by W. R. Benton
Gulping, Vasiliev said, “Yes, sir. Will that be all?”
“No, it will not be all. When you come, I want your chief of Intelligence, uh, Lieutenant Colonel Borisovich, to return home with you. Perhaps the idiot can shed some light on why nuclear weapons were required against a bunch of cowboys and rednecks. If he cannot explain the use, then he will join you in your journey.”
“Yes sir. I will inform the Colonel.” Vasiliev said and felt himself shiver. They will kill us, he thought.
“Now, I am finished. Your travel has the highest priority. Your foolish use of a nuclear weapon against the partisans has shown the world Mother Russia cannot defeat a bunch of peasants by conventional means! Get your ass and that fool you call your chief of intelligence here, and do it now!”
“Yes, sir.”
The phone line suddenly went dead.
The Colonel was shaking violently when he hung up the phone. A minute later he dialed a number and said, “This is Colonel Vasiliev and I want to speak to Colonel Borisovich now.”
“Uh, he is in a meeting, sir.” the Sergeant said.
“Pull him from the damned thing, and do it now. If I have to come over there, everyone working in your intelligence section will be shot.”
“Yes, sir. I will have him for you quickly.”
Three minutes later, “This is Lieutenant Colonel Borisovich. What can I do for you, Colonel?”
After explaining his call from General Faddey, Borisovich didn't say a word.
“Are you still there, Sambor?”
“Yes, of course, sir, but overwhelmed that the General wants our heads. I am sure they are not calling us back home to present us with medals. Damn, this is not good at all.”
“I want you in my office in less than 30 minutes. We need to discuss this in detail to see if we can logically justify the use of the weapon.”
“I think we are both dead men, sir.”
“If we must die, we will do it as Russian soldiers, with our heads held high. Now get over here and do it now.”
“Yes sir, on my way now.” He hung up the phone, turned and yelled, “Driver.”
Standing and snapping to attention, the young man saluted and said, “Yes, sir.”
Walking toward the door, the Lieutenant Colonel said, “Hurry, I need to get to the Base Commander's office and now.”
“Of course, sir.”
Lieutenant Colonel Borisovich sat in his quarters later, drinking vodka. The discussion with Vasiliev had been a waste of time. He was drunk, depressed, and knew once they landed in Moscow they'd be marched in front of a wall and executed. The more he thought about detonating the small nuclear device the more worried he became. According to the Colonel, they both had passage straight to Moscow in less than four hours, and he knew nothing shy of his death would be a good enough reason to miss the flight.
He stood, drained his glass, and then refilled it. He moved to his desk and began writing a short letter to his wife. He wrote a few short paragraphs, signed with love, and then licked the envelope closed. He continued to sit as his desk as he thought of his career up to this point. As he thought of the resistance movement against them, he knew the Russians could never win. The biggest weapons the Americans had was stubbornness, unity, and pride in country. He'd heard more than one American go to their death singing their National Anthem or the pledge of allegiance to a flag of a country that no longer existed. Russia would never break the American spirit.
Whispering a short prayer, begging for forgiveness, Lieutenant Colonel Borisovich pulled his pistol, slipped the safety off, and placing the barrel against his ear, he pulled the trigger. His shot was loud in the small room, and a few minutes later his enlisted aide opened the door to find his boss dead and the wall behind him splattered with blood, brains, and shards of skull.
Growing sick to his stomach, the Sergeant puked, wiped the vomit from his mouth and called the base Commander.
“Colonel Vasiliev's quarters.” an enlisted aide said.
“Ian, Sergei; Colonel Borisovich just killed himself. I think I need to speak to the Commander, and now.”
“Damn, he has had a lot to drink this evening. Let me get him to the phone.”
Many long minutes later, Sergei heard, “Colonel Vasiliev here and what is this about Lieutenant Colonel Borisovich killing himself?” His voice was tired and his words slurred.
“It is true, sir, because I am standing beside his body right now. I have called no one else but you, sir.”
