have balked at this. But the major is right, we can’t take the chance on them finding this way in, and we can’t take the chance on our people bolting and taking this way out. She slipped the safety pin out of the igniter, then yanked the pull ring. The striker made its sharp click, followed by the low hiss of detonator cord burning. Christine took a last neck-straining glance up the shaft to where the ladder’s rungs ended in the blackness above. A minute or two, Christine thought, and this door’s closed too. She took off down the hall.

  ~*~

  A weary Stanev surveyed the damage.

  “What is the final count?”

  “Nine dead, Captain, counting the sentries.” His executive officer tallied the names from his notebook. “Seventeen wounded, most of them seriously. Only four of them will be ready for the attack.”

  The better part of a platoon, thought Stanev, but still they were lucky. If the Americans had managed to emplace those explosives properly, the whole building would have gone up. “Any sign of the Americans?”

  “No, Captain. But we will find them, even though they have a great head start.”

  “Do not waste your time, they have left the area or gone into hiding. It is doubtful they will try anything else, having failed one mission.”

  Three hundred meters away the ground erupted as the fuse Christine had initiated burned into its explosives. Before they collapsed, the emergency entrance’s shaft walls acted like a miniature volcano, sending fire and debris into the night sky...

  There is the sign of the Americans, thought Stanev. They have sealed us out and themselves in. There will be no more attacks tonight.

  “Just keep security tight, especially once the attack begins.” He looked at his watch. “In about two hours.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Level 1, “The basement”

  Infernesk Munitions Depot

  In the dull glow of the tunnel’s safety lamps, Christine looked at her watch. “It’s daylight up top. They’ll come soon.”

  “You think so, Ma’am?” asked Sgt. Cato, rearranging one of the sandbags in their CP. “Maybe we scared them off with the raid.”

  Their ears rang as the Russians’ explosives detonated. The personnel entrance to the tunnel complex shook, dust and mortar covering the women.

  “Doubtful at best,” replied Christine.

  ~*~

  First they saw a pinhole of light, then the thin ray from above grew to a thick shaft as the Russians cleared the rubble. Sixty meters from the vehicle entrance into the tunnels, Val lay with her troops behind a wall of sandbags, eyeing the hole as it grew steadily larger. The soldiers beside her tensed.

  “Wait for your target,” she whispered. Their wait was short. The hole quickly grew man-sized. Three Russians darted through it.

  “Now. Nail them.”

  The women’s rifles cracked.

  As best Val could tell in the half-light, the bodies went limp.

  Before the echoes had stopped, grenades rolled down the ramp, their detonations followed by streams of red tracers from the nose of a machine gun the Russians poked through the hole. As the bullets whined and ricocheted off the walls around them, Val and her soldiers fell back. They heard the clomp of boots, dropped flat, then swept the tunnel with fire, one soldier pumping rifle grenades toward the entrance. It bought them ten seconds and about ten meters before bullets came back, the Russian fire pouring in as fresh troops drained into the opening. Her soldiers deaf from the roar of rifles and explosives, Val had to crawl to each of them, tugging their collars to get them to move. As the Americans’ rifles cracked out a steady covering fire, the troops crawled back, finally sliding around a corner.

  “Here goes, Ma’am,” said her sergeant as her hands mashed the firing device.

  “Claymore!”

  The orange light and the explosives’ roar came together, resounding off the walls and making the deaf women deafer. It made most of the lead Russian assault squad dead. The Americans didn’t wait; they dropped back to their next position and counted noses.

  “Where’s Bolineau?”

  “Back there. She didn’t make it.”

  Fresh Russian assault troops stepped over the bodies.

  Central Area

  Dimonokov stood at the tunnel entrance.

  “We have a foothold, Colonel,” said Stanev, “but it cost us dearly.”

  “Captain Stanev, I am not concerned with costs, I am concerned with results. We are too far behind schedule. You will continue the assault.”

  From the entrance two soldiers emerged, supporting a wounded man between them.

