The Fall of America:: Premonition of Death (Fall of America 1)

by W. R. Benton

  Finally, we moved from the clearing into some trees. Willy squatted, as I did once I reached his location. "Just on the other side of these trees is where the base should be. We'll move until we can see lights, then we'll crawl to where we can see the place. If it's large enough, they might have dogs, so that could be a problem."

  He pulled out an old pill bottle and then a small plastic bottle. He handed them to me, so I asked, "What?"

  "One is pepper and the plastic bottle has ammonia. Both are hard on dog noses if they get after us. Sprinkle a few drops of ammonia on our back trail and then a few feet later some pepper, but only if dogs get to be a problem. Any questions?"

  I immediately thought of Dolly, who I'd left with Sandra and smiled. "No."

  Just minutes later we neared another clearing, and off in the distance I saw more lights than I'd ever seen in one place since the fall. Willy got down and once I was prone he whispered, "Crawl forward, but stay behind me. When I stop, move to my side."

  Crawling is slow business, especially when you don't want to disturb the grasses or draw attention. I'd seen a number of high towers, which I suspected held searchlights, and maybe more than just a few machine guns. Someone in a tower, if looking in our direction, would see any grass moving as we crawled. No, he might not actually see us, but the movement would get his attention.

  After a long time, Willy stopped and motioned me forward with his left hand. Once in place, I saw we were next to a road and the base was right in front of us. Pulling a small tablet from his pocket, Willy began sketching the camp layout and from the dim light of the base, I saw the first thing he drew was the compass directions on the paper.

  As he drew his illustration, I scanned the base and marked as much of it as possible to memory. The first thing I saw was a runway, which worried me, then six towers from where we were positioned. I saw no aircraft parked in the open and no building large enough to house anything very large. I saw a guard with a huge German Shepherd walking between two high fences right toward us, but the man looked bored as hell to me. I elbowed Willy and pointed.

  I felt a light breeze on my face and knew the dog couldn't smell us, so all we had to do was remain still and all would be fine. The man followed the fence-line and when it turned about 90% he started his stroll down the other stretch. From where we were, I saw no housing or barracks or much of anything else. I felt Willy tap me with his hand, and we moved back into the woods.

  Over the next three hours, we completely circled the base and gathered as much information as we could. From what I could see, the place was well defended, had excellent lighting from someplace, and was something we'd want to avoid. Well, in my mind I wanted to avoid it.

  Willy touched my left arm and I saw a guard with a dog approaching, but this time he was outside the double fences. The dog suddenly stopped and sniffed the air. I slipped the safety on my shotgun off.

  The guard wanted to move on, except the dog didn't like the idea, and I suspected our scent was in the air. Willy touched me again, and at that exact moment the dog starting barking. The dog handler removed the leash the animal ran right at us.

  Willy's shotgun sounded once and the dog fell, whining loudly. Willy began to crawl backward as he said, "Let's move, and fast!"

  A siren suddenly blared, indicating the base was under attack, which was far from the truth. Once in the trees, we moved as quickly as possible in the darkness. I heard a loud pop, followed immediately by a hiss, and knew flares were being sent high into the sky. More pops followed.

  By now the sun was slowly coming up, turning black to gray, and I was concerned, knowing the Chinese chopper could have came from the base we'd just visited. Sonofabitch, how did those guys get all that gear and supplies? Do they have other choppers on the base? I thought, and then realized something else. Shit, we have to go back through that mine field!

  Suddenly, I heard dogs barking behind us and knew they had our scent. They were far enough behind us that I hoped they'd not reach us until we'd navigated through the mines. We don't have the time to do Willy's circles of figure eights to get to the other side, I thought, and hated the thought of running blindly through the field. If if we just run, one or both of us will be either killed or injured, and if captured one equals the other, because we'd die in either case.

  When we stopped for a short breather, Willy said, "When . . . when we get . . . to the mine field . . . you go first."

  I was gasping for breath so hard I was unable to get my words out, but I was thinking, Me! Hell you led me through the thing at night! So all I did was nod.