“Are you sure he is dead?”
“Very sure, sir half his brain is on the wall behind him.”
“Contact the medics and have them collect his body. This way the coward can go home a hero, but in a metal box.”
“Yes, sir, I will do that. Is that all, sir?”
“For right now. I want you to go through his things, pack them for shipment home, and see the new Commander gets him a medal. No, forget the last part of that about the medal; I will do that before I leave this morning.”
“Good night, sir, and have a pleasant journey home.”
“Right.” the Colonel said and then hung up the phone. He moved to his desk and began writing out a recommendation for a medal for his dead intelligence officer. Maybe he had the right idea with suicide, but I do not think I can kill myself over something like this. I will take my chances in Moscow, he thought as he started filling out forms.
At 0400 hours, Colonel Vasiliev had his suitcases placed in his car, and climbed in the back seat for his ride to the Jackson Air Base to catch a 0600 hours flight to Moscow. They drove out the front gate and he never looked back. The drive from Edwards was short, but halfway there the motorcycle in front of his car suddenly went down and the rider rolled into a ditch. Gun fire opened up a whole line of bullet holes that worked their way across the side of the car. With it's driver now dead, the car slammed into a ditch and instantly came to a complete stop. Reaching over the seat, Vasiliev grabbed a Bison sub machine gun, four magazines, and two grenades from his dead driver. He then opened the door on the opposite side of incoming fire and exited.
He had a small hand-held radio, and pushed the transmission button, “Base Ops, this is Commander Vasiliev and I'm under heavy ground fire. I need fire support about half way to Jackson.”
“Uh, copy, sir. Wait one, while I see what I have in the air near you.”
The motorcycle riding behind him went down and the rider rolled and rolled to almost the back bumper of the staff car. The Private came to a stop and then quickly crawled behind the car. He glanced at the Colonel and said, “We are in big trouble, huh, sir?”
“Maybe not. I am arranging for some aircraft to come to our aid. If you see anything that gives you a clear shot, take it, but go easy on your ammo.”
“Sir, I have three helicopters; two are Kamov Ka-50, "Black Sharks,” and the other is a Navy Kamov Ka-27 helicopter. As the Black Sharks attack the ground forces, the rescue aircraft will land on the highway. Do not approach the aircraft until a crewmember comes to you. Do you understand, sir?”
“Copy, what kind of wait do I have? I can see them moving toward me now.”
“Three minutes at the most.”
The motorcyclist raised and then threw one of his grenades, smiling when it exploded in the middle of a group of people. Once again the incoming small arms fire grew strong.
Overhead a Black Shark pilot said, “Get your head down, sir, I am rolling in hot from east to west.”
The Colonel pulled the Private down and yelled to be heard. “Helicopters are coming to our rescue, so get down and stay down.”
The Private was scared but not as scared as he thought he'd be under fire. He'd often wondered if he'd fight or run. He knew now he had no place to run, so fighting back was his only option.
There came a sound like a gigantic zipper being pulled down quickly and the Colonel knew a 30 MM cannon had opened up, sending dirt, rocks and pieces of bodies high into the air. Screams were heard as the helicopter
banked for an even lower run this time.
It looked like a thousand guns firing at the Black Shark, but he knew there were only a hundred or less. It was still an hour before dawn and he was growing worried, because he could not miss this flight. After the second run on the partisans, the second helicopter arrived, and with it came the rescue aircraft. While both Black Sharks worked on the partisans on the ground the rescue pilot didn't flinch and landed in the middle of the highway. A crewmember ran to them, then all three moved for the rescue bird. About half way there the Colonel and the crewmember went down, both by small arms fire. The motorcyclist pulled the two men to the chopper and threw them inside. He climbed in and when the copilot looked at him, he gave a thumb up.
Just as power was applied to the aircraft and the tail came up as the nose went down, the motorcyclist heard one of the pilots yell, “Missile!”
