by W. R. Benton
The Chaplain, said, “We'll pray for you, and I feel what you are doing will help free our nation some day. God truly knows you are no murderer in your heart, John. I know you and have for years, so let this concern over the civilians go, and complete your mission. He will understand.”
“Uh, okay, I guess. When and where do I pick this suitcase up?” I was still not comfortable with this mission, only because of the civilians.
“I will give you a map with a spot marked on it. You will meet there in two days. Once you have the bomb, do not hesitate, and move immediately to Edwards. I will say this much as a warning to you, once you insert the key and enter the code, we have no way of turning it off. It will detonate at the time you have set. So, give yourselves enough time to clear maybe 10 miles, and keep moving. Where you hide the bomb is up to you. From what I was told, our bomb has a blast radius of 8 miles.”
I nodded, not real pleased that I'd soon murder a couple hundred thousand people. The population was less now than before the war, but what right did I have to kill these people in order to avenge our nation? I was confused, angry, and more than a little scared. No, not scared of dying, but of being caught before I could set the timer. If I had to kill innocents, I damned sure wanted to smoke all the Russians I could.
“Any questions?” the Captain asked.
Silence.
“Remember gentlemen, this briefing is classified Top Secret. That concludes my presentation and sir, I need to speak with you privately, if I may.” he said as he approached me.
“What can I do for you now, Captain?” I asked, suddenly not liking this man, but I knew he was only speaking for the old man. This was what the General wanted, not this young officer.
“Sir, the General said when you moved into town with your bomb, only you and two others are to go. He wants no screw-ups, and too large of a group will draw attention and maybe compromise your mission. This mission must happen, sir.”
I gave a loud sigh, shook my head and said, “Okay, I'll do the best I can to set this thing off. Where will I get the code to arm the beast, and the key?”
Opening his briefcase, he handed both to me and said, “Guard those with your life. We have no others and it took a long time to make these.”
Then it dawned on me, “We don't even know if these will work, do we?”
“Uh, well, no we don't. But, according to the nuclear scientists working on the other bomb, this should work fine.”
“Should? Shit, should? The General is willing to sacrifice the lives of my men and women with a piece of equipment that should work? I'm not real pleased with this. Nonetheless, I can see where the old man is coming from. Let him know the Aces will not let him down, Captain.” I could fully understand the General's situation, but I didn't like being the group that had to do the job. What if I lost a bunch of folks, only to have the bomb malfunction later? As an old military man, I knew the order was legal, so I had no choice but to do what I was told.
“If it makes you feel better, there is a 99% chance the key and code will work. But, remember, once the timer is set, you need to move your ass, and fast, too.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, when you return to your people you'll find a woman named Captain Carol Logan with you. She has been trained on this bomb and will do the key programming. Now, have her teach you, if time allows, how to do the job, in case she is wounded or killed. It's not difficult, but she's also been trained to use alternate ways to explode the weapon, and a couple of those methods will take her life. No, she is not on a suicide mission, but she can make the thing work in most cases.”
“Any more surprises?” I asked and decided right then, I'd take good care of Carol Logan.
“No, I think we've pretty well covered all the bases.” the Captain said. Extending his hand, we shook as he said, “Good luck, and God bless you, sir.”
When I returned to my people, I discovered Carol Logan sitting on a stump, just inside a forest of pine, oak and hickory. When I neared, she stood and started to salute.
“As you were, Captain; we don't come to attention, salute, or usually call folks by rank, especially in the field. Either of the three can get the senior person killed.”
“Uh, then what do I call you, sir?”
“John is good enough. Do you have much field experience?”
Lowering her head, she replied, “No, not at all, and this will be my first mission.”
I liked what I saw of her. I guessed she was about about five feet and maybe eight inches tall. She wore her blonde hair short, was as thin as the rest of us, her green eyes reflected intelligence, and overall I was impressed. She was wearing a Russian field uniform and wore white cloth wrapped around her left arm to identify her as a partisan. Like most women in the field, she wore no makeup or perfumes.
“Do you have what you need for about a week? I mean in food and ammo for your weapon?”
“Yes, I'm carrying a Russian Bison and I know how to use it. I have a mix of American MRE's and Russian rations.”
“Medical supplies? First aid kit?”
“I have all I'll need, and I have some bottles of morphine to give your medic. These bottles are in case we have to leave anyone behind, including me.”
So, now they want no one left behind alive, I thought and realized our mission was an important one. “Okay, my medic is Marsha Wied, and she was a Nurse Practitioner prior to the fall. What'd you do prior to the fall? Any military service experience? Come with me now and I'll introduce you to my people.”
“I spent a tour in the Marines, got out and went to school using my G.I. Bill.” she said as we neared the group.
“Alright, everyone gather around. We've been assigned a special mission. And, to help us complete our mission, we're taking Captain Logan along. Captain Logan is a prior Marine, so she's well qualified. You can all meet and chat with her after this. Wied, you need to see her because she has some medication for you. Two days from now we're to meet at a farm house south of here, where we will get the tools we need to do a job and be told exactly where our job is located. That's all I know, and when I get more information, if you need to be told, I'll pass it along. We leave two hours before dawn, so I suggest all of you get some hot food in you and then some sleep.”
