The Fall of America: Fallout (Book 5)

by W. R. Benton

  “And, what is that last sentence to mean?”

  Glaring at the man, Albert said, “And, what is that last sentence to mean, sir?”

  “Sir.” the Lieutenant said, and then smiled.

  “I have told you to call the General's office, and Lieutenants usually do what Colonels tell them to do.”

  “I have no idea if you are even an officer, but be assured I will make the call.”

  Shortly the Lieutenant returned, snapped to attention and said, “The General confirmed you are who you claim to be, sir. Consider your meal on the house, by order of Major General Matveev, sir.”

  Albert grinned and left for his quarters.

  Once in his room, he poured a glass of vodka, and turned on the television. As he sipped his drink, he watched a documentary about Siberia, and hoped he was never assigned there. He'd heard of the brutal gulags there, so he feared being jailed in Siberia, like many Russians. There were a lot of Army officers serving time at one gulag or another in Siberia, and all it would take is one angry General.

  His phone rang, and he picked it up. “Lieutenant Colonel Pajari speaking.”

  “This is Master Sergeant Yan “Yanka” Travkin, and I am your new Sergeant. How are you, Paj?”

  “I will be damned, Yanka, how are you? The last time I saw you was my first tour here and it looked like you would lose a leg. I take it they saved the leg?”

  “Oh, they used some nuts and screws and fixed me up like new! What is this I hear of you being the big officer now?”

  “It is a long story, but I would be happier as a Master Sergeant.”

  “Well, why do I not come by your quarters, sir, and we can discuss my assignment? I just got in and personnel sent me to you. Sorry about the 'sir', but a Captain knows I am speaking with my new Commander.”

  “Come on over, Yanka. We will share some drinks like the old days.”

  “I will be sure to bring a copy of my orders, sir, and I will be right over, if I can get a ride. Oh, the Captain here says he will have his driver drop me off.”

  Twenty minutes later, the two men embraced at the door, and Albert said, “Oh, Yanka, I never expected to see you again, much less to see you standing on your own legs! I thought that mine blast ruined your leg, and I had heard they took it off.”

  “Oh, they wanted to remove it, but I fought them and won. It is ugly as hell, mostly scar tissue, but it works, and I can run with the best of them. I brought a bottle of top shelf vodka, too. So, tell me all about how you, a Sergeant the last time I saw you, are now a Lieutenant Colonel?”

  “As my dear old mother used to say, 'God works in mysterious ways'; well, so does the Russian army.” So, Albert told his story, but it didn't take him long.

  “I know there was more to it than that, because they do not just give enlisted men an officers rank without something heroic taking place. I will hear all about it tomorrow from the enlisted men. Now, sir, we cannot get too drunk tonight, but let us sit on the sofa and update me on all you have been doing.” Yanka said as he poured vodka in both glasses. He then handed one to Albert.

  Two hours later, Albert was alone and realized once he retired, he would miss the comradeship he shared with all Russian soldiers. It was a fraternity of men and women who offered their lives to defend mother Russia. They were as brave as the Vikings or the American Indians. They were true professional warriors. He showered with the thoughts still in his mind and woke the next morning still thinking about it.

  His first day on the job was all briefings and gathering information. He made sure Master Sergeant Sokoloff was listed as alive and his wife was notified of the change. He just hoped he'd not have to tell her otherwise in a week or so. He also made sure the Master Sergeant's pay was updated to include the various incentives for his risk. Unlike the American army of old, the Russians were paid for handling classified information, for risks associated with their jobs, and other small things that added up. At times, a Junior Sergeant stationed in America on jump status, handling classified information, exposed to enemy fire at times, and acting in a Sergeant's position, might make as much as a Lieutenant in Moscow. All the small things added up.

  After work, Yanka invited his Commander into his office and shut the door. He pulled out a bottle and they both knocked back a double vodka.

  It was then a siren went off and both men sat the glasses on the Sergeant's desk and made their way to the door. Looking out, five aircraft were seen approaching the base at a high rate of speed.

