The Fall of America | Book 3 | Enemy Within

by Benton, W. R.

  An hour later, shots were heard to the north and then to the east of them, followed by explosions, so the other groups were ambushing Russians right on time. John knew the Russian commander would be swamped with calls for artillery or air support. So far, he'd seen few big guns in action, only that didn't mean the enemy wouldn't use them. He knew the closest airbase was at Edwards and the number of aircraft they had was limited to a dozen or less, depending on what maintenance had ready to fly on any given day. However, John also knew it didn't take more than just a couple of aircraft to raise hell with troops on the ground. Their only hope was the aircraft would overlook protecting the headquarters in the field and try to take care of the squad sized units in the field instead.

  Esom dropped back from second in line to say to Willy, “Only about a quarter of a mile left and we'll be there.”

  There came the loud scream of a jet passing low overhead and a few seconds later it was gone. Off in the distance booms were heard from explosions, but what caused the noise was unknown, only the jet was suspect. They continued to move toward the Russians.

  “We'll hit them on the side with the tents and communications gear. If we knock all communications out, we'll have a field day. Place two Claymore mines pointed toward the tents, and when they go off, we'll attack. Kill every man.”

  No one said anything, because it was a pretty typical attack for them. Usually, they'd attack after tossing grenades, shooting a LAW, or using mines. It shocked the enemy deeply and once dazed, they were easier to kill or injure.

  Once in position at the Russian field headquarters, the men quickly placed the mines, as Willy viewed the camp with his NVG's. It was a quarter to 2200 and he'd wait an additional fifteen minutes to blow the mines. His timing was important, so his units attacking the small groups of Russians would all strike at the same time. He wanted air support confused by what was happening and make them choose which to defend. If communications were knocked out here, the jets and choppers would assist the small units— maybe. Like living, it was a gamble.

  Finally, at 2200, Willy whispered, “Blow the mines.”

  Two loud explosions filled the night air and warbling screams were heard in the camp. As one, the partisans ran toward the Russian headquarters, shooting anything that moved. John moved to the first tent, entered and found two radio operators on the ground jerking due to injuries from the mine. He shot both men and then shot the radios to pieces, the parts flying through the air as bullets struck. Satisfied, he moved to the next tent.

  Pulling the flap open, he saw no one and it looked to be the personal tent of an officer, most likely the commander. Quickly searching for anything of use, but finding little, he ignited some papers on a folding desk and piled some blankets close to the fire. Within a minute the tent was filling with flames and smoke.

  He'd just left the tent when he heard a loud, “swoosh” and when he looked in the direction of the noise, he spotted flames shooting into a small group of partisans. Flamethrower, he thought and pulled a grenade. He tossed the explosive and while his grenade landed close to the deadly weapon, the flamethrower continued to squirt liquid hell in different directions. By the light of the flames, he saw five men stumbling and on fire, their bodies human torches.

  All gun fire concentrated on the flamethrower and three grenades exploded near the man. Someone must have struck the fuel tank on the man's back, because it exploded with a loud, ka-boom. A huge ball of flames shot high into the air, and the man instantly faltered around in flames. Bullets struck him and he fell, the area around him covered in fire. The fire lighted the area well, making it easier for both sides to find targets.

  John, with Dolly at his side, moved toward a row of foxholes and sent bullets flying into the men in the holes. At one point, he stopped firing as Dolly rushed a man crawling from his protective hole and watched as the big German Shepherd clamped her teeth down on the Russians throat. Then the dog began shaking her head from side-to-side, until blood suddenly spurted from the soldiers neck, and his body grew limp. Dolly released her grip on the man and watched him closely as his left hand twitched.

  The tank crew opened fire with a machine-gun and slowly began to back out of the camp. John heard a scream and when he glanced in the direction of the noise, the tank was backing over a man's body. Once in the darkness, the tank sped toward the nearest road, the three man crew thankful to have survived the attack.