I was beat and twice the age of some of my troops. I was very lucky because most of them got along well with each other. I'd seen some units in the past where one or two people were always causing trouble. I missed my old life with my wife and the home we had. I'd had it all then, but really didn't appreciate anything. When I returned from my last tour in the sandbox, I got out and started losing interest in politics completely. Some of our politicians were dumber than a box of mud, and I wondered how they kept being reelected. A few of the old fools had been in public office for over fifty years, and I wouldn't have voted for them as a dogcatcher, much less a Congressman or Senator. I think in retrospect, I should have followed politics much closer than I did. I later heard of corruption from many small city councilmen all the way up to the President. Hardly a man or woman in office at the time that didn't have a price, so all could be bought.
I walked out the back door of the house and sat on the top step. I then opened an MRE and fed Dolly some of the hamburger patty, parts of my cookie, and all the crackers. Then I opened a full ration and fed it all to her. She served a valuable service to us, having saved our bacon a number of times when we'd almost walked into ambushes. She was even promoted to the rank of Sergeant and had two rations a day issued to her, just like the troops did.
The next morning at 0400 hours we walked from the safe house moving south by west. Mary was carrying the map, while Stevens counted our paces. Stevens was a likable man, who claimed before the fall he'd been obese weighing over 350 pounds, but now he'd be lucky to weigh 135. He was a tall man, close to seven feet tall and black. His kinky hair was worn short, his mind was active, and he had an excellent eye for spotting booby-traps and mines. Like most of us from the Sout
h, he had a great sense of humor, loved fresh beef when we could get it, and killed every cannibal he could find. I liked the man, but as the Commander of the Aces I couldn't get too close to any of my troops.
The winds were light, blowing to the northeast so radiation would not fall around us. I carried a dosimeter, which was Russian, and it read zero. We set a good pace and were moving well. The sky was partly cloudy and I prayed for rain.
After a couple of hours I glanced at Logan to see how well she was doing. She knew I was seeing how well she was holding out. She gave a me a quick wink and a big smile.
For some reason that bothered me. Oh, I'd had women come on to me since I'd been with the partisans, but my wife had only been dead a few short months. Besides, I was old enough to be her father. I nodded at her and she gave me a thumbs up.
It was when we stopped for our noon break that Logan sat down beside me and asked, “Is it true your wife died fighting the Russians?”
“Yes, she did; her name was Sandra and she was a nurse.”
“I'm sorry to hear that. I've never married, can't have kids, so I've never had any, but I did adopt a boy before the fall. I was a regional manager for a large restaurant chain and making good money at the time.” She pulled a Russian ration from her pocket and began opening the containers.
“Uh, what happened to your son?”
“Oh, one night, maybe a month after the fall I had two men and a woman break into my home. They all three boasted of how they'd use me and kill me when they were finished. I was still in bed, because they'd climbed in the open window in the kitchen. One held a knife to my son's throat and I knew then, no matter what I gave them, we were both going to die.”
Wrapped up in her story I asked, “What happened then?”
“I pulled a 9 mm pistol I kept under my pillow and shot all three of them, only not before the man holding my son cut his throat. When I got out of bed, I shot two in the head, but saved the one that killed my son. He'd taken a round low and in his gut, so the odds were good he'd survive long enough. I moved to my boy, Steve, and I held his hand as he bled out. By then there were no hospitals or 911 any longer. The week before, I'd been invited to join a partisan group, but turned the offer down to care for my son.”
“What happened to the man that was wounded?”
“I doused him and the walls of my home with gasoline. Then, I tossed in a burning rag and burned the place down, but the wounded man must have died or was unconscious, because I heard no screaming. I listened for a long time but heard nothing. I felt cheated in my quest for revenge. I then buried my son and you know the rest of my story.”
Her story and others like it were all too common. “I don't know which is worst, fighting the Russians or the scum on the streets. I knew when the fall happened that bad folks would soon come out of the walls like cockroaches at night to rape, plunder, and kill. I just never realized how many there would be. I lost my first wife when she was raped and killed by some thugs, while I was out trading for what we needed, and for years I blamed myself. I've finally come to realize it wasn't my fault, because even if I'd been there, I might have just been killed and she'd have died anyways. I found evidence it was a large group.
“Were you married?” I asked.
“For a while and I was happy. He was much older than me, by 25 years, and when the fall came along he could no longer get his blood pressure pills at any price. He lasted almost a year without his meds and then he had a heart attack one afternoon and I lost him.”
“Why an older man? I mean it's none of my business, but you must still be in your twenties.”
“Older men treat women better than younger men. I had many dates with younger men before the war and they spent most of their time on our date texting on some social media site. They weren't interested in me, or they would have given me a little of their time. Then along came my husband and it was different.”
“That explains it well enough that even I can understand it. Thank you for sharing your personal information. I try to know a little about all my troops.”