  “Must be some of our jets diverting here for some reason.” Yanka said.

  “No, no, no, those aircraft are not Russian! Oh, my God, they are Red Chinese! Those are Xian JH-7 fighter-bombers! Run to your assigned position, now!” Albert screamed.

  The JH-7's nosed down and made a run on the runway, missiles destroying some aircraft that were parked too close together. Albert saw a fuel truck explode, then the mechanics in the vacinity were splashed with burning fuel, which resulted in some stumbling around near other aircraft, in flames. In one pass, the Russian flightline was afire. He had no idea how many Russians died, but it must have been hundreds. He ran to his office, grabbed his camera and began snapping images of the Chinese aircraft. They made two more passes and in some of the images, he got tail numbers and one pilot passed so low in a banking flight, he got a photo of the man's head and face.

  No anti-aircraft guns were in place and while some Black Sharks and MiGs attempted to take off, they never cleared the runway before they went down in flames. Requests in the past for any surface to air defense had been refused, with Moscow stating the Americans had no aircraft. He ran to the command post and heard Headquarters Jackson say over the radio that they did not believe the Chinese were attacking Edwards.

  As the bullets flew and rockets exploded, the General screamed over the radio, “Do you not hear the combat noises behind me, you damned fool? We are under attack by the Red Chinese! I want this whole state on 100% alert and now!”

  Oh, no, not the Chinese! Albert thought, There are millions of them!

  He turned, looked out the door to see a few shoulder-fired missiles being handed out, but it was too little and way too late. The airborne defenses on the aircraft resulted in not a single aircraft being downed, but the Russians made a noble effort. There came a loud explosion and the earth shuddered. Albert suspected it was the ammunition dump going up, or at least part of it.

  Ten minutes later the aircraft left, with most of the base burning. He was absolutely stunned as he walked around with Major General Matveev.

  “S . . . sir,” Albert said, “I have photos of the attack, aircraft tail numbers, Chinese markings, the works. I suggest we file a formal protest to Moscow and send the images by special carrier.”

  Matveev met his eyes and said, “You, Albert, have saved my ass again. Get the images developed, and now. I want color images of the damage done too, to accompany the protest, when we leave.”

  “We, sir?”

  “Yes, of course, we. Since this is your idea, I think you are the best man to present this to Moscow and the rest of the world. I will write up the formal protest, but I want you to brief where you were, how the attack took place, and how our heroic troops had no anti-aircraft guns, but still resisted much better than could be expected. Show your images, brief the brass and let us see if Moscow is afraid of 2 billion Chinese. I hope we do not go to war over this, because I fear it is a war we cannot win. Their manpower alone is staggering.”

  “Uh, when do we, ummm, leave, sir?”

  “At midnight, and in the aircraft being sent by Moscow to fly us home. I want you to go with me, present your information, and then return. Who knows, there might even be a promotion in it for you, but I do not have that kind off authority as a one star General. I have promoted you as far as I can alone, but I will make a suggestion, of course.”

  “Sir, promotions mean little to me, really.”

  “Nonsense, every man and woman likes to be promoted and to rece
ive medals.”

  “Yes, sir, but I had only dreamed to be a Master Sergeant.”

  “Then you have gone far, Albert. See to our film, get packed, and let us prepare to leave. My driver will be at your quarters at 2300 hours.”

  “Yes, sir.” Albert said, and then moved toward the base photo lab thinking, I do not want to go to Moscow and put on a dog and pony show. I know it will help my career, the General will see to that, but I dread this. I should have remained on the farm. I damned sure do not want a war with the Chinese; good God, there are millions of them!

  Chapter 17

  Master Sergeant Sokoloff, a.k.a, “Tom Black,” was tired. They'd moved fast and long over the last few days and while in excellent shape, he was paying for all the vodka and lazy moments he'd had at the base. Of course, everyone on his team was tired, so it wasn't just him. He was leaning back against a pine tree, a poncho over his head, and a small fire burning between his legs, heating his Russian rations. He was unable to eat the Chinese rations, and found the food had the consistency of paste or mud.