  The barking grew louder so I managed so ask, "A . . . ammonia?"

  "Not . . . yet. Run."

  A couple of hundred yards later we ran out of woods and stood on the edge of the minefield. Willy, either seeing or sensing my hesitation said, "Stay to the right . . . of the cloth I have tied in place . . . on the trip flares."

  Straining my eyes, I saw small pieces of cloth tied in spots. I moved to the first piece of cloth, actually expecting my ass to get blown away any second. By the time I'd moved to the fourth piece of cloth, I had some hope and felt some confidence. Turning to look behind me, I saw Willy removing the material. Smart bastard, Willy is. The dogs will lead the handlers right into this field, I thought, and then increased my speed because the barks were much louder now.

  I'd just stepped from the field when I heard two gun shots, followed by the loud boom of Willy's shogun. I stopped but was slapped on the shoulder by Willy as he said, "Into the trees."

  Dropping down behind a large log, Willy yelled, "Get over here, because the mines will start to blow in a "

  A loud explosion shattered the morning stillness, followed almost immediately by a second. I heard the yelps of injured dogs and the screams of injured men. When I raised my head, I saw two men down, along with their dogs. At least fifty others stood near the opening, afraid to attempt a crossing.

  Whispering, Willy ordered, "When I fire, empty your shotgun into the group. Ready?"

  I nodded, and when he raised and started shooting, I joined the party. Men screamed and blood and bone flew in all directions, as bodies began to fall. As much as I dislike the task, I aimed a few shots at the dogs, hoping to keep our trail clear. Shooting them brought tears to my eyes, but we had to survive, no matter how much it broke my heart.

  We emptied our shotguns and as we reloaded, Willy said, "Back to the others now, and we'll not stop until we get there."

  As I stood, gun in hand, I saw no movement toward us, but could clearly hear the cries of the wounded, animal and human. It was a sound that would haunt me forever.

  We pushed ourselves hard as we ran toward our group. Branches and thorns tore at my face and hands, sending blood down my cheeks like tears. I glanced at my hands and they were covered with bloody trails. However, I knew to slow down could very well mean death, so I kept running.

  As we neared where we'd left our group, Willy slowed down to a walk and said, "Slow and easy now. We run into the place, and they'll shoot us to hell and back."

  A few minutes later, I heard Tom say, "Stop."

  "It's us, Tom," I replied.

  "Been hell around here the last few hours."

  "Saddle up and let's move due north, we'll talk later."

  "Yep, we need to hunt a hole for a couple of days." Ralph said, and as he spoke I watched a black dot appear on his forehead, his eyes grew huge, and then the back of his head exploded, sending blood, brains and bone in all directions. Then I heard the shot.

  "Down!" Someone yelled.

  I thought the command was bit late as a bullet struck my left calf, and sent me to the grass. I heard one of our Claymores explode, followed by screams, then a whistle. A group of men moved toward us, so Willy discharged another Claymore and tossed two grenades. Explosions filled the air, along with more screaming. I peeked over a log, spotted two men moving forward and fired my shotgun, laughing for no real reason as they fell.

  Willy made his
way to my side, sliced my pant leg open and said, "Graze to your thigh. You're goin' to have to run with this."

  "I can run, just give the order."

  I heard Vickie scream and when I looked at her position, she was standing and firing as fast as she could pump in a new round. Tom, I couldn't see, but heard his firing.

  "Get up, we need to make tracks! Form on me, now!" Willy yelled.

  I saw a big chunk of wood fly into the air from my log and heard a zing as a bullet ricocheted into the trees.

  I made my way to Willy, and as a group, we began to run in single file deeper into the woods. After a couple of hundred yards, he dropped back beside me and said, "I need you to slow down and cover our rear. While you're doing it, sprinkle some of the ammonia on our trail and then in about a half a mile drop some pepper."

  "I don't hear any dogs!"

  "You will in a bit, because that's the fastest way to track us. Now, do as I said, because I don't have time to argue with you."

  "I got it."

