How long he'd been asleep he had no idea but it was fully light when he heard a noise and opened his eyes. He slipped the safety off his weapon.
“Mister, I'm no threat to ya unless yer a Russian, then yer ass is dead meat.” an unknown male voice said.
“I . . . I'm a partisan.” John said, and made sure his rifle was pointed in the general direction of the voice.
“I thought as much. I watched ya walk from the gate and then followed ya usin' my NVGs. My name is Lance Strong and I'm a partisan sniper. Yer surely one gutsy bastard, just walkin' out the gate as if ya knew what ya were doin'. When ya grabbed that barbed wire and strung it on top, I almost shot ya, but I'm after senior officers.”
“I'm injured and, while I can walk, I need some medical help.”
“Can ya crawl out of there?”
“Yes.”
“Crawl out and I'll take ya to the camp my spotter and I use. Ya got a name and rank?”
“I'm Colonel John Williamson, and I'm sure I was reported dead and body not recovered or missing in action. If you have a radio, you can confirm who I am and then maybe I can set you up a kill of the Russian base commander.” John said as he gathered his gear and began to crawl from the brush and brierpatch.
“Boy, that'd really be something, sir! It'd make my year to kill that sonofabitch. The Russians are to the point now they don't wear much rank, if any at all, so I have no idea who I shoot.”
“From what I saw, they only wear it on their shirts or coats, below the second button from the top. It's camouflaged too, so not easily seen, scope or no scope. I met the commander face to face, just before he turned me over to Igor, so I know what he looks like.” John said as he neared the path and was able to stand up.
“I've been wanting Igor, their interrogator, for a long time. He rarely comes out in the day and at night I've never scoped him.” Strong extended his hand and they shook.
“He'll only be out one more time in this lifetime, because I killed the bastard. I sent his nose into his brain after he jerked my right thumb nail off with a pair of pliers.”
“Jesus, having a nail pulled off had to smart. Are you sure he's dead?”
“I cut his throat, so he's as dead as they get. I think he actually enjoyed hurting me and while I don't suspect he would have killed me, he was determined to cause me a great deal of pain.”
“Follow me and we'll collect my spotter and see if we can kill us a Colonel or two. Then, after that we'll head back to base camp. I'm sure they can get you where you need to go, sir. We have a radio, so I'll report you as found as soon as we return.”
“Lead the way, my friend.”
Three hours later, John had the two men with him on a slight hill so they could see the small building where Igor did his torturing and so far it had been quiet, with no one coming near. The Colonel knew this was the day he was to go to Moscow with the Colonel, so he'd personally come to fetch him. He was sure General select Ippolit wanted the bragging rights of having the leader of the Aces in custody, so he'd probably show with the two guards again to maintain security. He'd be one angry man when he found Igor dead and the American Colonel gone.
The Colonel’s injuries still gave him a lot of pain so he took a pain killer, and it was right after he washed the pill down with a swig of whiskey that the Russian Colonel appeared in his private car. First a guard got out and looked around, then Ippolit, and finally the last guard. John was watching it all with a pair of night vision binoculars.
“Is he the fat one in the middle?” Strong asked.
“The older man is the Commander and yes, he's heavier than the other two.” John replied.
“Right, now.” Strong said in a tone just above a whisper and at the word now, he squeezed the trigger.
The suppressor on the rifle worked well, and all they heard was a soft poot sound.
John saw the bullet strike the Colonel in the middle of his chest and a long finger of red shot from his back. The man fell screaming and, once on the grass, began to kick and thrash around. Strong placed a second round under the commander's chin, blowing most of his face off.
Strong ejected the empty shell by bolt action, and with a fresh round took the head off one of the guards, leaving a red mist in the air where his head used to be. The second guard attempted to move to cover, but a shot fired by Sergeant Anson Childers took the woman low and in the gut. It was a painful and usually fatal injury. She was on the pavement now, bright red blood pooling under her, as she screamed and kicked. The spotter placed a round in her chest and all movement, along with her screams, stopped.
When the driver of the car attempted to drive away, both sniper and spotter fired, and the inside of the windshield was suddenly splattered with blood and brains. The car, now out of control with the dead man's foot still on the gas pedal, ran into the corner of the interrogation building, moved through the structure, and then came to a stop in the wire fence that circled the base. The engine was still running but the dead driver’s foot no longer rested on the accelerator pedal.
Slapping John on the shoulder, Strong said, “We need to move, sir, before they come looking for us.”
The three men ignored their prior camp and began trotting north at a continuous rate. Mile after mile was covered, until Sergeant Strong said, “Take a short break . . . and then we'll . . . escape and evade back . . . to our main base. We will . . . have one more short . . . run.”
“These . . . damned packs . . . get heavy . . . moving like we . . . were.” Anson said, and leaned over, placed both hands on his knees, as he gasped for breath.
John smiled and whispered, “Try doing . . . it at . . . my age. I have . . . at least . . . twenty years on both of you . . . and it gets to . . . me after a . . . while.”