  At 1800 hours, Sara Lea contacted base and once done, she sat there, on her log, in shock. Everyone knew something was wrong, so I asked, “What's going on, Lea?”

  “The Chinese attacked Edwards over an hour ago, met almost no resistance, and caused heavy damage, with a mountain of casualties for the Russians.”

  “The Chinese? Are you sure?” I asked, not believing the Chinese wanted to get that involved in our fight.

  “The loss of life is estimated to be extremely high, with no Red Chinese losses. All base would tell me is the attacking aircraft were out of Texas. The only reason I was told, or so base said, is we can expect an increase in Russian activity. If taken prisoner, we can expect to be questioned about the Chinese.”

  Then, wondering how my mission could have been effected by this, I asked, “Any change in my mission?”

  “Our mission was not brought up, sir. We can assume it has not been changed by this attack but it may make things rougher for us.”

  “No,” I said with a grin, “it may make our mission easier. None of the Russian facilities that I know of have any anti-aircraft weapons installed, not a one, and it will take manpower to install guns and missiles, fill sandbags and man the guns. They'll need those defenses installed and manned as quickly as possible. They'll have to pull combat troops to establish air defenses. I'm sure the Chinese attack cost them a fortune in troops and aircraft, but I wonder why the Chinese waited until now to enter this war.”

  “They're getting something from this mess, you can be sure of it.” Tom Black said.

  “Yep, and Asians are good traders, so they'll get the best end of the deal.” Brewer said, and then added, “But, I do love the idea of their aircraft hitting the Russians.”

  “Enough talk,” I said and then added, “keep the noise down. Tomorrow, less than four miles from here, Carol and I will leave all of you. When we leave, I will take one man.”

  “Who will go with you?” Top asked.

  “Tom Black will come with us.” I said, and watched Top raise his eyebrows in shock. While Tom was one of us, there was still some matters of trust with the man. I simply thought it would be better to have him with me than worry about what he might do with the main group. All the evidence I had proved he was one of us, but that small voice in my head warned me he was dangerous.

  “Tom, you heard the man, so go through your gear and any excess items should be given to me. You'll need to travel fast and hard for this mission.”

  “Sure, Top, but is someone going to tell me what our mission is?” he asked.

  “No, not until we are in place.” I said.

  “What if something happens to you and Carol?” he asked.

  “All I will tell you is it involves the suitcase. As for the rest, you have no need to know at this time. I want everyone to eat and then get some rest. We'll have the same guards as before. I want us up and moving at first light.”

  I moved to a huge oak tree, started heating up my rations, as I spoke to Carol in hushed tones. I told her my reason for bringing Tom and emphasized the need to watch him closely.

  “After all he's done, you still don't trust him?” she asked, and I could see the disbelief in her eyes.

  “Not completely, and my senses are highly tuned. Earlier in my life, I survived two combat tours, then a tour in a hostile environment, teaching our allies how to resist the enemy. I learned to listen to my senses, and there is a sense of survival, if you will, that warns a person when something is wrong or not right. That alarm goes off around Tom. Headquarters and the world may trust him, but I will not.”

  “Okay, but I need to give him one of these pills. These pills are in glass containers, so they must be bitten to work. Once you bite them, you are dead in a matter of a few short minutes. If accidentally swallowed, they will pass through your body harmlessly, as long as you have not broken the glass. Here.” She handed me one of about six pills she had in her hand. She then stood and moved to Tom.

  Little was said between the two and they were too far away for me to hear their whispers, but he took a pill. I knew the pill was designed to kill us to avoid giving out any information we had and to save us days of painful torture. I was positive anyone caught with a suitcase nuclear bomb would have the hell tortured out of them. I'd bite the pill for sure, if taken prisoner.

  She returned to me, sat at my side, and I put my arm around her shoulders. She turned her head, met my eyes and said, “Colonel, I think I'm in love with you.”

