“I'm coming, but don't move the man until I get some morphine in him. His pain is severe and it will become worse as we remove him from the pit.” Private Elout said as he gathered his medical bag and started moving.
As the medic moved, he could hear the Master Sergeant on the radio and finally the man said, “The helicopter will be here in about ten minutes. In the mean time, all of you check yourselves and each other for injuries. In this swamp, infection will come quickly and to even the smallest wound.”
Private Elout squatted beside Gise and pulled a syringe with morphine. He injected the powerful painkiller and then pulled a tag out and began filling it out with a pen. The tag identified the medic, date, time, known injuries, and what drugs were given to the wounded man in the field. He then attached the tag to Gise's shirt pocket.
Once the tag was complete, Gise was feeling no pain, so Elout said, “We have to jerk his leg from the pit. It will cause extensive tissue damage, but there is no other way to get him free of the stakes. I need two strong men to pull him from the stakes, using his shoulders.”
The Master Sergeant ordered two of the biggest men to help removed Gise. They both moved forward cautiously, suspecting other traps, but discovered nothing. Once in place, they grabbed the injured man under his shoulders and pulled him from the pit. Thanks to the powerful analgesic, only a few grunts were heard from Gise.
“Damn, he is in for a long hospital stay.” the medic said to no one in particular.
“These stakes are smeared with shit?” Master Sergeant Rusak asked.
“Yes, so he is infected. At the hospital, they will run an IV with antibiotics into him for a few days and see if it clears up. I'm treating him with penicillin right now, too.”
“Will he live?” Corporal Babin asked.
Looking up from his medical bag, where he was looking for his antibiotics, Elout replied, “I think he has a better than average chance, once I get some penicillin in him, but it will still be a difficult injury to treat.” He pulled out a syringe and raised it, pushing the plunger just enough to release any trapped air, and then gave the injection into the injured man's good leg.
“I see the helicopter approaching from the west.” Junior Sergeant Shubin said as he pointed at the aircraft.
The radio operator said, “He is unable to land, of course, so he will hover next to this trail. He wants the dead and wounded loaded quickly. He will return to base once loaded, refuel, and then come back out.”
Glancing at Lieutenant Markov, Master Sergeant Rusak said, “Sir, he must suspect we will have more trouble or he would not have said what he did.” Then glancing around, Rusak said, “Get the dead and wounded ready to travel and do it now.”
Soon the whop-whop sound of an approaching helicopter sounded and the men made ready to lift their loads.
When the chopper neared, Rusak saw Warrant Officer Paley was the pilot, so he waved, and then spotting for the bird, he lowered it by hand signal, until about a foot above the water. The dead and wounded were quickly loaded and the aircraft lifted almost straight up, then the nose lowered, and away the chopper flew.
Paley was known to Rusak as a trader, thief, and man that all units needed and most had on hand. He'd take things they didn't need and trade with another unit for something they did need. All organizations did it and in many ways it made life easier for the soldiers, because it provided things the normal supply system couldn't or wouldn't. It was faster, too. Paley drank and smoked too much, and played a lot of cards, but he was also a brave man. When combined, these traits made him the ideal man to trade things and often his trading was desperately needed.
“Move them down the trail and now, Master Sergeant.” Markov said.
The rest of the day was uneventful, but with a lot of stress. Twice, booby-traps were marked on the trail and the men stepped over them and continued on, their senses on guard for danger. It was an hour before dark when the Lieutenant had them move off the trail a little and make camp for the night.
Sergeant Bluska, the line NCO, said, “If you want to eat, do the job now. Before dark all fires will be extinguished and covered with mud.”
Rusak didn't like being in the platoon leading the invasion into the swamp. He knew they'd start having more and more problems the deeper they went. The American traitor didn't know the location of the ancient mansion, but had revealed the number of men, their arms, and also the names of some of the leaders. As far as the Master Sergeant was concerned, he didn't want to tackle any group led by the prior Green Beret, Willy. He'd heard them compared to Spetsnaz, and they were some coldblooded men in his mind. He suspected they'd not do much except move around in the swamp and get the hell shot out of them, or be blown up by mines.
He'd just placed his canteen cup on the flames to boil water, when a man to his left gave a short scream and fell to the mud jerking with half his head gone. Then everyone heard the shot.
Going to ground and crawling behind a log, he thought, since it took some time to hear the shot after our man was hit, the sniper must be at a great distance.
Another man fell, with a long finger of blood shooting from his back, and then the shot was heard. Unlike the first man, this one continued to scream as his fingers dug into the mud and his legs kicked in all directions. Private Elout moved to the injured man and, as he was dragging him to safety, a bullet burned his ribs. The minor injury just made him move faster.
“Does anyone know where the sniper is?” Lieutenant Markov asked.
“I would estimate a thousand yards or more, to the north of us, sir.” Rusak replied.
“Sir, we need another helicopter, if we can get one.” the medic said.
“Give me a minute.” Markov replied.
He took the handset from his radio man, stood and spoke. A few minutes later, he said, “Rain due to hit at any time, huge front with high winds, so the helicopter commander and operations officer declined our request. Can you keep Private Gavlik alive?”
