by W. R. Benton
Grenades exploded as fighters from both sides fell wounded or dying. Then there was a charge led by Colonel Williamson, which forced the Russians to retreat deeper into the woods. In the matter of a few short minutes the ambush site was busted, and all that remained were dead and seriously wounded from both sides.
Five minutes later, just as the sun was coming up, Corporal Robbins appeared and said, “We have five uninjured, fifteen dead, and another 4 seriously wounded. I've had the radioman contact base and inform them of our situation, and they are deciding what to do right now.”
“I want all Russians treated and given morphine to put them to sleep. Treat them well and place an ace card in the mouth of a couple of their dead.” John said.
No sooner had Robbins walked off than Private Dodds, the radio operator, neared and said, “Headquarters said your special mission is cancelled and it’s been given to someone else. They want us all to return to base for replacements, supplies and gear. They didn't give me any idea what your mission was, but made it clear that you'd know. They said the meeting with your mother had been rescheduled.”
“I know the operation, and tell them we understand my mission is cancelled.” the Colonel said, but thought, I wonder who will go after the Massive Ordnance Air Blast bomb now? Or will I just get a few days off and then go out again?
It was full light now and Robbins returned and said, “Major Xue, Colonel Oliver, and Lieutenant Colonel Simmons are included in our dead, sir.”
“What about Fetters, Allen, and Duke?” Williamson asked, and then felt a wound to his right side. “Medic, when you finish my troops, I need you to look me over, as well. I took something to my side.”
“Those three weren't killed, but all three are lightly wounded.”
A lone rifle shot was heard, but only a split second after the medic was already falling with a bright red spot in the center of his chest. John had watched in fascination as blood, bone and gore exploded from his chest. To him the wound was fatal but it was hard to tell, and he felt weak himself.
“Sniper in the big pine about 100 yards from me and at my two o'clock position.” Fetters yelled. Then, Williamson felt a sharp blow to this chest and down he went, fully unconscious this time.
Many long hours later, Colonel Williamson awoke with a Russian going through his pockets. Then, before he could confront the man, he passed out. When he woke later, the Russian had a small fire burning and he was eating a ration. John hurt, and just to breathe took all the energy he had.
The Russian, a Captain, was leaned back against a tree and looked injured to John, too. The Russian turned his head to meet John's eyes and gave a weak smile. Looking closer, the Colonel saw the Russian was injured too, and they looked to be serious arm and leg wounds. Part of the Russian’s right arm and leg was missing. John knew the partisan unit thought him dead and the Russians must think their man was dead, too.
The Russian made a motion with his fingers to eat and while John was hungry, he was too weak to feed himself. The Captain fed him a few bites from his ration tin, pulled out a canteen and forced some vodka down John's throat. He then gave him two small white pills to take, obviously pain killers of some kind. They both took a pill and then John passed out.
The next morning the Russian Captain said, “Are you Colonel John Williamson? Excuse my English. I went to a military language school to learn, and they did not teach the English very well.”
John saw no reason to deny it, so he replied, “Yes, and you are?”
“Captain Roberta Kovarov. I have looked for you for a long time.”
The Master Sergeant's English had a heavy accent, but John could understand him. It was good the Russian spoke English, because he knew absolutely no Russian.
“What now?” John asked, grimacing as he tried to sit up.
“We both must heal. We cannot fight each other now. I say truce until we are healed, and then we go our separate ways. I fixed you as good as I could, so now can you bandage me? I lost much of my right arm, so my days as a warrior are finished. I am not sure of my leg, but I might lose more of it as well. I was lucky and had a medic work on me right after I was hit. Most of my bleeding has stopped.”
John, feeling he owed the man his life replied, “Yes, I think we need a truce so I can doctor you and you me. Will you need morphine?”
“No, it will make me sleepy. If we see military, we must call them to us, no matter the side. I think we both may die without a hospital. If my army comes, I will not tell them of you or have them leave you alone. Maybe we can have the army that discovers us contact the other army and report we are alive. You will have to get home the best you can if that happens. I expect the same treatment from you.”
“I agree to do the same thing, because we need to trust and depend on each other now. I will say nothing about you if the partisans come first. The snow is falling harder now, so there will be no military looking for either of us. We are both listed as dead, probably, or missing in action.” James said as he moved to help the Captain. It took all his strength to move, but many long minutes later the man was wrapped up. “From the way I feel, we both may be dead in a couple of days as it is, anyway.”
Kovarov said, “I looked at our things as you slept and found we have enough food for ten days if we eat little each day. I have the rations all under the tree with us. Between our two sleeping bags to sleep in, we are fine. I only worry about having a fire at night because our helicopters can see the light and us on their screens. If we live or die is in the hands of God, not us.”
“Da.” John replied, thinking it meant yes. He knew if either of them started bleeding hard again, death was likely. The Captain was a strong man to not be screaming in pain right now.
“So, I dig hole in ground and make fire. Very little light and can be hidden easily.”
