by W. R. Benton
“Some mistakes out here you only make once.”
“That is true, very true. How is the old man to work with in the field like this?”
“He is not bad, but he wants results and he listens to his NCOs a great deal. Before I had suggested bunkers on the base, but he was positive we would never be attacked. I saw a few minutes ago that the bulldozer is now making bunkers. He is a fast learner and he will give you what you need to complete your mission.”
“Good to hear this. What time do you serve chow?”
Pajari laughed and once sober said, “We have no dining facility, so why do we not go by supply and get some rations?”
“All I like in the rations is the beef and fried squash pureé. The beef with tomato sauce upsets my stomach and tastes like crap. Seems the army would learn a man wants variety in his menu, not the same food over and over.”
“Now, you know we have variety with our meals. Every time they change ration manufacturers we get a different, but equally nasty entree.”
They both laughed and moved to supply for their supper.
After eating the meal outside, sitting on sandbags, the Master Sergeant excused himself, “I need to get some sleep. I have a crew to take out early in the morning and, for some, it is their first trip.”
“Good night, and good luck tomorrow.”
“Just another walk in the sun.”
“Let us hope so. I need to check my men.”
The night was uneventful, but the Senior Sergeant actually expected an assault on the base. They were down to only one tank, and the perimeter was a mess, but the night was quiet. He awoke early and was able to shake Master Sergeant Sokoloff's hand before they walked from the base. Then, like so many other days, he began riding his troops to remove the partisan bodies from the wire, get bunkers made, and fill thousands of sandbags. The bodies were ripe now and the scent was nasty.
He was sitting in the communications tent with a Sergeant he knew when he heard Master Sergeant Sokoloff say, “Tent City, Falcon 1.”
Pajari could hear gunfire on the radio.
“Uh, go ahead Falcon 1.”
“We have run into more than we can handle here. I need support in the form of artillery or air. I repeat, I need support.”
“Uh, wait one and I will call Base.”
“Sounds like one hell of a firefight going on.” Pajari said.
“Yep. Uh, Falcon 1, I have two Black Sharks on the way. Estimated Time of Arrival (ETA) is five minutes.”
“Copy, two Black Sharks in five minutes.”
“You can speak to the flight leader, Eagle 91, directly.”
“Eagle 91, this is Falcon 1 and my squad has run into approximately a company of partisans. When you approach me, come in hot and spray the trees west of me, copy?”
“Copy, Falcon, I will roll in hot and my Gatling gun will spray the trees to your west.”
In the field, the Master Sergeant was surprised the partisans hadn't flanked him yet, but suspected it was just a matter of time. The small arms fire was heavy, and most of his new troops were terrified and useless to him. To set an example, the Sergeant did not take cover, but walked around kicking men in the ass who did not return fire.
“Falcon, this is Eagle 91. Get your heads down because I am starting my Gatling gun run now. Over.”
Looking toward sound of the chopper blades, Sokoloff spotted the lone Black Shark lining up on the trees. He then heard a sound like a huge zipper being unzipped as fast as possible and knew that was the gun. When Eagle 91 nosed up and left the area, Eagle 92 radioed, “Falcon, Eagle 92, and I am doing the same, except once my run is complete, I will return to fire missiles into the woods. Over.”
“Copy, Eagle 92.”
There came the zipper sound again and then the aircraft banked to the left. Eagle 92, lined up once more and released his missiles.
“Uh, Base, Eagle 92, and I just took some ground fire that time, but nothing serious. I am returning to base to refuel and rearm.”
As soon as the aircraft left, partisan fire returned and it was as heavy as before.
“Tent City, Falcon 1, and I request artillery support.” The Master Sergeant said then read off the map coordinates to Base.
A minute later a screaming round impacted in the trees and he said, “Fire for effect, and I am requesting white phosphorous.”
“Uh, copy, wait one.”
