by W. R. Benton
“Good job.”
“I also had partisan weapons and some Chinese gear we had removed from partisans thrown in as well, sir. The guns and gear add creditability to the images.”
“Excellent, Filya, excellent. I want the images and a full 'battle report' sent by computer at some point today. List the truck and our dead as being part of the losses during the attacks. I want you to mention the fact you were the leader of the Russian troops and I will see about getting you a medal. If you have a young officer or a good sergeant you would like promoted, I will submit them for medals as well.”
“I will see it is done, sir.”
“Good. Over the next few days I want twice as many prisoners killed as we lose in battles. Just list some as being killed here and there, wherever real attacks are taking place.”
“I will just blend the executed in as enemy killed in action.”
“That is exactly what I want done.”
“Colonel, have you given thought to how the partisans will react to all of this killing?” Junior Lieutenant Dima Demian asked.
“Look, Lieutenant, I have three, maybe four months left on this tour. Then, I leave here with a star or I will go home facing retirement as a Full Colonel. Either way, I will not be returning here again once gone. I know it will take some time before the executions are discovered by the resistance.”
“I understand, sir. Uh, any idea who will take your place, sir?” Lieutenant Colonel Vitya Barisovich asked.
“Colonel, since you are my vice-commander I have recommended you.”
“Thank you, sir.” The Colonel gave a big smile. He hoped Ippolit kept things tight and returned home with a star. He knew if the man screwed things up, he'd inherit a mess and the old boss would end up in a gulag or shot in some snow covered forest at some point. That would just make Barisovich's job that much harder.
A Private stuck his head in the smoke filled room and said, “The tower is reporting a passenger plane missing and off screen, sir. I am sorry to barge into your meeting like this.”
“How many people on the aircraft?”
“Two hundred soldiers and a crew of ten, sir, but there were also 57 civilians on the aircraft; all worked for our government.”
“Wait for me, young man, and I will return to the tower with you. Have emergency personnel been placed on alert? Gentlemen, that concludes our meeting for today.”
“Yes, sir, and we have two helicopters looking for wreckage now. That is all I know about the crash, sir. Privates are not told much.”
“Good, let me get my coat. Should be easy to find the crash site, just look for smoke.”
A few minutes later, as they stepped outside, the Colonel found the day brisk, but not overly so. He hoped the aircraft had not crashed, but so far, with what little he knew, odds were against them. Most aircraft that went off screen were down and most hit the ground hard, with few, if any, survivors.
They walked quietly, mainly because the young Private had nothing in common with the Colonel except they were comrades serving in America. The American War was losing support back home and already protestors were out in force everyday. Most intelligent Russians gave Moscow two more years and then they'd be brought home, one way or the other. The war was costly, both in deaths and money, with money being the deciding factor for politicians and lives for the demonstrators. In both cases the cost was too high, or so the Private thought.
Once in the air traffic control tower, the commander looked at all the electronic equipment and on a huge radar screen he saw blips that indicated the location of different aircraft. Circled in red was a location close to the base, with the words 'down?' written in grease pencil.
The Lieutenant in charge of the tower suddenly said, “I have dense black smoke to my west, just about where we lost radar contact with the airliner, sir.” He held binoculars in his hands.
“There is a helicopter on the way, sir. Let us listen to his radio communications, if you wish.” a Senior Sergeant said.
“Uh, tower, Black Shark One at the location and I see the remains of a crash. I am able to see people on the ground moving around, so there are some survivors. The smoke is dense and the tail number I see matches the call sign you gave me.”
“Roger, copy, and what do you think is the fastest way for first responders to get there?”
“By road, because the aircraft struck trees and there are no spots I can see large enough for a helicopter to land. Here are the exact coordinates the wreckage is located at . . .”
Fifteen minutes later the first responders arrived. The colonel waited in the tower and knew once they had an estimate of those dead or wounded, he'd have to call Moscow and report the crash.
“Tower, Crash Recovery One.” The call came in about thirty minutes after rescue crews arrived.
“Go, One.”
“I have counted 12 survivors up and walking, we also have sixteen seriously injured laying on the ground, and the others on the aircraft appear to be dead or severely injured and not recovered yet. All recovered from the crash site will be taken to the hospital first, regardless of injury or not. Wreckage is scattered for a good mile and the aircraft cockpit crew members are all dead, but the black boxes have been recovered. I will return to base with the black boxes when I finish here, over.”
“Is that it? Is there anything else you need to tell us, Crash Recovery One?”
“The unofficial word from survivors and a witness on the ground was something in the cargo hold exploded. There was the explosion just as the aircraft lined up for a landing and while the aircrew tried to reach the base their sink rate was too great and they had to put the aircraft down prior to the runway. We are very fortunate that more were not killed.”
“Roger, return to base and bring the black box with you.”
“Will do, over. Be advised, most of the injured are burn victims and in extreme pain.”
“Copy and base out.”
“Crash Recovery One, out.”