  A small number of Russians, maybe five, broke for the relative safety of the woods, but were gunned down before they'd covered half the distance. While the flames were still burning, the intensity was not as great, and John suspected that when the fire died, any surviving soldiers would try to escape. The smart ones will wait, he thought as he heard Willy's whistle blowing, which was the order to retreat and take anything of value that could be used. John quickly searched the men he'd killed and removed all ammunition and gear. He also gathered up rations, guns, and pistols.

  Sandra neared him carrying a full load of weapons and said, “I spotted another flamethrower; looks undamaged, in a hole off the left of the communications tent.”

  “Esom!” John yelled and when the man neared, he continued speaking, “Take this gear I have and let me fetch a flamethrower Sandra found. It's a weapon we don't have yet.”

  “Sure, but keep away from me with the damned thing. After seeing the way the other man went up in flames, I want nothing to do with it.” Esom shook his head.

  Glancing around, men and women were leaving, each with their hands full of something useful. John found the flamethrower beside a dead Russian and after cutting the man's throat to make sure he was dead, he slipped the weapon on his back. He then walked toward Willy. When he neared, he watched the Colonel place an Ace of spades card in a dead Russian Lieutenant's mouth, the senior man found dead.

  “Let's move, people, the enemy will come visiting as soon as they fail to make contact with this camp. Tom, see that mines and booby-traps are placed to welcome our visitors. I want a grenade, with the pin pulled, placed under this Lieutenant.”

  “Look what I found.” John said.

  “Good, but I don't want you using that damned thing in battle. I don't want it even near me. It's a terrible weapon, and deadly for the user at times. Now, let's move.”

  Twenty minutes later, under cover of dense pine and massive oaks, the group heard first the sound of jets overhead and then helicopters. John tried to count the choppers in his mind, but could not, and figured over a half a dozen. A few must have been the Black Sharks and not the Ka-60's, because the whine of their engines were different.

  It was then Willy said, “Time to break up into small cells again and meet back at the old garage. If possible, bring what you salvaged from the attack, but take no risks with the gear. If packing the gear and supplies slows you down, discard it, booby-trap it, and move on.”

  John and his cell broke from the others and changed direction, moving north. They'd covered about four miles, when shooting was heard near and all dropped to the ground. Tom crawled to John and whispered, “Firefight, oh, maybe a hundred meters off.”

  There came two loud explosions and the firing grew more intense. Screams were heard and orders yelled as well, but John was unable to tell the language used.

  “We wait until the firing stops and then check it out. I'll not walk into something I know nothing about.” John whispered his reply.

  Close to fifteen minutes passed before the firing died down to an occasional pop of a pistol or crack of a rifle. Even at that distance, moans and groans of the injured and dying were heard.

  John stood and using his hands, motioned everyone toward the battlefield. He whispered to Tom, “Take point and see what happened. I'll move us forward about seventy-five meters and wait.”

  John nodded and moved forward. A few seconds later, the foliage seemed to absorb the man completely and he disappeared.

  Once stopped, the group had a short wait. John returned in just a few short minutes, and point
ed down the path they'd just walked. He then took the point and led the group away from the battle site. He covered about a half mile before he stopped and lowered his pack to the ground.

  “Russian special forces from what I could see, and Mark Johnson's cell is dead and I mean every swinging dick in the group. I counted nine American bodies and recognized Mark's face on one of them.”

  “Spetsnaz?” John asked, surprised to find them in the woods again and so near.

  “I'm pretty sure, because the men I saw were wearing the blue and white stripped t-shirts under their camouflage uniforms. One cocky bastard, none were wearing rank, was even wearing a light blue beret on his head. The stripped undershirt and beret means Spetsnaz to me.” Tom said and then shrugged.

  “We need to take them out, if we can, but I don't want to risk all of us.” John said, and then thought, The flamethrower might work, if grenades are tossed at the same time. I'll shoot the flames, because other than Tom, I'm sure no one else knows how to use a flamethrower.