“We must rest and heal, but even if not hurt, this is bad weather. We should go no place and stay here. I know I can't move yet.” John said, and then moaned.
“I will give you morphine, if you need it.”
Shaking his head, John said, “No, save it, because your wounds are more serious than mine. We may get injured again and then not have it. I can make do with the pills or alcohol for now.”
It grew silent with each man dealing with their pain as well as they could. The pills took the edge off the hurt but didn't get rid of all of it, so they suffered quietly. At some point during the day, John wasn't sure when, the Captain fed them from a tin of something. It tasted like stew and it was heated, so the taste was surprisingly good. Most of the day both men slept on and off as the snow continued to fall. Often when John woke, the Russian would be mumbling to someone that only he could see.
At some point during the night, John woke and opening one eye, he caught the Russian reading a small pocket book. It took him a few minutes for his pain ridden eyes to see the gold cross pressed into the leather cover. When the man closed the book a few minutes later, he pulled a rosary from his shirt pocket and prayed. While it didn't shock the American, it did concern him, because he didn't think of the Russians as having a religion. He closed his eyes and allowed the man as much privacy as possible as he spoke with God. Before he was aware of it, John was asleep.
The next morning was well below zero and the winds were high. Neither man could do much, because they were stiff and in pain. They shared a canteen cup of hot sweetened tea. Then, for breakfast they shared a few crackers.
Finally, John asked, “Do you have a family?”
“I have a son and was married for years, but she die of, uh, of, I think in English it is called Cansor.”
“Cancer?”
“Yes, they removed one of Olga's breasts, but it did no good. The disease spread and she was dead within a year. My son is my pride and joy. He is in a military school now, and I hope will not be coming here.”
“The war is bad for both sides.” John said, then finished off the now cold tea.
“Yes, it is good men killing good men, b
ut I think if politicians want war in the future, let them fight instead of the warriors in the army.”
Pulling out his wallet, the Captain removed two black and white photos. One was of an obese woman wearing a simple cotton print dress, while the other was of young man who looked like his father. The young man was in a military uniform of some kind.
Pointing at the uniform, John asked, “Army?”
“Yes, he is training with Spetsnaz and will graduate soon. Then he will wear the blue and white striped tee shirt of the group.”
“You must be proud of him.” John found the conversation interesting now.
“I think he will have much troubles in the unit. He is different, and if the Army discovers his secret, he will be sent to a gulag.” Kovarov said.
“He has committed crimes, then?”
“No, he was studying to be a priest, when he discovered he liked men better than women. I have seen male lovers many times before, so I did not find it strange or anything to be ashamed of. To me, some men love women and some love other men. I am not a lover of men, but those that are in Russia are sent to Gulags, where they eventually die of one disease or another, or starve to death.”
“So won't Spetsnaz send him to prison?”
“He will tell no one. He couldn't continue to study to be a priest because in our religion, it is a sin for a man to love a man, or a woman to love a woman. So, I will never have grandchildren. I had a daughter many years ago, but she died of an unknown fever while still young.” He pulled another aged black and while photo from his wallet and said, “She was two when she died, and her name was Eleonora.”
The image showed the Captain as an enlisted man, Junior Sergeant, and he was holding a pudgy little girl wearing a simple cotton dress and a big smile. John had to admit the little girl was cute.
“So, like me, you were once a Sergeant?”
“Yes, but I do some things in the war here and they make me a Captain.”
“I was an Airborne Sergeant for a year or two before this war started but we have many promotions, and I was promoted to Colonel in less than a year.”
“I too jump out of airplanes. Do you have any photos of your family?”
“I have just one taken years before when I was in Ranger Training.” John pulled a small image of his first wife and him standing arms around each other in an NCO club.
“Does she yet live? She is very pretty.”
“No. When America fell, she was raped and killed one day when I was out trading for things we needed.”
“Russians?” Kovarov asked.
“No, it was before your invasion.”
Adding more wood to the fire, the Captain chuckled and then said, “I think Mother Russia has bit off more than she can eat, just by coming here. We will never win this war, but not because we lack the skills. To you Americans it a patriotic war. The average Russian soldier, he or she just wants to serve and then hurry home. If they can get medal or promoted, well, so much the better.”
“We are determined to win this war, and to hell with the cost in material, gear, or lives.”
Kovarov nodded and said, “I know of no war between partisans and an organized army in all of history that the partisans have lost. I think it is because resistance members have the backing of the local people and they help each other.”
Silence.
Finally after a few minutes, John asked, “When will your country leave, then?”
Smiling, the Captain said, “Soon, I hope, but I don't think so. My people are hard-headed and stubborn when it comes to war. By losing my arm, I will be leaving your country as soon as I return. The army has no desire to keep men with just one arm on active duty.”
“I dislike killing, I honestly do, but all the Americans that I know will keep fighting until the Russians are pulled out of America.”
“The Russian Generals think we are at war with farmers, red necks, and cowboys.”
“There are many in our organization that are just like that, but most have been in the military before and have many combat skills. And, most Americans have always had guns too. But, we are all determined to force your military to withdraw.”