Three hours later, the Colonel was in his aircraft avionics section as they listened to the last words spoken by the dead crew of the commercial airliner. From the very start they sounded professional and skilled.
They had the recording of the crews conversations as well as what they did to the aircraft on the tapes. Like most crews, they talked in checklist like monotone as they did things that effected flight controls. They had the tape copied and had saved the last ten minutes for an accident review board and other high ranking individuals who'd want and needed to know what happened, like the Russian flight safety folks.
When played, this was first voice that spoke was the aircraft pilot. “Tower, this is the Captain of commercial airliner niner, seven, four, one, zero, and I request permission to land.”
“Copy, 97410, you are cleared to land on 42 left, over.”
Then an explosion is heard in the aircraft recording.
“What in the hell was that?” an unknown voice said on the tape.
“Uh, I have no idea, but I do not think it was anything good. I am losing hydraulics and the controls are suddenly stiff.” the pilot said.
Navigator to pilot, “Ivan, I think we took a surface-to-air missile or else we had bomb go off in the cargo hold.” The Colonel was amazed at how casual the navigator made it all sound. It sounded as if the flight had an explosion on the aircraft daily.
“Controls are getting loose now and the whole aircraft is shaking.” the copilot, Borya, stated in a flat voice. The shaking and trembling of the aircraft could be heard on the tape too.
“Uh, we need both our hands on the controls, because the explosion damaged some of our flight controls. We will need both of us standing on the brakes after we land too.” the pilot said, his tone casual.
“Tower, this is Commercial Airliner 97410, and I am declaring an in flight emergency.” The copilot spoke, and his voice sounded a pitch higher this time, but still no emotion was heard in his tone, which was all business.
“Passenge
rs, this is your Captain speaking, and we have taken some damages to the aircraft and may not make it to the airport. I want all of you to bend forward in your seats and lock your fingers behind your neck. Remain in that position until we come to a complete stop, then exit the aircraft as quickly as you can. I will warn you just before we touch down if I have the time.”
The flight engineer said, “We have smoke in the cargo hold and I have a fire warning light on.”
“Copy that, because I have two fire warning lights that just came on as well. I am going to use agent discharge and try to put the flames out in both engines. My console is lit up like a Christmas tree.”
“The fire in the hold will have to wait.” the copilot was heard to say.
“We are losing altitude way too fast with two of four engines no longer working, and it does not look good. Borya, contact the tower and let them know we are going down and it looks like we will go down in the woods, because I see no open fields.” his voice was yet calm and clear. “And then pull out our checklist and let us see how to handle this situation.”
“Watch the nose!” it sounded like the navigator said, his voice filled with fear.
“It dipped and I cannot get it back up, so let the tower know we —” The calm and even voice of the pilot was heard to speak his last words on earth.
Screams were heard, one person screamed for God’s help, followed by the sound of impact. Then nothing but static.
“How were they able to remain so calm during all of that?” a Senior Sergeant asked.
“Years of training and faith in the aircraft they fly.” the Colonel said.
“Any idea what caused the explosion?”
“The only witness was an American farmer and he said the aircraft had an explosion on the left side, as the pilot sits, when it lined up to land, and it blew the hold open. He claims the hole was about as big as a car and flames were seen immediately, and the hold never stopped burning. He saw no signs of a missile and our radar folks said nothing was fired at the aircraft. The fire spread and the aircraft crashed into the trees still in flames. The rest we know.” the Senior Sergeant said. “To us in security it sounds like the work of the resistance, but we do not see how, since the aircraft spent the last 7 days in Moscow undergoing routine maintenance.”
“Is, or would, it be possible to make a command detonating bomb that I could place on an aircraft and then I could blow it up when and where I wanted? Say five minutes from now or three months?” The Colonel asked.
“Almost anything is possible, but yes, that could be done and easily too. Why?”
“Pull any aircraft records that we might have here on that aircraft.”
“We recovered the hard copies of the records we have, but most will be in the computers of our maintenance squadron. I will have them printed and then pulled.”
“Then interrogate everyone who touched that aircraft the last time it was here. I think we have a partisan employed with us. Oh, and take that farmer into custody as soon as you can and see if he has a cell phone. It would have to be a Russian phone, because no American phones work these days.”
“How many other aircraft have bombs on board? All he would need is a cell number to set them off. Then again, technicians could climb on any aircraft, plant a bomb, and not sign the records to say they had been on the plane.”
“When the wreckage is investigated, try to find parts of a bomb and how it was detonated. I suspect Moscow will want the information.”
“My God,” the Senior Sergeant said, “over two hundred dead and in the flash of an eye, too.”
“How many more bombs are aboard our other aircraft right this minute? Give that some thought.”
Chapter 12
John was in his tent speaking with newly promoted Cynthia and they were sharing a whiskey to celebrate. As the newest Lieutenant Colonel, she said, “I feel awkward as an officer, much less a Colonel.”
“You'll get used to it given time.”
“Probably, if I live long enough.”
He walked to her, placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer with his hands. Then, looking into her eyes, he kissed her.