  As Willy turned and started running, I pulled the container of ammonia out and sprinkled it on our back trail. I wasn't sure if it'd work, so after about a hundred yards I stopped and added some more. I ran until I figured I'd covered nearly a half a mile, then broke out the pepper. Once I'd completed the job, I ran to catch up. Nothing makes a man feel more vulnerable than being on drag with a shitload of bad guys on your ass, and you have to stop to sprinkle pepper on the path.

  Finally, when I caught up with the group, I discovered they'd slowed down to an easy mile eating jog that could be ran for hours without wearing a person out. I got into the rhythm of the run, and every few seconds I'd spin around and check the trail behind us. A few short minutes later, I heard the dogs.

  CHAPTER 18

  I kept listening to the loud howl of the dogs and was growing damned anxious when suddenly it grew quiet. All I could hear was our gentle footsteps as we jogged down a narrow trail. We would have to stop in a bit, because of the weight of all the gear we packed, and running in boots is no easy task.

  We came to a small stream, maybe ten fee wide and a foot deep, and Willy walked into the water and said, "We'll move in this stream for a couple of miles. Then, once we've covered the distance, we'll turn south. Once we've cover about five miles moving south, we'll rest a bit."

  "I . . . I don't think . . . I can do it." Vickie said.

  "Okay, then sit your sorry ass down on that big rock over there and wait for the bad guys. When they get here, just tell 'em you don't want to play anymore." Tom said, and then added, "But, for me, I'm going to run until my lungs explode, if that's what it takes."

  I shook my head and heard Vickie ask, "Why are you shaking your head?"

  "I'm pissed at myself. I never would have brought you along if I'd known you were a quitter. See, I don't like quitters at all, and I never thought you'd turn out to be one when things got a little rough."

  "Damn it, I'm tired, John!"

  "Well, by God, I think we all are, but why are you the only one who wants to quit?" I want her pissed, I thought, so she'll start moving. Once she gets moving, she'll keep going then.

  Willy suddenly said, "I ain't never had a woman worth a damn on any group I've ever led. I thought you were different, but I can see now that none of y'all are worth a shit in the field. Come on guys, let's move."

  We took out jogging upstream and a few minutes later Vickie passed me with tear-stained cheeks, but she was moving. I disliked running in water because it was loud and there was no way to mask the sound. I figured once we left the water and stopped, I'd use the remainder of the ammonia and pepper to cover our trail. After that, we were on our own.

  When we finally stopped, Willy and Tom rigged a Claymore mine to detonate by a trip wire and I sprinkled my dog protection on the ground. It'd work for sure, but not if they had unlimited dogs. I watched as Willy pulled an empty soup can from his pack and placed it on the ground near his foot. He then pulled out a white phosphorus grenade and some clear fishing line. He must have felt me watching him, because he looked up, smiled and said, "This is nasty. I'll rig this thing so that when someone comes walking down the trail, or even a dog, and hits the fishing line, it'll pull the grenade out of the empty can. The pin will already be pulled, so it'll explode before most realize what has happened."

  "I've seen 'em before with frag grenades," I replied, but Willy Pete, as we called white phosphorus, was nasty and the resulting burns were terrible. Nothing could stop the burning as long as it had oxygen. The army taught us to pack the burn with mud to smother the air, but that was only until a doctor could be found.

  "I don't understand." Vickie said.

  "This soup can will keep the handle from flying off, so the grenade will not explode as long as it stays in the can. Once someone moves the fishing line, the grenade will be pulled from the can, the handle will fly off and then one hell of a hot explosion. Enough talk. Let me get this rigged and then we need to be making tracks." He then secured the can to a bush.

  No one said anything to Vickie about her wanting to quit earlier and not a word would ever be said, as long as she kept up. She just needed a verbal kick in the ass to get her motivated and the army did that all the time, only now we were the army.

  We'd covered about a half mile when I heard the Claymore go, and a few minutes later the Willy Pete grenade ruined someones day. I grinned and kept jogging, but as I spun around to look at our back trail, I could see white smoke from the white phosphorus grenade high in the air.