“He is lung shot and I can keep him alive, only I am not sure for how long.”
It was growing darker now and Rusak knew the sniper was long gone or he would have killed the Lieutenant when he stood to make the call for help. “Two of you men get a shelter over our injured man and medic. Then, each of you buddy up and construct shelters of your own. Sergeant Bluska, see that this is done properly.”
“I'll see to it, Master Sergeant.”
A bright flash of lightning filled the sky and a dull boom was heard a second later. Rusak felt a gentle breeze and then rain began to fall. He glanced at the western horizon and saw a long finger of light and as he watched, it exploded into many smaller fingers, and an earsplitting crack was heard.
This will be a rough storm from what I see, he thought as he pulled his poncho from his gear and put it on. He watched as shelters were completed and men crawled under scant protection offered from the storm.
He moved into his shelter and seconds later hailstones began to fall. They were small at first, about the size of the tip of his little finger, but soon grew larger. Before long, the hailstones were huge, near baseball size and men began to scream as their poorly made shelters fell apart. Most moved into shelters of their friends, while a couple stood under trees. Rusak had never seen stones of ice so large, and he knew the American weather was dangerous too. As a professional soldier, where the Master Sergeant was assigned mattered little to him. He'd do his thirty years and retire to a small village or farm. He started his career unmarried, not wanting a wife to worry about while serving, but enjoyed the company of women, so he married Esfir. I need a drink of vodka, he thought as he pulled a metal flask from his coat pocket. Taking a healthy gulp, he then pulled out a ration and began to eat his supper.
Once the hail stopped, Senior Sergeant Shubin was up and moving in the rain, telling his troops to fix their battered shelters because heavy winds and rains were due to hit again and any minute. Men scurried in all directions to prepare, but Rusak knew some of the men wo
uld sleep poorly this night.
Morning came with a veil of white mist covering the swamp. While the rains had stopped, dark gray clouds were hanging low overhead, and all knew they'd be wet again before this day was done.
Lieutenant Markov walked to Rusak and said, “A helicopter overhead last evening, just before the rain, discovered the partisans have broken into small groups and are moving quickly in all directions. Our infrared gear picked up their body heat, only the storm hit before we could attack. I have a map here with marked locations of trails they were on and the one we are on now had about fifty partisans on it yesterday.”
Glancing at the map, the Master Sergeant said, “Sir, there are countless trails connecting to this one, so it is hard to say if they are still on this trail or not. I will alert our point man, but there is little we can do.”
“I realize that, Sergeant, but during the night some big guns were brought forward in the event we run into more than we can handle.”
“What kind of guns, sir?”
“I was told by Colonel Sokol that a dozen T-90 tanks are available if we have the need for cannons.”
“I suspect they are on the edge of the swamp, so let us pray if we run into any large groups of Americans, we are within range of the tanks. I don't know their range, but I think it would be smart not to depend on them for help. I learned years ago, in battle, the only man I can fully trust is myself.”
“Get the men moving and let us get this over with, but warn our point man.”
“Sergeant Bluska, get the men moving. Intelligence reports large groups of partisans may be on this trail, so have the point man use caution. Also, slip another man between us and the point man as well.”
An hour later as they moved over the trail, one of the new men said, “Look at the size of that snake.”
“Which one?” an unknown voice asked.
“On the right, about thirty meters.”
“Stop the small talk. Save this shit for later once in camp.” Junior Sergeant Shubin said and then thought, Damn, that thing must be over two meters long, and fat too. I do not like spiders or snakes.
Suddenly the point man stopped, as well as the middle man, and both had their hands in the air, indicating trouble. The main group came to a stop and heads turned, scanning the swamp. Shubin noticed a half-dozen gators and three snakes, but nothing human moving.
The second man moved toward the main group and when at Lieutenant Markov, he whispered, “Large group spotted moving toward us. I would estimate contact with their point man in five minutes or less.”
CHAPTER 2
Bright search lights flashed as they circled the gulag in Edwards, Mississippi, but nothing was spotted moving. Men with huge dogs, walked in the middle of two fences, and both barbed barriers were charged with high electrical current. Razor wire lined the top of both fences, all the way around the camp perimeter, and so far, no one had escaped. The gulag now had ten unheated barracks for the prisoners, and they needed more. At last count over three thousand prisoners were held captive, with most having committed no crime other than being rounded up as hostages for retaliation of partisan actions. Some were used for executions, while others were used in experiments at the base hospital, but most were simply starving to death. It was an hour before daylight.
Mark, like everyone at the gulag, was thin, had bleeding gums from scurvy, and his eyesight was poor as well, all the results of malnutrition. There were three others with him and they were sitting beside a small fire outside the barracks. The barracks were so overfilled that a good thousand slept on the ground, unable to squeeze into the crude structures, and being exposed to the elements led to many early deaths.
The other three were Lewis, who was tall and had once been a police officer, George, a retired Air Force Lieutenant Colonel, and May, who'd been captured as she carried messages for the partisans, but she'd managed to eat them before being seized. She'd played dumb and after being raped numerous times by the troops who'd caught her, was locked up with the rest.