Giving me a warm smile, she said, “I'd like to know you better.”
“That's not likely because I am your Commander. I've discovered that business and pleasure do not mix.”
She laughed, gave me another wink and replied, “You're only my Commander for this mission; then I go back to Headquarters and work manpower issues.”
“Why the interest in me? I own nothing, have nothing except what I can carry in my pack, and I know it's not my looks.”
“I see you as a man's man. I want you, and I usually get what I want.”
I laughed and said, “Oh? Don't I get a say in this?”
She smiled, lowered her head and said, “Maybe.”
“If you are still interested in me after this mission, then you and I will talk about it, okay?”
“Deal.”
Five minutes later we were back on the trail. Carol had a lot to offer the right man and I knew Sandra wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my life grieving for her, because we'd talked about death before. I decided to put all of this out of my mind for now because I had a difficult mission to complete, and this mission could very well cost all of us our lives.
It was mid-afternoon when a chopper flew overhead and then the engine pitch changed and we watched as it descended and landed in a small field and troops were seen leaving the aircraft. A squad of men, Spetsnaz I suspected. This is either a real strange coincidence or the Russians have found out about my mission. I must find a way to kill every man on that team, if I can, I thought as the chopper pilot was heard to apply power, the nose lowered, and the aircraft began to raise in the air. The team was lost from view.
Mary quickly set up an ambush alongside the trail and we rushed to position Claymore mines and other command detonated explosives. We had no idea where the Russian troops had gone, but usually they were placed in front of a unit to setup an ambush, or they moved down the trail to engage the partisans. If this group were setting up an ambush, they'll have one hell of a long wait, because I'd change direction on them if need be. My biggest concern was how they knew where we were.
I had Alford, my sniper, high in a tree and he sent me indicators the Russians were nearing. He held out five fingers twice, meaning 10 men and then used his index and middle finger to indicate they were walking. He then pointed straight down. So that meant 10 men were walking here.
We were in an area near a swamp and there was a lot of underbrush, vines, and growth. I saw their point man, who Alford had been instructed to kill, along with the man on drag. Then came the main body of 8 men, of which none wore rank, or any badges or patches.
When the group was right in front of us, Mary squeezed a clacker, a Claymore mine exploded, and in a matter of seconds the group was on the ground screaming or dead. A mist of blood floated above the bodies. I heard two shots from Alford, then a shot from where the Russian drag man should have been, and then my sniper screamed.
I sent Sgt. Morgan and Corporal Hall after the Russian survivor and I suspected he was seriously injured. I let them know that a wounded Spetsnaz should be treated like a wounded bear. I told them to take no chances and shoot the man before they touched him.
After about 30 minutes, I had Stevens and Walker check the downed Russians. I also had them shoot each man in the head. Once they knew they were dead, they stripped them of all gear and ammo we could use.
I then had James climb the tree and lower the wounded Alford to the ground using a rope. He was in sad shape, a hole punched through his shoulder, but it had missed his collar bone and the flat bone in his back. It was a clean shot through the meaty part of his shoulder, near his neck, and the pain was severe. Marsha Wied gave him a shot of morphine, just enough to kill his pain, dressed his wound, and we prepared to leave. Just then I heard a series of gunshots, followed by a loud explosion.
Minutes later, Hall returned with Morgan over his shoulder. Morgan was shrieking from pain.
When Morgan was placed on his back on the ground, the whole front of his shirt was soaked in blood. When the medic cut his shirt off, I saw a good two dozen holes in his stomach and all were oozing blood.
Wied looked James over and then said, “Grenade fragments in his stomach, and not a thing I can do for him in the field, Colonel.”
“Use a full dose of morphine on him then. Nothing can be allowed to slow our mission down.” Carol said.
“Do you mean you want me to kill him?”
“That's exactly what I want you to do. I expect it to be done to any of us, should we be seriously wounded.”
I said, “We can't take him with us, Marsha, and I'll not leave him alive so the Russians can torture him for days; the risk is too high he'll talk. Put him down.”
She injected the drug into the man's arm, met my eyes and said, “I hate this job at times.”
“He'll feel no pain when he goes.” Carol said.
A minute or so later, Morgan shivered, gave a loud sigh and died.
“I hope you can walk, Alford,” I asked.
“After seeing that done to a man who can't walk, I can run, need be.”
“Stevens on point and Walker, you take drag. Let's move, folks, so we can make up for lost time.”
We walked until dusk, seeing no one and hearing nothing. I knew Russians would soon be on our trail because they'd want to avenge the deaths of their elite men. I had my people surround our night spot with mines, toe-poppers, and three Claymores positioned, too.
“Okay,” I whispered, “cold camp and we sit back to back all night. I want every other person awake at all times. If you want to eat, eat it cold.” I said, and then sat in the grass and Dolly moved to me and laid by my side. After a few minutes her head was in my lap.
It's rough sleeping sitting up, but this way we had every point on the compass covered with a set of eyes, each wearing Russian NVGs.
It was an hour before sunrise, when Thompson whispered, “I have movement coming down the trail.”