As they rested, mines were placed behind them and wire strung in the event the Russians sent motorcycles or ATVs after them. They all knew anybody that hit the wire going over ten miles an hour would likely lose a head. Toe poppers were planted and then off they moved again. Once more they trotted.
After covering about four more miles at a jog, they slowed to a walk. John noticed they stayed off the trail, but kept it in view at all times.
John finally said, “I can't keep running because of my chest injury. If you two need to run again, then leave me behind. I think I'm bleeding again from what little we just did. Just don't risk your lives for mine.”
“First, unless they have a dog they have no idea which direction we went. But, as you know, sir, they'll be pissed to find the commander, his driver and body guards all dead. They'll make every effort to find us, and tonight I expect the infrared choppers out too. Right now I suspect the shock of what we did hasn't fully registered yet or hell, they might not even know their people are dead.”
“It's not even midnight, so we can expect the choppers at any time or for Russian cells to come looking for us.” Anson said as he scanned the countryside with his NVGs. “If they've discovered the deaths yet.”
“They don't usually work in cells, do they?” John asked. He felt naked, because he was the only one with no NVGs and it was dark out to him.
“Just recently they've broken their men and women down to four and five troop cells. I think it was done to cut their losses from large troop movements. These small cells work closely with jet aircraft, choppers, and tanks. If they need, they can access artillery as well, which is hard on any partisan group.” Strong said.
John scratched his whiskered cheek and then replied, “I think it was done to allow them to cover more country faster. Small cells can move quickly, but a large body of troops takes minutes to even get walking. Then they stretch out for about a half a mile. Hard to keep them in control and where you want and need them when they're spread out like that. Then, at the first sound of combat they bunch up. Small groups can do more damage, but there are times and places large groups are needed.”
“Last year when we attacked the air base, we had a large group and while we lost some folk
s, we destroyed a lot of aircraft and ground equipment the Russian military needed.” Strong said.
“We need to hush until we get to safety. It's hard to tell who we might run into out here.” John said, and then smiled. He liked the two young men and they were thinkers too, which impressed him. They were just at the age where they should be settling down with families and taking on the responsibilities of children, only that wouldn't happen now. Oh, they could still fall in love and marry, plus kids could come at anytime, but he thought it unfair that so many of his men and women would never know the contentment of coming home from work to a loving wife and kids.
“It's turning colder.” John said about an hour later.
“We'll stop for the rest of the night in a few minutes.” Strong looked up at the sky and added, “We'll risk a fire too, because I see more snow on the way. I suspect we'll have it before dawn. I felt the temp drop and a light wind start a couple of miles back. We've only got two sleeping bags, so one of us will stand guard and keep the fire fed. We'll take turns the rest of the night. If the snow is less than a foot deep, we keep moving in the morning.”
The Russians were pissed when a security policeman making his rounds found the Commander and his men dead. The car had attracted the guard's attention because it was in an awkward position, headlights on, motor running, and in the fence. The guard suspected he had a drunk driver on his hands, but at the sight of the driver's mangled head, he began puking. He soon discovered besides a dead driver he had two military guards, and then the Colonel. He was even more surprised when he opened the door to the interrogation building and found Igor dead as hell, too. Igor was not well liked, mainly because he was a big bully, so there would be no tears over his death. The policeman was little bothered by the death of the big man. He called his report in to the front desk and minutes later the place was crawling with police.
It only took them a few minutes to discover the men outside the building had been killed by a sniper and since all of Igor's gear and clothing was missing, a prisoner must have killed him, and taken his uniform. The Master Sergeant doing the investigation pictured the whole thing in his mind but wondered why the men outside were killed at a later time. Why didn't the snipers enter the camp and kill Igor? Or, had the man escaped and then led the snipers to the interrogation building to wait for the Colonel? There were a lot of unanswered questions. It was even possible the snipers and the escapee did not know of each other.
He was quickly informed the prisoner was a special man and had to be found at all costs. While few remembered John's name, all knew of the big reward and the fact the man was a partisan. The Master Sergeant was interested in the cause of Igor's death, so he went along with the body to the hospital to watch the autopsy. The doctor determined quickly that the cause of death was the bones pushed into his brain and the slit throat was to make sure he stayed dead. The escaping prisoner wanted Igor dead and had made sure he was deceased before he left. A pair of bloody pliers were found on the spot, but they gave no indication what had made them that way, until a Private found a thumbnail near the metal chair. In the lab, the blood on the pliers was found not to be Igor's, but of someone else.
A Junior Sergeant asked a Senior Sergeant, “Did you see the ace of spades carved on Igor's forehead? On my last tour here I fought that partisan unit, and they are a tough bunch. If this is the commander of the Aces, this search will turn bloody as hell if he's cornered.”
“He can be killed. All men can be killed.”
Maybe, and then again maybe not. The commander of the Aces is no normal man, the Jr. Sergeant thought as he poured a gallon of water on Igor's blood and watched it go down the drain in the center of the concrete floor.
He pissed off the wrong man this night and while I do not know how he managed to kill Igor, I suspect the animal made a single fatal mistake with this prisoner. I never cared much for the sick sonofabitch anyway, the Top Sergeant thought as he climbed into the back of a car and returned to the interrogators shack.