“I hope we both live forever.” He whispered in her ear.
“Sir? Are you in your tent?” a voice just outside his tent entrance flap asked.
“Sure, what do you need?”
“I have a man here that claims he's a member of our unit and said your cell, too.”
“Bring him in, and I'll tell you if he's real or not.”
Tom Fetters hobbled into the tent, extended his hand and said, “I'm a bit late, sir, but I'm here all the same.”
“I'll be damned. How are you, Tom?”
“I'm hurt, tired, sleepy, filthy and hungry, sir.”
“You can return to your post, young man, this fellow is a part of my cell.” John said to the guard.
“Yes, sir.” the guard said and then exited the tent.
“I want you to have a drink, tell me what happened, and then I want you to see a doctor.”
“Yes, sir.” Tom replied, and then started his story. He sipped the whiskey as he spoke.
When he was done, John scratched his chin and asked, “Why so many Russians in the field right now? I know our losses have been light, so they're not doing as much damage as they probably planned to do.”
“To be honest, I thought it was an all out sweep of the state intending to catch what partisan units they could in the field. Maybe they'd gone back to the old ploy of using tanks and helicopters along with their infantry, and it still might be that tactic. When I saw that huge tank push that big pine tree over it scared me, but hell, I couldn't run because I was unable to even walk at the time. I think a healthy person would have run and been shot by their infantry or shot up by a chopper. I distinctly heard tank and choppers, along with a lot of men on the trail.” He finished his drink and placed the empty glass on a folding desk John used.
“Why don't you go see the doctor and let him look you over, and by the way, the next time you see maggots in a wound, leave them there, because they'll only eat dead flesh and it helps the healing process.”
“Maybe that's all they eat, but it scared the hell out of me, and they looked so nasty in my wound.”
John laughed, then grew sober as he said, “Go see the doc and if he gives you bed rest, I want you to take every day he tells you to take. You earned the bed rest when you blew the ambush and if not for you, most of us, or all of us, might have died that day.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tom stood, saluted and then left the tent.
“He looks so young.” Colonel Cynthia said after Tom left.
“He's got a stretch of army behind him, active duty, and then a couple years of college, so he's closer to 30 than 20 right now. Come and sit on the edge of my bed, and tell me how your day went.”
The big Russian T-99 Armata fired once and the farm house exploded. Members of the resistance were seen leaving the structure just seconds before the explosion. Anyone inside was dead meat now, and the infantry followed the tread tracks of the big beast to the burning building. There they counted four dead, two wounded, but the injured were shot and that made the number six dead now.
A Black Shark attack helicopter flying overhead dropped lower, and when his Gatling guns were finished firing, there were about fifty more bodies to add to the count.
The radio man called in a body count of 56 partisans.
Ippolit was a happy man! In the last 24 hours he had three Russians dead and 197 members of the resistance were killed. He suddenly had three times the number of partisan bodies than any other commander. Moscow was calling him daily and his star was so close he could almost reach out and touch it.
Taking the radio handset from his radioman, Ippolit said, “Lieutenant, you can sew your promotion on when you return. As of this moment you are a Major, and your Master Sergeant is a Captain.”
Master Sergeant Kovarov, heard the Colonel over the radio and was shocked. He d
idn't know how to be an officer, and he was unsure if he wanted to be one. However, the increase in pay would be nice. He'd take the promotion, as long as he didn't have to commit to additional years before he could retire. As it stood, he'd get out in two years and he'd not spend a minute more on active duty than was necessary.
“Raven 16 to base, did I hear you correctly about promotions?”
“You are now a Major and your senior Sergeant, a Master Sergeant I believe, are both promoted. Your Sergeant is now a Captain. When this operation, code name Hurricane, is complete, I expect you both to be wearing your new rank, Major. Base out.”
Demian looked Kovarov and said, “Did you hear that? I did not even make Senior Lieutenant or Captain, but I am now a Major?”
“Hell, sir, I was lucky to be a Master Sergeant and now I am a Captain. I will take the promotion, because of the increase in pay and no other reason.”
“Master Sergeant, I just saw the sun flash off of something in the woods, oh, 300 meters or so out.” a Private suddenly spoke.
“It may be a sniper or an empty can. Stay alert Private, and return to Russia alive.”
“Saddle up, we need to be moving.” the newly appointed Major said.
As the men and women picked up their heavy packs, a woman on the end suddenly grunted and folded. She then fell to the ground, a bleeding bullet hole right between her breasts. As blood seeped from her body onto her camouflage shirt, her comrades were returning fire.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Captain Kovarov yelled.
The medic moved to the downed Private, looked her over and said, “Her injury is fatal, Master Sergeant.”
“Give her too much morphine then.”
“Yes, sir; in a case like this there is no hope at all.” the medic said as he pulled two syringes of the powerful pain killer from this pouch.
“What about her body?” the medic asked.
“We leave it. I will not call a medical helicopter for a dead body, and carrying her out with us would not be practical.”