“The Colonel says we're to go out tomorrow night.”
“I'm ready.” Lewis said and then grinned.
May said, “Me too, but I worry about finding partisans.”
George grinned and said, “We'll find them, and then come back and kick some Russian ass. These sons-of-bitches owe me. I live for revenge.”
Adding another twig to the ever hungry flames, Mark said, “Revenge is fine, as long as you control it.”
“What's that suppose to mean?” May asked.
“It means it has it's place in life, unless you become preoccupied with revenge, because then it becomes dangerous. It can make a man take dangerous risks or do things that otherwise he'd never do, and all in the name of avenging a wrong. I live for life, I want revenge and every chance I get, I'll kill Russians. Nonetheless, I'll not place myself or others at risk to exact my revenge, understand?”
People began to assemble for the morning meal, which consisted of water-downed cabbage soup with some kind of meat and rice in it. As near as Mark could figure they were slowly dying, being starved to death on a diet of less than 900 calories a day. However, the four of them were eating better than the average prisoner and it was because of the mission they were selected for. Prisoners who did all the manual work in the kitchen of the camp, most were prior chefs or professional cooks, stole as much food as they could safely take out. This food was brought into the concentration camp and fed to the four of them. Even with this food, they were getting little, when compared to times before capture.
The four stood and moved through the serving line, each eating everything in the cup, even gristle, fat, and even hairy skin at times. They had to eat in order to be strong enough to escape and leave they would, just as soon as the tunnel was complete. According to the Colonel they were to be within a few inches of the surface tonight. If so, then tomorrow night, a little after midnight, they'd make a break.
It took little time to eat the contents of the cup and once done, the four sat by the fire. Mark looked around quickly and then said, “We need to reach help or many of these people will be dead within a month. One cup of slop the Russians call soup twice a day will not keep them alive. At least when they were feeding them three cups a day a person had a chance, but it was a slim one.”
“According to the Colonel, the rations were cut because the partisans were attacking truck convoys running between Edwards and Jackson.” May said.
“Bullshit. Most of the food comes up the Mississip' by barge, not into Jackson by air.”
“How do you know this?” George asked as he turned to face the man.
“Simple, I used to attack the convoys. I was once part of the resistance. I was picked up in my brother's home, gave a fake name and here I am.”
“What happened to your brother?” May asked.
“He'd been hanged early on and I was there providing for his family.”
“Was his wife still alive?” Lewis asked with a grin that suggested much more.
Mark grew angry and said, “It was nothing like that, not at all, so wipe that smile off your face. I stole some vegetables and bought some meat for them is all. I had no one except his family and I don't know what happened to them after I was arrested.”
The Colonel walked from around one of the corners of a barracks and made his way to the small group. Once there, he squatted by the fire and held his palms out to warm. Looking around he said, “There's been a change in the mission. You'll go out tonight. Apparently the Russians have some sophisticated electronics that may have picked up the sounds of our digging. They've been out all day probing, so we've moved the schedule up. It's imperative that at least one of you gets to the resistance and informs them of our situation here. Understood? All else is the same, except you leave this evening.”
All four nodded, the Colonel stood, and then he walked away.
“I'd suggest we all try to sleep for a few hours. God only knows what we'll run into tonight.” Mark said,
and then curled up in the dirt beside the fire to sleep.
The night was dark and the spotlights were once more stabbing into the darkness, looking for movement or something out of place. The escapees were late and it was almost an hour before sunrise. None of the four saw the lights; they were underneath the earth crawling through a tunnel toward an opened hole just outside the wire. A shortness of air and dust being kicked into the air caused an occasional cough. Finally, Mark smelled fresh air and the tunnel curved toward the surface. Looking straight up, he could see stars.
He crouched beneath the opening and slowly stood up. When his head cleared, he watched the lights hoping to spot a pattern and, after a couple of minutes, he noticed the guard always moved the beam left first and then right. He moved the light slowly with many long minutes before he'd return to the same spot.
“When we go, we all go at the same time. Rush out as quickly as you can.” he whispered, knowing one or two would not make it out before the light was near the tunnel again.
“Okay.” May whispered and she was right behind him.
He waited until the light moved over the hole and then moved up. In less than a minute he was up and out of the hole running hard for the woods. Once in the trees, he stopped to see what would happen to the others. He saw May up and out, then Lewis, and they were both moving for the trees.
George was half out of the hole when a machine-gun in a tower opened up just as a bright beam of light struck him. Dirt was knocked high into the air and the man's body danced insanely as bullets passed through him. A loud scream filled the night air. His left arm flew from his body and when each bullet struck, a long finger of blood followed as it exited his back. He fell back into the hole, dead, with the one remaining arm sticking up and his hand balled into a fist. One finger slowly moved to open and it quivered a few seconds before stopping. The hand cast an eerie shadow on the grasses.
“Move! Move and do it now!” Mark said and started running north through the woods.
The Fall of America | Book 3 | Enemy Within Page 2