by W. R. Benton
“Xue, you and I will check out the house and then return. I want the rest of you to remain here, until one of us comes to get you. I have an uneasy feeling about this place. Something is not right or I'd not be this cautious. Okay, let's go, Xue.”
The two men walked slowly toward the barn and both held their weapons ready.
“That's close enough.” a voice said when they were near the barn doors.
They stopped.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?”
John told them about the chopper attack and how they'd been reduced in size. He stated he was instructed by Base to go to the barn. His uneasy feeling was made worse when the man claimed they'd not been notified.
“I'm Colonel John Williamson and this man beside me is Major Xue, and he's my Chinese liaison officer. He's an American too, so he speaks fluent English.”
“I'm, uh, Lieutenant Colonel Nelson Rutherford.”
“No one contacted you?|”
“Not a soul has called us and we've not spoken to anyone since we called our position in last night.”
They should have called in this morning too, John thought and met the eyes of Xue, who gave him a questionable look.
“Let us return for our people and we'll be right back.”
“You do that, and we'll put some tea on to boil.”
As they moved back to the survivors, Xue said, “His English is perfect, but my guess is they're not Americans. He didn't call Base this morning to report in? That's a daily chore, no matter where you're at.”
“Not many of us drink tea either, but they might be out of coffee. I suspect the man talking to us is a Copperhead.” John said.
“Copperhead? I've never heard that expression before.”
“It's a kinder word for traitor. They're Americans, but they side with the Russians. While their numbers are few, they have led to a large number of dead and injured.”
“What now? I saw at least two squads of men and women in there and if they're all with the Russians, then we're grossly outnumbered.”
Nearing his people, John said, “Gather around me and listen closely. The barn is occupied, but not by Americans. Now, this is what we're going to do.”
After discussing their next move, he called Base and learned that the unit that was previously using the barn had left. As far as the Base knew, the closest friends to John and his group was a squad size unit about five miles to their south. The call just confirmed his feelings, and he was certain the group in the barn were Russians.
Five minutes later the group moved for the barn. Private Carol Allen was leading them and she held her flamethrower at the ready. Like most partisans, they looked untrusting and ready for war. The man who'd spoken to John minutes earlier stepped from the barn, smiling.
When about ten feet from the man, Carol pointed her flamethrower at him and squeezed the trigger. A long finger of hot flames shot from the nozzle and struck the man at the door in the middle of his torso, and then splattered to cover most of his body. A loud scream was heard over the sound of burning fuel being forced from the tanks on Carol's back. The man began to run, but all ignored him as Carol kicked the door open and began to spread flames from right to left, and then back again. Screams, hideous cries, were heard as the hot flames struck men and women. Carol released the trigger and closed the barn door. She took the lock, which was hanging on the hasp, and closed it. It was now in a locked position. As she moved, flames dripped from the nozzle of the flamethrower, to land on the hard packed soil of the barnyard.
Fists were heard pounding frantically on the door, but even if they wanted to help them, the lock was closed now and no one had the key. Those inside were doomed to death by fire.
John then had his people spread out and they waited for the Russians to make a break for safety. They didn't have long to wait, because there must have been well over a thousand bales of dried hay in the barn, with most being in the loft. In just a few minutes the barn was covered in flames. Two men in Russian uniforms were seen in the loft as they prepared to jump, only they were cut down before they could grab the rope on a pulley that was used to raise things to the loft window. One man fell back into the flames while the other fell from the window and struck the hard packed soil of the barnyard with a loud thud.
Explosions were heard as the munitions carried by the group exploded due to the intense heat of the fire. The horrid screams of those burning to death gradually lost volume as the trapped Russians were consumed by flames or died breathing smoke. Small arms fire was heard as some decided to die with less pain. While the dying could not be seen, the horrific sounds and smell made even John feel sorry for them, but only for a minute or two. Then he remembered it was his job to kill Russians and anyway he could.
The smell of more than twenty bodies burning grew too strong, and Simmons began to gag and puke. After she vomited her last meal, dry heaves struck her and she began to gag and moan. She was gasping hard and John watched her, expecting her to pass out.
His eyes watering from gagging, Xue said, “Can we move upwind a little ways? This smell is so nasty.”
“Fetters, I want you on point and let's head back to our base. I think the Russians will send someone to check on these folks once they strop hearing from them. I know —”
The group heard two shots and Duke yelled, “I just dropped two that crawled out from under the rear wall of the barn. Looks like a spot a dog might have dug so he'd be able to come and go even with the door locked.”
Private Carol Allen moved to that side of the building and squirted enough of the sticky flames to ensure the hole would no longer be used. More screams were heard as their last chance to escape filled with flames. Both those inside and outside the building knew the Russians were doomed.
“Head north, Fetters, and let's go at a quick walk. I expect the Russians to be pissed about this, and heaven help those partisans near here when the brown stuff hits the fence.” John said and then added, “Great job, Carol.”