The Captain was looking at the old black and white photos of his wife and son. For the first time in his army career, he felt like crying over his family, because he suddenly wanted his Olga back and his son. After all the years faithfully serving Mother Russia, he realized he had nothing to show for all that time that would not fit in a suitcase. He didn't even have a family any more. Then to top it all off, he'd lost most of his right arm and probably most of a leg too.
Seeing his enemy’s eyes watering, John said, “The smoke from our fire irritates my eyes, as well. It burns my eyes and makes them water.”
“Yes, it is the wood smoke.” The Captain wiped his eyes with the backs of his hand.
From what John had just seen, there wasn't much difference between him and his enemy, except the Russians were in America uninvited.
A few minutes later, Captain Kovarov said, “My wounded stub is bleeding again and it's been sewed shut. How can that be?”
“How do you feel?”
“Very weak and sleepy. Of course, I am a bit hungry, but I may feel weak due to the loss of blood. I constantly have pain. I need to sleep, I think.”
John moved to the man, noticed he looked feverish, and felt his head. He had a high fever and was sweating in sub-zero weather. He had the man remove his coat, which took both of them some time to do.
“I need to cauterize your injury,” John said and then added, “and I'd hoped not to do that to either of us.”
“I do not understand your words.”
“Cauterize means to burn or seal the wound with a hot piece of metal, like a knife blade.”
“Yes, now I understand your words. Do what must be done and I will live with the pain.”
“I will give you morphine for this, so let me inject you now.” He pulled the first aid kit closer and opened it. It was filled with different items and all had Russian and English names on them. It was a standard first aid kit. He wondered why the Russians had it labelled in both languages.
Kovarov looked indifferent, but he had some fear. Being burned by a red hot glowing knife was a big deal. He pointed out the syringe of morphine and said, “Use that one.”
John placed the blade of his sheath knife in the flames. He noticed the Russian's lips moving, but heard nothing, so he assumed the man was praying again.
Minutes later he removed the red glowing blade and without warning, pushed the blade against Kovarov's flesh. He watched the man's eyes roll back into his head, until only the whites were seen. He gave a loud moan and then passed out. While he was unconscious, John made sure the wound was closed by smearing him thoroughly. He'd do the leg next.
I didn't give the medication time to work well, John thought. He shouldn't have felt a thing when I burned him.
He then covered him with the two sleeping bags, and catnapped by the small fire most of the morning. He'd sleep a bit, wake up, feed the fire, and then go back to sleep again. It was late afternoon, ten days later, when the men woke to the sound of a helicopter, only it was a good mile away. Both prayed the aircraft would come near, and of course they prayed the chopper belonged to their side.
Chapter 16
The Russian chopper flew past them and sat down in a field about 3 miles distant. The soldiers unloaded and then moved into the forest to get organized. The group was being led by Master Sergeant Ruskovich, and it was a mission to determine if the partisans were using the trails again. They moved slowly and in no hurry, because all they were to do was look around. They were to look five miles up and down the trail and nothing more. They were to remain unseen if at all possible. Each member knew even a simple reconnaissance mission could turn bloody, so each was on guard as they moved.
Ruskovich was well aware that this area was where his friend Kovarov had disappeared just a week or so ago, and he hoped to find some sort of
sign of him, if possible. They'd been friends longer than most of their troops had been alive. While many would have written his friend off as dead, the Master Sergeant knew better because Kovarov was a curly old wolf, who'd been in many battles. If anyone could survive, it would be Kovarov.
Then again, he thought, we often die when and where we least expect it to happen. I have the map marked and will check it later this afternoon.
The Russian troops quickly established a small base camp and they would keep it manned with four troops, as the other six would check the trails. They would move north and then, if sunlight allowed, they would move south. Ruskovich knew if they ran into any resistance larger than a squad they were dead men, but his people were some of the best, if not the best, in the unit. Then tomorrow they'd travel east and west. He didn't expect to see anyone because the position was remote, but when looking for partisans they could pop up at any time. He'd stay on his troops hard, not allowing them to relax one minute, because he wanted all of them to return home alive.
It was still cold and over the last week snow had fallen almost everyday. The trails were covered with a good foot of the white powder, and in some places it was five feet deep. They all wore snowshoes, which meant each evening they'd be tired. Using the shoes all day wore even the strongest of the bunch out, so the rest would really be in sad shape, only they'd still have to stand guard in the middle of the night. Unless it got below zero, they'd guard away from the fire, too. Ruskovich didn't care if his troops liked him or not, because his goal was to take the same group of soldiers back to Russia that he showed up with nine months ago. So far, some had been lightly injured, but none had been killed. He was always proud when he could return with the same group of men and women he'd left Russia with. Only a few times in his career had he been able to do that. Combat against partisans was hard on soldiers.
“Private Olegovna, you are our point person today and I am sure you will do a great job. Yurakov, you are our drag man, stay close enough you can see us at all times.”