A minute later shells were landing in the trees and the explosions were as beautiful as they were deadly. The white of the white phosphorous round exploding reminded Sokoloff of peacocks he'd seen once, with long white tails.
“No one can survive that.” a confident Private said.
“I think most will survive that. Never assume your enemy is killed unless you see a dead body.”
A soldier off the Master Sergeant's left suddenly jerked and then screamed as he fought to stop the flow of blood from what remained of his left hand. The Medic ran to him and as he applied a dressing, he took a bullet to the head, which dropped him instantly.
The Sergeant walked to the two men, pulled them to relative safety behind a log, and finished wrapping up the soldier. He was surprised to find the medic alive, but he had a deep nasty furrow to his scalp where the bullet had traveled before it exited the back of his helmet. He gave both men a shot of morphine and he was well aware not to give the drug to a head injury, but the wounded man was screaming now and in pain. He suspected the head injury hurt like hell.
Picking up the radio headset he said, “Base, Falcon 1, and I need an emergency medivac for my injured. I have two seriously wounded.”
“Copy, but I have no helicopters at the moment. Uh, wait one.”
A bullet struck a rock near him and ricocheted off in to space.
“Falcon 1. This is Base, over.”
“Go Base.”
“You have been ordered to return to Tent City and to bring your wounded with you.”
“Copy, Base, understand I am to return to Tent City. How am I to return, Base?”
“That is correct, and you will walk back. Out.”
Handing his headset back to his radioman, Master Sergeant Sokoloff said, “Rig a litter up, and we are to return to base and pack our wounded out with us. I want two men to a litter and we will rotate and share the work of packing them home. Now, withdraw to the trees, break contact, and let us head home.”
The withdrawal and movement toward Tent City was done perfectly by his men, and the Master Sergeant was proud of his inexperienced young troops. He was only about 5 kilometers from the base and had no idea the partisans had mined the trail for his return trip. As an old war horse, he knew better than to use the same trail leaving and entering, but the stretchers were heavy. So he took the shortest route.
About a kilometer from the base, his point man suddenly stopped and said, “Master Sergeant, I am standing on a mine.”
“How do you know?”
“My foot felt some resistance and then I felt and heard a click as something was pushed down.”
“Remain calm, Private, and let me find a large rock. I will bring the rock to you and then check for a mine.”
Picking up the heaviest rock he could find, the Master Sergeant made his way to the Private. He lowered the rock, pulled his bayonet and sticking it into the ground around the Private's foot he confirmed it was a mine.
“I am scared, Master Sergeant.”
“Hell, son, you have a right to be scared. I am scared too, but understand, if the mine explodes, I will be right beside you.”
“Thank you, Master Sergeant.”
“Now, I am going to put the edge of this heavy rock on your foot. Then I want you to unlace your boot and try to remove your foot without moving the rock. Do you think you can do this?”
“I do not have a choice, do I?”
“No, not really. So, let us get this over with.” He moved the rock, held the man in place as he unlaced his boot, and was in the process of helping him remove his foot, when
he saw the rock fall.
The explosion was loud to the Master Sergeant.
Chapter 11
I was silently battling the placement of the bomb as we walked through the wood, moving overland and avoiding all paths. I knew it was a lawful order, so I would do the job. I wasn't so sure the people in Jackson were getting a lot of fallout or not, and I didn't think the General really knew either. I did know placing the bomb in Pearl would blow the international airport to hell and back, and likely destroy all the bridges over the pearl river, too. Just the loss of Russian lives and equipment made Jackson a much more logical target, but I hoped God would forgive me for the innocent lives I'd snuff out in seconds.
“We're in a dense grove of trees now, so we'll spend the night here and move on at daylight. My men have been awake over 24 hours and they need rest.” Top said.
“How much further to the suitcase?” Mary asked.
“Not much further.”
I laughed and said, “You haven't changed a bit. Still the same old E-9 you were years ago, huh?”