Black oily smoke rose high in the sky and was telling the tale of a mass killing of humans. John expected vultures to be flying overhead by evening and feeding on those bodies laying in the barnyard. While most of the dead were consumed by flames, three or four bodies were laying outside the barn. Those dead would feed a large number of the long necked birds. For some reason, just thinking about the birds made him shiver. He always found vultures disgusting and nasty, but knew they had a place in the world.
Dusk came, and they moved away from the trail and placed mines around them for better security. They'd all sleep sitting up, back against back in a rough circle. Most had old MREs without a heater and the rations were older than they were. John ate his knowing it would give him indigestion, but he only had one choice, eat what he had or go hungry. He knew he needed the energy from the high calorie food, so he'd eat it, indigestion or not.
Right at dark the radio squawked and a few minutes later the radioman handed the handset to him.
“Badger One, over.”
“Be advised that we have a classified, in code, message that will be sent to you in a few minutes. We have gained access to a Russian play book. Also, there is a big Russian Operation going down as we speak. You can expect them to be very active and working in collaboration with tanks and choppers. Over.”
“Copy. I am moving back to base to resupply and find replacements for my dead. We'll rest overnight there and then leave in the morning. Later, I will head north for a few days of hunting and fishing.”
“Good luck on your hunting. I understand that earlier today you bagged your limit, Badger One. Base Actual was very pleased. He told me to tell you, 'Great hunting'.”
An hour later, Duke, who was carrying the radio neared and said, “The folks at our main base think the Russians are going to drop a GBU-43/B Massive Ordnance Air Blast (MOAB) bomb in the next few weeks and near here. They have broken the Russian code and they feel they will be ready in seven to ten days.”
�
�Ain't that often called the Mother Of All Bombs, or something like that? I think it was the largest conventional bomb the United States had before the fall.” Xue asked.
“It was the biggest conventional bomb at 21,600 pounds, and it's huge. The explosive yield is similar to that of a small tactical nuclear weapon, which means we don't want to be here when it hits. They are so big, they have to be dropped by cargo type aircraft, like our old C-130. They have requested you prepare an attack plan to blow the bomb in place at the Saint Louis International Airport or at Fort Leonard Wood. It all depends how quickly they move it. They've told me a chopper will be here for you, Xue, and any other two members of our organization.” Duke said, and then met the Colonel's eyes. The young man clearly didn't like the orders and hoped the Colonel didn't select him to go along. He also knew if asked, he'd go with the man because he respected his Commander.
John knew he had no choice in the matter; the order was lawful, so he didn't argue.
“I want Fetters, because he's experienced, and Oliver, he's back at the main base. I need Oliver because he's fluent in Russian. Oh, and I want Simmons too.”
Duke said, “They are to leave with you too, or whoever you choose. The chopper will arrive at 0500 in the morning, so you're to be in that big field to our west about 100 yards from here, in the morning. Two choppers will arrive, but you'll leave first. The second is to take us back to our forward operation base (FOB) where we'll stand down unless needed. Good luck is all I can say. I'd not want to be in your shoes, and damned glad you didn't pick me to go with you. I'm as brave as the next man, but that sounds like a suicide mission to me.”
“I don't like the idea much myself, but the order is lawful, so I'll do my best and see what happens.”
Early the next morning, Xue talked the helicopter pilot to the ground and all went smoothly because he could speak Chinese. John later discovered the pilot knew little English. He jumped in the cargo compartment, sat on a red nylon seat, and quickly fastened his seat belt. A crew member handed him a headset with microphone so he could speak to the pilot, but he gave it to Xue. Seconds later, they pulled up a few feet, the nose dipped a little and the chopper began to move forward and up.
Less than two hours later, they landed in Texas. The Colonel was never told where in the state they were but the countryside reminded him of Lubbock, Texas. All he could see was desert and tumble-weeds by the billions. He knew if he walked off base, he'd encounter countless rattlesnakes, cactus, horn toads, scorpions, and sand.
He was taken to his room by a bored Airman, who picked up a Western paperback book anytime he had to wait. John had gone by the commissary and picked up some food, the class VI store for a bottle of Jack Daniels, and then went to visit the commander of his mission, General Levi Hipps. He'd brief the Colonel later in the day, at 1500 hours, in his office. The driver, John discovered, was an aspiring Western Fiction author named James N. Vest, but his nick name was 'Six-Gun.” His pen name came from his reading genre. He told the Colonel he'd written over a dozen books but there was no place to publish them.
After living where he had out in the field, the bachelor officers quarters for Full Colonels was nice, very nice. He had a king size bed, stocked bar, candy, and bottle of champagne up near the pillow, compliments of the Sergeant running the place. Dolly was already stretched out on the bed and sleeping. He was surprised when he turned on the television to get an American channel and Russian one.
There was a light tapping at his door and when he opened it, there stood Xue and Simmons, both officers, so they were all housed in the same building, just different rooms.
“Come on in and have a drink. I know you want one. I'll have to decline in joining you, since I have a meeting with the General later today. I don't want to meet the man smelling of alcohol.”
When they entered, the first words from Simmons was, “Wow, what a nice room, and with a bar, too.”