Within an hour of finding the bodies, all forces were placed on alert and cells began to deploy into the countryside as helicopters and jet aircraft began their search. They had no idea if they were looking for a large or small group of partisans. They didn't even have a hint in what direction to look, but Moscow wanted results and results they'd get, one way or the other.
The Top Sergeant went out with a cell of five and the leader was a young Junior Lieutenant by the name of Petrovnavich, and she was good. She allowed no talking at all in the field, communication was done using the same sign language used by folks who could not speak. She also knew Master Sergeant Ruskovich had to speak because he didn't know sign language. She requested he speak only in emergencies and when in camp or under enemy fire.
They hadn't gone far when her scout returned and said, “I have found their tracks and there are only three of them. They move at a trot, so we will not see them this day.”
The information was sent by radio to base, who would in turn concentrate all searches in the direction the tracks were leading. Sergeant Ruskovich smiled, because being with the group that recaptured Williamson would mean a promotion to the officers ranks and more pay. While he didn't really care one way or the other about the promotion, the money would be better after he retired. And, while he wasn't a greedy man, he'd discovered money was a tool used to live comfortably and to have his needs met.
He considered himself a practical man and low cost to live. His only vice was a bottle of vodka every month and a cigar once a day. He was semi-day dreaming, which was dangerous in a combat zone, when the group stopped. When he looked in front of the group, he saw the woman on point marking a mine. She stepped over the mine and she screamed as a wall of fire surrounded her. Sergeant Ruskovich actually saw her arm and both legs detach in the explosion. Her torso landed hard beside a shallow smoking hole where the mine had been planted. The body was blackened, smoking, and at first looked dead. A loud shriek was soon heard as the woman jerked and quivered on the trail.
The Master Sergeant found it odd that she was still alive and screaming.
The medic ran forward and began working on her. Her clothes were torn to shreds, with one breast hanging loose, and it was peppered with shrapnel and bleeding. The medic put a tourniquet on the stubs of the missing arm and both legs.
“Base, White Wolf, over.”
“Go, White Wolf.”
“I have a three alpha and need a helicopter immediately. Uh, looks like one arm and both legs missing, over.”
“Wait one.”
“Will do.” the radio operator said, and then looked in the direction of the wounded woman. She was screaming as the medic worked on her left leg, which was spurting blood into the air. Finally the blood stopped and the medic gave her morphine for pain. She quickly grew quiet.
“Uh, White Wolf, I will have a helicopter at your position in approximately five minutes. Is the patient stable?”
“She is currently quiet and her injuries are stable. I understand five minutes for an estimated time of arrival, correct?”
“Roger that, and have someone pop smoke when you sight the helicopter, so the pilots know wind direction. Over.”
“Will do.”
“'White Wolf, this is Save One, over.”
“Go Save.”
“I am about two minutes from your position, so have someone pop smoke now.”
Turning his head from the handset, the radioman yelled, “I need a smoke grenade popped right now.” He then returned to the handset as one of the Privates popped a smoke grenade. “Smoke popped, Save.”
“I see yellow smoke, over.”
“Roger that, yellow it is. There is room for you to land right in front of the smoke grenade. As far as we know, this area is green.” The radioman used green for no enemy around while red indicated a spot was hot with enemy near. As far as they knew the area was clear of partisans.
“I have the smoke visual and I am coming down now.” the pilot said as
the helicopter flew slowly overhead and began to lower to the ground.
The patient, now on a poncho, was carried to the rear door of the helicopter by four troops and loaded in the aircraft floor. She was unconscious from the injuries and morphine. The date and time of the morphine given was written on her forehead.
Suddenly holes began to appear in the aluminium skin of the helicopter, but due to the aircraft's engines the gun shots were not heard. The Master Sergeant watched a long line of evenly spaced bullets punch holes in the helicopter skin.
“Uh, White Wolf, I am taking ground fire. Taking fire from the west, over.” the pilot said as his door gunner began a tat-tat-tat of returning fire. He fired in short bursts at spots where he'd seen muzzle flashes. Suddenly the gunner fell from the helicopter, but remained connected to the aircraft by a two inch wide nylon strap. The pilot applied power and began to move the second the injured woman was aboard. As he rose, smoke was seen coming from his engine compartment, but he continued to gain altitude. The wounded gunner managed to climb back in the chopper before the helicopter was too high. Minutes later the aircraft was gone.
Sergeant Ruskovich listened to the radio and was surprised when ten minutes later the helicopter notified base he could see the runways and was declaring an in-flight emergency. The pilot's voice remained completely calm as he continued speaking with the tower back at the base. He reported most of his console lights were in the red, so he was going to set the aircraft down once inside the fence and at the edge of the runway. He requested all first responders to meet him at the end of the pavement and he reported one dead, two injured, and the patient was stable.
His dead man was the copilot and one of the door gunners was injured. He was the other injured air crew member and he'd taken a round in the shoulder. Since he was close to passing out, he'd land on grasses near the runway and shut his engines down. Then it grew quiet.
The Fall of America | Book 8 | Operation Hurricane Page 20