  “What are we to do?” Margie asked.

  “Keep moving north and in about a mile, swing west for about three miles and then move toward the garage. Sandra, you take Dolly with you.” John handed his wife the leash to the big dog.

  Sandra met his eyes and said, “Be careful and no heroics, okay?”

  “Baby, Spetsnaz is a dangerous threat to us and must be eliminated at all costs. Hell, if they get on our asses we'll never have any peace and over time they'll hurt the partisan efforts. Willy has given orders that anytime they're spotted in small groups, we're to kill them.”

  “I understand, but use some common sense during the attack. You tend to expose yourself needlessly at times and this is not a good time to do that. So, promise me you'll be careful.”

  He kissed her cheek, met her eyes and said, “I promise I'll take no unnecessary risks. Now, are you happy?”

  She smiled, which brought a grin to his face, and then replied, “Not really, because I know you, but we have our orders.” Then looking around at the others, she said, “With these two gone, I'm in charge so saddle up and let's move. Esom, you pull drag and Tate, you take point. Now, when you get tired, Colonel, let me know and Margie will take your place. Let's move, people, we have a mission to complete.”

  “Stay safe, baby.” John whispered to his wife.

  She didn't reply, but did give him a big smile and wink.

  As soon as the small group walked away, Tom said, “In order for the flamethrower to work, we'll have to catch them bunched up, which might be hard to do. In any case, I'll wait for you to start the dance before I do anything.”

  “Let's move and see what we can do to these men. I think we can convince them that they need to back off a bit.” John then ignited the ignition flame port and grimaced. Death by fire, to him, was horrific.

  Tom shrugged and replied, “Okay, but even if they don't leave us alone, we can for sure take a few of them out of the picture—permanently.”

  The walk to the battlefield was short and when they arrived, the Russians were taking turns being photographed with the American bodies. One, a huge man, pulled Mark's head up by the hair and said something John didn't understand. The soldiers quickly laughed and catcalls followed. Like soldiers the world over, they were proud of their deadly work. Quickly counting the men, John saw ten, with two providing loose security.

  Glancing at the flamethrower, he saw the ignition flame was burning and all he had to do was point the nozzle, squeeze the trigger and the pressurized flammable mixture would spurt toward the Russians. He raised the flamethrower, aimed at the middle of the group and squeezed the trigger. A loud “swoosh” was heard, so John moved the weapon from side to side, to make sure his liquid fuel found targets. The heat was intense and the screams of the wounded tore at his heart, but these were his enemies, the same men who'd just killed Mark and his cell. The heat grew intense and he heard three loud explosions from grenades he'd felt, more than seen, Tom toss.

  He released the trigger, glanced at his target and saw all the men were in flames, except for the two guards. The smell of the burning human flesh was strong to his nose and at one point he puked. With his eyes watering, he asked, “What about the guards?”

  “One guard is down, but I can't see the other. Let's wait about ten minutes and then we'll check them.”

  “Hell, it'll take me that long to clear my vision. The smell of people burning has always bothered me.”

  “It bothers me too, but I rarely puke these days.”

  John removed the heavy backpack that contained the cylinders of the flamethrower and placed it on the ground. He pulled his Bison sub-machine gun and made it ready for use. He also checked the pistol on a web belt around his waist and looking at his watch said, “Let's move forward and search for both guards. The eight men near the partisan bodies are burnt crisp and black, so they're no longer a threat to anyone in this world.”

  They stepped from the brush to the small clearing and both moved apart as they neared the first guard. When less than five feet from the man, Tom said, “This one is no threat, because the top of his head is missing. The other guard is on the other side of this clearing.” He slipped the ace of spades into the dead guard's mouth.

  When they neared where the other guard was seen, all that they found was a pool of blood.

  Tom said, “This blood is bright, so it's likely a fatal wound or at least a serious injury to his organs.”

  “Follow him. I want no one to escape our ambush.”