“Rank has it's privileges or so I'm told.” John said and then grinned. “Have a seat and remember that in the morning you'll be briefed on our mission. I learned enough about it when I met with the General earlier to know it's not only dangerous, it's probable we'll not all survive. I didn't know that Cynthia will be joining us, but she'll arrive later today at some point. She's not part of the mission, other than administrative assistance here, and has no need to know of our mission.”
Dolly moved to Simmons, who began to scratch her ears.
“This is the first real base I've been on that was taken from the Russians. It runs like a normal base did 20 years ago.” Colonel Oliver said.
“Plenty of comfort, that's for sure. Chow at the Officers Club starts at 1700 hours and I intend to have me a large steak, if possible. I'll bring a second steak back here for Dolly.” John said with a grin.
Colonel John Williamson would have and enjoy his medium rare beef steak, but it would be his last one for a long time. He and his crew were about to enter the lion's den, where death could visit any second and in many forms. But, for tonight he'd have supper with with his lovely Cynthia and their friends. Tomorrow was a new day and as he learned as a partisan, tomorrow would never come for some of them.
“Colonel Williamson, we have managed to locate five Russian-Americans who are fluent in speaking the language and willing to accompany you on this mission. I'd say the odds of all of you surviving are almost zero, but we must, at all costs, eliminate the bomb before it can be used. The GBU-43/B Massive Ordnance Air Blast bomb is essentially a nuke without the radiation. We know there is only one in the shed, and the Russians have less than six total. They are stored at unknown locations.”
“Why not use a smart bomb on the building?”
“The Chinese have no bombs that can hit a small building with any accuracy or consistency. This bomb is stored essentially in what looks like a shed, but it's re-enforced steel and concrete. You can blow the lock on the door with C4, Thermite grenade. or use bolt cutters. You'll be issued all three, and you'll also be given satchel charges. I need you to study the layout of the base and then determine how you will be attacking. The bombs are safe and when you destroy them, the bombs will not go off, unless primed by a bomb team.”
“Are you sure? I don't want to be near those things if they go off. How much time do I have to prepare, General?”
“Twenty-four to forty-eight hours is all the time I can give you and while I know that's not much, that's all.”
Chapter 15
“A bounce. . . bouncing what?” the Private asked, his fear obvious. His eyes were wide and filled with emotion. He looked in all directions near his feet.
“Whatever you do, do not move yet. A bouncing Betty. When stepped on, they go up about two or three meters in the air, and then explode. When they go off, they throw steel in all directions. I'm going to clear a way to you, and I want you to do exactly what I tell you to do.”
The Sergeant then pulled his knife and showed them how to check for mines. By inserting the blade into the soil at an angle, it would make a noise and the mine would be felt if the tip of the knife blade struck metal. He soon cleared a path to the Private beside the bouncing Betty.
“Now, walk back to the trail in my footsteps if you can see them, Private. I want you other two to clear your way back like I did with my knife.”
They soon cleared a way out of the mine field.
“The next time you fools have to pee, do it right where you are waiting. I know we have women with us, but you have nothing they have not see before. Being modest is fine, but a little embarrassment is better than being dead. Let us move. Junior Sergeant Slavavich, you're still on point.” the Captain said. They saw nothing else the whole day and it was as if they were in an area the resistance didn't value, or maybe further north than the partisans covered. Mines were now found all over the place, only that didn't mean the partisans were near.
Dusk came too soon, and they were soon sitting back to back eating their meals of cold rations. A light snow began to fall and the
temperature quickly turned colder. Two Claymore mines were in place and some anti-personnel mines were planted. After eating their rations, all went to sleep except the guard, who would wake his relief in an hour. Sitting in the circle like they were, they could see 360 degrees, and wearing NVGs they could see almost as well as during the day. For the time being, they were safe.
It was near 0600 hours when Captain Kovarov was elbowed in the back by someone on guard behind him. Since he slept with his NVGs on, he slowly turned his head. The falling snow was thicker now, a good two inches on the ground, and ambient air temperature was slightly below freezing. He made out the image of a man after a few minutes, because he had to wait for the person to move before he was able to see them. The American moved slowly, concentrating on not stepping on a mine or being seen.
Once the point man was passed the kill zone, the Russians waited for the bulk of the group to be in front of them. When the main body was seen, Kovarov squeezed the clacker and the noise of the Russian Claymore, the MON-50 Mine, exploding was deafening. Then Master Sergeant Ruskovich's mine exploded a split second behind the captain’s. Screams filled the air as people fell to the ground with most being seriously wounded. Then, a grenade landed among the Russians.
“Grenade!” Colonel Williamson yelled and then hugged the ground closer.
Kovarov picked up the grenade to toss it away and when it exploded, it instantly removed his right arm between the shoulder and elbow. He felt a slight pain in his right leg and on the same side of his face. At that point the fight turned savage, with no quarter given and none asked. A medic was on his wounds in a few seconds, as tracers zipped just inches above their head. A tourniquet was placed on the stubs of the Captain's arm and leg.
Since the Americans were not on the trail, but walking within sight of it, the angle of the mines was all that saved most of the partisans lives. What should have taken out a good 90% of the resistance fighters, only 30% were down and their training taught them to attack the ambushers, but they were greatly outmanned.