The man reached for a knob between the seats, but before he could touch it, the chopper exploded into flames. Still not buckled in, the motorcyclist was knocked out of the aircraft by the blast and landed in the grass of the median as the helicopter continued to move forward for another 200 feet. It then rolled on it's left side and fell to earth, creating a huge reddish-black oily fireball when it struck. As the fuel went up, oxygen cylinders and ammunition started cooking off, too. Suspecting all the Russians had been killed on the burning helicopter, the Black Sharks began shooting at anything moving or seen. Thirty minutes later, they radioed the base and were told to return to base to refuel and rearm. As they moved toward the base, they passed over a rescue convoy moving toward the Colonel's car.
“Black Shark one, this is Base Actual.” the convoy Commander said.
“Go, Actual.”
“I am in the convoy, so I want both of you back overhead as quickly as you can be.”
“Copy Actual, and you can depend on us.”
“Good.” Colonel Gleb said. As the acting Base Commander, here was his chance to show Moscow what he could do as a Commander. He picked the radio up, changed the frequency and said, “I want the tank, when we arrive, to pull up beside Colonel Vasiliev's car. The rest of you quickly get your troops out of the trucks and in defensive positions. This is our chance, men, to shine for Moscow.”
He didn't hear the laughter and catcalls his last sentence brought.
When he spotted the oily fire from the helicopter, Gleb pulled his flask and took a long pull. He knew the bodies would be charred and positive identification would be done using DNA and dental records. He usually got sick easily after a battle if dealing with bodies. Now, due to his rank, he could avoid much because it made little sense for him, as the acting Commander, to be looking at dead people.
They pulled up beside the rear of the wrecked staff car and troops began jumping from the deuce and a half trucks.
Knowing most of his troops were green, Colonel Gleb called out, “Watch out for mines or trip wires. Do not touch any —”
A loud explosion was heard, followed by screams. When the Colonel glanced in the direction of the sound, he had half a dozen men down and all were shrieking. Three medics ran toward them, but one stepped on a toe-popper and took most of the load from a12 gauge shell in the lower stomach. As he fell, his screams joined the rest.
“I want Explosive Ordance Disposal (EOD) to sweep this area before we go another foot toward the crash site. I suspect everything, the gear and even our dead comrades, is mined.” Gleb yelled as his EOD members moved forward slowly.
They began to disarm and place the mines on the road. They found a stack of cheap but effective mines around the area. Toe poppers were found in all calibers of ammunition, and they were the most common. All was going well, until the motorcyclist that was knocked from the helicopter by the blast sat up and yelled for help. He was in pain from burns, two bullet holes, and severe bruises. Two medical technicians moved for the man at a run and just before they reached him, one technician disappeared in a flash of bright red flame and white light. He'd stepped on a Russian anti-personnel mine and was dead before he had time to worry. The other technician froze in place.
“EOD, clear a walkway for that medic!” the Colonel ordered and then added, “And place what is left of the other medic in a body bag.”
“I want my medical personnel to remove the bodies from the helicopter, now! Move and let's get them in body bags, and return to base.”
“Colonel, you need to stop giving orders and being so animated when you talk. If the partisans have a sniper around, he will know you are the boss, sir.” Captain Valery Polzin said in an attempt to get the Colonel under control. Snipers often waited to shoot so their first shot takes out the senior person, because it creates chaos.
Getting right in the Captain's face, Gleb shouted, “I am in charge here, Captain, not you! Now come to attention and salute me. Now!”
“Sir, I think this is dangerous.” the Captain replied, and then snapped to attention and saluted his Colonel.
“I'll teach you to respect a senior —”
Captain Polzin was looking right in the Colonel's eyes when he heard a bullet zing past his ear and he saw it strike the Commander in the middle of his chest. The shot had been made behind the Captain and the round punched a hole through the Colonel's chest, throwing blood, bone and gore out his back. The bullet hit the concrete on the roadway, ricocheted, and struck a Private in the groin. Both men fell.