  “We shall, Colonel,” said Stanev, “but as you see these women fight well. We must fight for every turn, every corner, and each one costs us in men dead and men to haul back the wounded.”

  “Leave the wounded where they lie!” bellowed Dimonokov. “Put every man in the assault! Use every man you have until the whores give in, do you hear me?”

  From below a few heavy cracks of Russian rifles, followed closely by a loud spurt of return fire from the Americans’ M16s, floated up through the entrance.

  “They seem to have little thought of surrendering.”

  “Then kill them all.”

  ~*~

  Already-weak security lights sputtered and failed.

  Ann Shapiro blinked twice. A second before she could barely make out the spot—fifty or so meters to her front—where the tunnel made a slight turn. Now even the M16 in her grip was invisible in the blackness.

  “The lights are out, Sharpie.”

  “Very good, Cruiser. I can see that.”

  “Like hell. I can’t see anything.”

  She held up her hand. “So that’s what they mean by ‘so dark you can’t...’”

  “Shhh. If we can’t see them, we have to listen for them. Maybe this will help.” He dug in his pocket for a chemical light, cracked and shook it, then tossed the light stick down the corridor. It landed and rolled. About forty meters away, its dull glow cut a feeble green circle of light out of the gloom. Outside that circle all was inky darkness.

  “Then again,” Cruz said, shrugging his shoulders, “maybe not.”

  A long moment passed.

  “Cruiser?”

  “Yeah, Sharpie?”

  “I think we’re in really deep shit.”

&nb
sp; ~*~

  Stanev stood silently as his dead and wounded were carried by. Each charge carried his men thirty meters or forty forward, but with each charge two or three more were carried out, wrapped in either bandages or a poncho.

  This is no task for trained commandos, he thought bitterly, this is a job for trained apes. We throw our weight at the Americans and they mow us down and fall back. Even in the tunnels’ darkness we cannot get close enough to make our numbers or our skills count—every time we stand up they shoot.

  From somewhere in the back of his mind a small voice made the obvious clear to him.

  Then do not stand up, fool.

  Stanev sent runners for his platoon leaders.

  Level 1, “The basement”

  Infernesk Munitions Depot

  “What’s going on?” Debra Jenkins whispered, crawling into the forward security position to take her turn at the outpost.

  The two women at the early warning post lay in the tunnel’s black hush, M16s pointed down the passage.

  “I don’t know,” Sarah Lunt replied. “I haven’t seen or heard them for a half-hour. Not a shot, not a sound, nothing.”

  “Not that you could see anything anyway. Those chem lights aren’t worth much. Well hell, maybe they’ve pulled back.”

  “God I hope so. I hate this shit, I’d really like to be out of...what was that?”

  “What?”

  “I thought I heard something.”

  “Where? What?” They heard only their hearts beating, then somewhere in the dark a faint scrape; cloth dragging on the floor. Then again, silence.

  Their eyes grew wide and white, fear seeping up through the concrete floor into them like an October chill, forcing the sweat from their bodies then turning that sweat to ice water. The women’s noses caught a fragment of an odor, salt and dirt, the whiff of someone or something very close, then it was gone. Their hands trembled as clammy fingers tightened on rifle triggers. The solid black in front of them revealed nothing.

  What followed was silence: long, maddening, inscrutable, terrifying silence.

  ~*~

  Two sets of eyes, one colored the most intriguing blue, the other a more common shade of brown, saw two figures, darker than the darkness in front of them, blot out their vision. As the Russians leapt, two noses, one aquiline and aristocratic, the other pug and pert, sucked in a grimy odor of sweat-soaked bodies rolled in dirt. Two sets of hands, one plain, the other with nails carefully trimmed so as to be attractive despite Army regulations, felt their rifles shoved down and away, the barrels forced harmlessly aside. Two necks, white beneath greasy camouflage paint and caked sweat, snapped as monstrous hands covered two mouths and wrenched heads sideways. If there had been light the Russians’ bayonets would have glinted, as it was they just sliced. Quickly, cleanly.