He smiled and replied, “Old habits die hard, you know.”
“They're good habits, Top. Okay folks, form a perimeter and prepare for the evening.” Mary said.
Soon supper was behind us, folks moved to their sleeping bags, and others moved to stand watch over the rest of us. Each had a poncho beside them, just in case an aircraft equipped with thermal imaging would fly over.
The night was uneventful, but for some reason I did not sleep well, and when I spoke with Carol the next morning she hadn't either. Like me, she didn't enjoy the deaths of thousands of people on her shoulders, though we both understood the need to complete our mission.
We'd just started to move, when the sound of a low level chopper filled our ears.
“Moving from north to south.” Top said.
“Down, and now.” Mary ordered.
We all fell to the ground and knew we'd be almost impossible to see from a moving platform of any kind. The chopper stopped, then moved to the east and stopped and did that for all four compass headings. He was looking for someone, but was it us, or was he attempting to make a team that he suspected was in these trees run?
Three or four times he moved, then would stop, as his gunners looked for partisans.
After about thirty minutes, the chopper was still looking for someone.
Mary said, “I've had enough of this bullshit.” She pull a Strela 2 missile container from the top of her pack, sighted in the chopper and then squeezed the trigger. I actually saw the fins pop out and followed the missile to the aircraft engine. The missile exploded and the pilot tried his damnedest to maintain control, but it was not to be. The aircraft moved forward about a hundred yards and then dropped like a rock to the ground below.
The pilot must have cut the electrical switches when it began to fall because there was no fire on impact. I moved forward with James and Lea, leading Dolly by her leash. The wreckage was smoking and I could smell aircraft fuel, but we quickly took the machine-guns, side arms and ammo. Both pilots were dead and one gunner seemed to have a broken back, while the other was unconscious. As we were leaving, Top tossed a thermite grenade in the chopper. As we moved, I waited for the explosion and it wasn't long in coming. When the fuel went up, a fireball rolled inside of itself, and the flames were dark red, edged with black smoke. I should have felt something for the two dying gunners and two dead pilots, but I didn't. While I heard the screams of one gunner, I felt nothing at all.
As we moved, I was getting back in my old stomping grounds where I used to hunt. To the west was some swampland and that's exactly where Top moved. The trail through the woods also continued into the swamp, which was filled with Spanish moss in the trees, gators in the water, and snakes on the trail sunning. Top had been walking with a switch off a tree limb that was about five feet long, and for over an hour I wondered why. I found out now. Since he was on point leading us to the suitcase, he'd use the switch to flip snakes from the trail to the water. Each time he did it, Carol moaned. I knew from before that snakes, gators and bugs scared her, but like a real trooper, she continued on.
About half way to the suitcase, we heard a flight of choppers passing to the east of us, slightly over the swamp. Instead of all continuing on, two turned and flew toward us.
“Seek cover!” Mary ordered and I grabbed Carol's hand and jumped into the swamp.
When my head broke the surface I heard machine-guns firing and saw a long row of bullets going right down the center of the trail. I saw three of our troops stitched right down the middle and heard them scream as the bullets struck. Blood, gore and bones flew in all directions. The chopper banked and came around again. I wasn't real happy being in the water with the snakes and gators, but right now, it seemed to be the safest of all options.
Mary climbed up on the bank, pulled out another missile but before she could fire, she was struck three or four times in the chest by a door gunner and she died instantly. Top, who'd been laying on the opposite side of the trail, grabbed the missile launcher and sighted in the chopper. He squeezed the trigger as the bird was in a sharp turn and the missile struck it dead center of the engines, which exploded. Flaming wreckage dropped to the swamp and the other chopper broke contact, flying to the east. I watched the burning fuel on the water and wondered how many men and women we'd lost. Dolly was an excellent swimmer and once on the trail again, she was shaking hard to dry off. I pulled Carol to the trail, found she was fine, and then started checking for dead and injured.