  “Really? Well, Captain, I think I love you as well. However, we need to complete this mission before we can discuss anything about us.”

  “I disagree, because there is no guarantee we'll survive this mission. What we have to say needs to be said now, because tomorrow is not assured to anyone.”

  I pulled her in my arms, kissed her and whispered, “I love you.”

  The morning came too soon, and two hours before sunrise we were up and moving. I had Alford on point and Brewer bringing up the rear. We were wearing NVGs, which caste an eerie green tint to everything, but did allow us a great deal of freedom when moving at night. We'd been moving for a couple of hours, when Alford dropped to one knee and his fist was raised into the air. We all squatted.

  Looking in front of my point man, I saw a Russian squad moving toward us, and they were wearing NVGs as well. I had everyone move into the brush that lined the trail and try to blend in. We didn't have the time to plant a mine or prepare an ambush; I hoped they'd pass us by, unnoticed.

  As they passed, I grew nervous, expecting combat any second, but it didn't happen. As their drag man passed, I relaxed, but it was the wrong thing to do. Once the drag man had turned the bend in the trail, I heard an RG-6 grenade launcher fire two 40 mm rounds, which were slightly off target and exploded behind us, and then the small arms fire opened up.

  I crawled to Top and asked, “Do you think you can hold them?”

  “Sure, but why?”

  “We're less than a mile from where I'm to leave you and I think during all this chaos, would be the perfect time for us to leave.” I replied.

  “Go, we'll handle this; good luck, sir.” Top said and then winked at me.

  I moved to Carol, but could not find Tom, so I took Alford instead. The three of us began to crawl away from the fire fight. When I looked back at my group, Thompson had his flamethrower in action and I heard screams from the Russians. I wondered why the grenade launcher hadn't coughed again, but Alford told me later he'd taken the man out as soon as possible with a head shot.

  We moved straight back, then at a 90 degree direction to avoid any stray rounds, and while we didn't run, we moved at a fast clip. Less than a half a mile later, I heard what I suspected was grenade explosions, and then it grew still. I had no way of knowing we'd had James seriously injured, Lea and Brewer were both slightly wounded, with Tompson and Top the only two uninjured. Tom Black was now missing in action.

  The
Russians had broken contact after the loss of half their unit, and moved south. Top, wanting to complete his part of my mission, radioed base and informed them, “Game in progress.” This was code to let them know I was moving toward Pearl, my intended target.

  Now, I didn't want to rush to Pearl and take the risk of being caught. I had no urge to bite the glass pill, loved the woman with me, and fully trusted Alford. However, if I'd known Tom was missing my speed would have been greater. It's strange how some things we don't know can change our lives forever, sometimes in good ways, and at other times, in horrific ways.

  Master Sergeant Sokoloff tracked the Russian unit, and while he fully intended to meet with them, he had to be cautious or they'd kill him on sight. As he moved, he decided to follow, but avoid contact, until they went into a night camp. He could call out then and hopefully they'd not be trigger happy. This group was good, covering their trail and moving in unexpected directions. If they were not Spetsnaz, they were well trained by the special forces group.

  The Master Sergeant was not Spetsnaz, but had undergone a six month program in Russia to improve his Southern dialect, learn how to move without leaving much evidence of his passing, and how to kill silently. As he moved, he pulled the pill given to him by Captain Carol Logan and tossed it in the brush. He'd already been parachute qualified, but he'd been taught HAHO, high altitude high opening, and HALO, high altitude low opening, and he was scuba trained as well, so he was fully qualified for his missions. He was trained in the same areas as Spetsnaz, but his training was rushed and not as thorough.

  I have earned my extra pay this month, he thought as he squatted to look at a track in the soil. With all his special training, being on a combat mission, and with the mission being classified Top Secret, he knew he'd bring in many rubles this coming month, if he survived this mission. It had been easy to leave the Americans, because he'd simply crawled off at a 90 degree angle and once far enough away, he remained motionless. They'd not looked for him long.