A doctor who was supervising the removal of the remains of Colonel Pasha Vasiliev, ran to the Commander and started treating him. Before the Captain could say a word, there was the sound of another shot and the doctor fell forward, dead before he ever saw the Colonel's injury. He'd taken a round in the neck, right where his throat met his torso. The bullet blew most of his spine away.
A Senior Sergeant yelled, “Place the Commander and the doctor in the ambulance, you fools, as the attacking aircraft force the partisans to hunt a hole! Load them both now!”
“Base Actual, this is Black Shark 1, and I have returned. Do you need any assistance at this time?” the attack helicopter pilot asked.
“Yes, be advised Base Actual is wounded. I am Base 2. South of us from the highway is a grove of wood; we have a sniper about half the distance down the tree line.”
“I hear you, and I have some fast movers around too, so let me make a pass and then I will send them to work over the same area.” Just as the chopper banked the pilot said, “I have the trees in sight and starting my run now.”
Empty brass fell from the belly of the helicopter as he used his Gatling guns on the tree line. As he pulled up and gained altitude, he radioed, “Now come the fast movers with some napalm for our partisan friends.”
The jets came over the trees low and as they moved, what looked like fuel tanks separated and tumbled into the trees. A huge splash of fire was suddenly moving like a wave from the momentum of the storage containers. The flames stretched out a good 50 meters or more and then fell on the forest below. While the jet pilot didn't hear the screams of the partisans, the folks on the ground did.
“Black Shark 1, Badger 2, we took some ground fire down there, almost dead center of the trees. I am making another pass.”
“Go, and good hunting.”
With it's siren blaring the ambulance took off at a great speed to reach the hospital.
While the ambulance was leaving and more napalm was being dropped on the partisans, a Master Sergeant walked to Captain Polzin and said, “We need to leave here, sir, and immediately. The winds have shifted to our direction and I am showing a radioactive reading on my dosimeter.”
“Oh, God, no! Not with all the men that are here.” the Captain said, and wondered what to do next.
Chapter 3
I glanced around the meeting room meeting the eyes of each man there, knowing nuking the Russians was all they'd understand. As Willy once told me, the Russians were vicious; all they respected was when they met an adversary more barbarous than them. I think it was time for a payback and with aces, too.
>
“Captain, we don't need to get a tactical nuke on the base to destroy Edwards Air Base. The town is close enough. As every man in this room knows, the nuke will flatten everything for miles around, including the military complex. But, if the General is determined to place the bomb on the base, I have an attractive woman that might do the job.” I said.
“Well that is a valid point, and it may be our best option, because I think it can be camouflaged near the base or in town easier than getting it through base security. Let me speak with the General about this. Now, we'd prefer to have the suitcase delivered by a unit that knows Edwards well, so that means it's down to two Colonels. While we don't want to use a Colonel, I see no other choice. Anyone want to volunteer?” he asked, looking at me and Colonel Wilcox. I knew Wilcox would never volunteer for a mission like this, but he'd go if ordered.
“The 'Aces' will do it and with pride. The only problem I see is how do we warn the civilians of the coming explosion?” I asked.
“They cannot be informed, and that's a direct order from the General. No one but you and your troops are to know when, or where, the suitcase is left.”
“Good God, you don't expect me to blow all those innocent people to hell and back without warning them, do you?” I was shocked, and started to stand.
“Sir, we can't afford to let the Russians know what we are planning to do. At first we started to nuke the airport and base at Jackson, but since most of the Russians important supplies come in there by air, we need it working. It's much the same with Vicksburg, but it's mostly clothing and food coming down the Mississippi. Much of our needed gear is stolen from the Russians as it leaves one of those two facilities. But all of this may change.”
Wilcox said, “I don't see any way to tell our civilians to leave without compromising our tactical nuclear weapon. If the Russians even suspect what we're doing, the bastards will bring even more people from the gulags to force us to kill them, too. I hate to say it, John, but the General is right on this one.”
“Now I know how the pilot that bombed Hiroshima, Japan, felt, except at least he was killing civilians in an enemy nation. We'll be killing our own people.”