  “What about the Flamethrower?”

  “Take a compass heading so we can return, and lets move.”

  Tom pulled a compass from his pocket, took a reading, and then said, “Okay, let's move.”

  The wounded Russian was good in the woods and John knew if not for the blood, they'd have lost the man. At one point, maybe a quarter mile from the killing spot, they spotted a bloody bandage stuffed into some brush. The man was severely injured, with a lot of blood loss, and it was just a matter of time before he passed out, or so John thought.

  “Off to our right, those leaves look unnatural to me. See how they're covering something?”

  “Looks like a gun barrel in the dirt sticking out from the leaves. Watch your ass when we near.”

  When they approached, the first thing John saw was the Russian blink his eyes. He's alive, but won't last long, he thought and then said, “He's alive, because I saw him blink his eyes.”

  Tom pulled his knife and said, “I can fix this and do the job quickly.”

  “Please . . . American . . . let me . . . die. I . . . am . . . close. So . . . weak.” the Russian said is surprisingly good English.

  John moved forward, kicked the rifle from the man's hands, and searched him. He collected two grenades, a long bladed knife, a set of NVG's, and pouches of ammo. “Where are you hit?” he asked as he squatted by the unarmed man.

  “My . . . stomach . . . and chest.”

  “Do you not carry a first aid kit?”

  “I have one . . . oh, the pain! It is . . . on my . . . belt. Right . . . side.” He arched his back and muffled a scream.

  “Is morphine in the kit?”

  “Yes, all . . . you do is . . . place it against . . . my thigh and then . . . push down.”

  When John opened the kit, he saw two auto-injectors, so he met Tom's eyes and the man nodded. The first injector worked fine and John threw the empty container into the woods. In just a few seconds the man was lying still and blinking his eyes slowly. When John raised the second injector, the Russian gave a weak smile and managed a slurred, “Thank . . . you.”

  Once the second container was empty, it joined its mate in the brush and John stood. He gathered up the gear and handed some of it to Tom. “Let's go,” He said, “we're finished here.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Rusak was caught completely by surprise when Willy and his group detonated the Claymore mines and he'd been on the opposite side of camp, checking their perimeter
when the explosion sounded. Like everyone else, the suddenness of the attack had him bedazzled for many long minutes, minutes that lasted a lifetime for many of the Russian soldiers. Tracers of red and green flew in all directions, screams were heard, and men started dying quickly. Seeing they had no chance to survive the attack against superior numbers, Major Rusak and five of his men blended into the night and were the only survivors.

  Finally, after covering about a kilometer, Rusak asked, “Do any of you have a compass? I was on the line checking security when the attack happened and have no gear. And, are any of you injured?”

  “I have one, but not sure how to use it.” a Private said and then asked, “Will they shoot us for leaving our comrades to die? I'm not injured.”

  Everyone else was fine, except for the oldest Corporal Rusak had ever seen said, “Light bullet burn on the left arm. It is not much.”

  Darkness made it difficult to see, but the moon was out and it helped. Knowing some of the men were young and inexperienced, Rusak considered having five men with him a gift from God; he said, “We will survive as long as we do not rush things and avoid the enemy. I know what I am doing and if you listen to me, I will do all I can to get you home safely.”

  “This is my first battle, sir, and I do not like it much.” an unknown voice said from the darkness and Rusak ignored it.

  “Give the compass to me and no, they will not shoot us. This is a war and men die.” Rusak took the compass, opened it and took a reading. He knew Edwards was slightly to the east but more north than his current position, and he estimated about twenty kilometers. They'd gotten off lightly if only one man had any injuries.

  “How many of you are veterans of previous battles?” Rusak asked and one soldier, the old Corporal, replied, “I am a veteran. Actually, I could be called an old war horse.”

  “How many fights have you been in?”

  “I have been in every hell-hole this army has been in over the last twenty years. I know how to fight; uh, maybe too well for the army.”