I'd lost Mary and our medic, Marsha Wied, while Top had lost five of his people. Out of twenty, we were down to thirteen and I hoped that was our lucky number. We stripped our dead of all useful gear and then moved on.
After about an hour, Top called for a short rest and said, “Don't be surprised if we have a Russian squad on our asses shortly. The chopper that survived likely called in an inflated kill number and the Commanders are sure to send some men after us.”
“Body count is everything when you're losing a war, Top.” I joked with him.
“I'm going to have our man on drag plant some mines and booby-traps.” he said, and then asked, “Should we move on or wait to deal with the Russians?”
“Move, because if push comes to shove, once I have the suitcase, I can go off on my own with Carol, while you deal with the Russians.” I replied.
He smiled and said, “Well, be that way then. Peppy, mine behind you when you get the chance.”
With Peppy on drag and Top on point, we continued moving.
Near dark we heard choppers again and they were all over the swamp, looking for us, I suspected. However, they were east and west of us, unsure which trail we'd taken.
Top moved to my side and said, “Remember the old duck hunters shack up the trail a ways?”
“Sure, but what about it?”
“The suitcase is buried in the very center of the floor, about a foot or two down. I was one of the men who buried it, so I'll be able to dig it up in no time.”
“Chopper!” Hall yelled and by the time I heard the blades, a missile was heading right for us. Fortunately he had misjudged us and the missile went over our heads. The explosion was loud and we were all splashed with swamp water. I saw a snake fall with the water, hit the trail and then wiggle off. Our weapons opened up, the chopper turned sideways to let the door-gunner waste us.
Alford raised his sniper rifle, lined up his sights and struck the gunner between the eyes. The dead man fell from the chopper to stop about six feet below the left skid, held in place, fully extended by a nylon strap connected to the aircraft floor. I could clearly see the outline of his body against the dark gray rain clouds.
When the pilot straightened the aircraft, my sniper fired twice and both rounds struck the pilot in the head. His body slumped back, blood splattered on the windshield and side glass, and the copilot took control. They immediately broke to the left and gained altitude as they left us.
“The shack is
about a quarter mile further on this trail.” Top said.
“Great shooting, Sergeant Alford,” I said, as I patted him on the back.
“Uh, I'm a Private, Colonel.”
“No, not after saving our collective asses, you're not. You're a Sergeant, effective right now. Thanks for the superior shooting, Robert.”
“You're welcome sir, but I missed with each shot by well over an inch.”
“I understand the man who dropped the nuclear bomb on Hiroshima was off course by a mile too, but no one noticed. Thanks.” I said, and then grinned.
When we neared the old shack, Top and Brewer, my explosives man, entered and checked for booby-traps. They found none. The shack was small, maybe eight feet by ten, and had once been used as a meeting place for men who hunted gators or ducks in the swamp. The floor was dirt, but it had a roof and three sides covered. Only half of the fourth side was covered, creating a primitive door.
Pulling a folded shovel from his pack, Top started digging.
As he dug, I moved to Carol and asked, “How are you taking all of this?”
“Not good, overall. Do you guys always have so many people trying to kill you all the time? It seems like the animals, snakes, and Russians are all out to kill us.”
“This is unusual and has had much higher contact than most missions. It's almost like the Russians know where we are. I really think they feel we're up to something, so things are turning rougher for us. They've turned up the heat.”
“What does that mean, turned up the heat?”
“Normally on a mission like this we'd not see a Russian the whole time. I think they're worried we'll strike back because of their nuclear detonation, so they have more aircraft in the skies.”
I heard Top's shovel hit metal. He glanced at me, smiled and said, “Okay, we're in business.”
It was then the clouds opened up and a light rain began to fall. I saw a bright blinding light move across the almost black horizon and then with a loud boom, it exploded into many smaller fingers of light. Rain began to fall harder. All of us moved into the shelter, but the suitcase was left in the hole.