  We jogged until dark, then moved under the low limbs of a big cedar tree and had a silent meal. We were out of Claymore mines and only had two grenades left, so we had no solid night defenses. I'd heard nothing of dogs the remainder of the day and imagined the dog handlers were still cursing us. According to Willy, the pepper and ammonia would bring tears to the eyes of the dogs, but not cause permanent injury, only their noses would start to run and render them useless.

  I'd fallen asleep quickly, due to fatigue from running, but awoke shortly from a touch to my shoulder. I could see nothing in the darkness and I knew better than to speak, so I listened. I heard a faint noise, like a branch or limb brushing against clothing. I grew concerned when I heard it once more, but on the opposite side of the tree.

  "Damned cheap-assed Chinese batteries!" An unknown voice spoke near our tree.

  "I'm having the same problem. My NVG's work fine for about twenty minutes, then they start to lose power." A different voice replied.

  I knew NVG's were night vision goggles that allowed the user to see in the dark, and I'd never thought of anyone following us having the capability, which deeply concerned me. It looked like darkness was no longer a friend. But, if the batteries kept dying on them, they'd soon take them off and move without them.

  "Shit, these things are worthless if I can't see in 'em! Anybody have an extra battery?"

  I heard four voices reply with a short, "No," and knew there were five folks looking for us, but it was unlikely they'd see us, even with NVG's, under the tree. When I glanced around, all in my group were hugging the ground and well hidden.

  "Jones, shut your mouth and keep the noise down. My NVG is starting to weaken as well, so we'll head back to base. More than likely, they've moved north toward the Russians. And, Jones?"

  "Sir?"

  "I want to speak to you as soon as we get back."

  I had to stifle a laugh, because I knew a good old fashion ass chewing awaited Jones for poor noise discipline in the field. I'd had a few of those in my early days in the army, and they were not pleasant.

  I sat under the tree wound up as tight as a three dollar watch and didn't relax until a good hour after they'd left. Eventually, I dozed off.

  Morning arrived with rain in the air and the threat of a serious storm from the west. I heard no more movement or barking dogs around our area, so it looked as if we'd lost them. Nonetheless, we'd still move like they were on our asses, and I figured Willy would make a beeline
to Top and the cave.

  We applied our makeup, closed our packs and clean up any tracks we could find in the area. Willy motioned us to gather around and once we were in position he whispered, "Straight line back to the cave. We'll move fast and only stop for five minutes each hour. With luck we should be there by noon."

  An hour later, as we moved singly over a small clearing in the trees, I heard a chopper and before I could shout a warning, I heard machine gun fire. Vickie, who was out in the open, collapsed and was unmoving. I glanced overhead to see the aircraft climbing and turning to the east to line up another attack on us.

  "Tom, let's cross the opening now and on the way we'll grab Vickie. We'll only have one chance before the chopper lines up for another approach."

  "Let's move, now!"

  We took off at a dead run, stopped by Vickie just long enough for each of us to grab an arm, and pulled her into the trees. Tom then picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a bag of grain and we took off running.

  I knew once the pilot saw Vickie's body was gone, he'd target the trees with his guns, because that's where he'd seen her headed. We'd not gotten far when tree limbs began to shatter and fall, as bullets tore huge holes in the ground and the sound of ricochets filled the air. Tom fell to the ground and then moved over Vickie, protecting her with his own body. A few seconds later the bullets stopped, and the sound of the aircraft grew fainter by the second.

  Willy appeared from the dust, squatted beside Tom and asked, "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine, not a scratch."

  "We need to treat Vickie, if she needs it and get moving. I'm sure they'll have a patrol out in this area within the hour. Hell, if they've got radio communications with the base, it might be much shorter than that."

  Tom rolled Vickie on her back and I saw a head injury, which looked slight, and blood on her left thigh. Once he cut her jeans, I noticed a long furrow on her left thigh. She'd been very lucky, because bullets from machine guns usually blew apart what they hit. Tom wrapped both injuries and picked her up once more.