by W. R. Benton
“Private Olegovna, you are our point man. Corporal Vyacheslavovich, you are my drag man. Let us move now.” the Master Sergeant turned Captain said.
It was right before noon when a chopper was heard. The Russians were in an open field and the closest trees were maybe 100 meters away. However, since the partisans didn't have access to aircraft often, the small team figured it was a Russian aircraft. Suddenly the helicopter rose from the trees and the Gatling gun on the nose immediately began to spit out hot lead.
Some, like the newly promoted Major, died before they could utter a word or even scream. Others, while losing limbs, screamed and fell to the ground thrashing around as blood spurted. The aircraft turned sideways and then the door gunner began to shoot and more soldiers fell. Finally, with all of the squad on the ground, the helicopter put its nose down to gain altitude and was soon gone.
Captain Kovarov stood in awe that he was untouched.
“Why did our own helicopter fire on us, Master Sergeant?”one of the soldiers asked.
Turning toward the voice, he saw it was a newly assigned Private, and his left arm was being treated by the medic.
Still in shock, it took Kovarov a minute to reply. “That was not one of our aircraft, but Chinese. Did you not see the identification on the tail?”
“No, but I thought the partisans did not have aircraft.”
“They do not, but their ally, the Chinese, have aircraft and are using them in this war too. They are not real active yet, but it is coming.”
“I hope the Chinese do not get involved, because there must be a billion of them.” the medic said as he worked.
“Damn, it looks like most of the squad, except for the two of us are either dead or wounded.” Kovarov said to the medic.
“Call base and let them know I have category one patients and of squad size.”
When Kovarov found the radioman, he was dead, having taken a cannon shell from the Gatling gun. The radio was covered in blood and appeared to have been damaged, but the old Sergeant tried it anyway.
“Base, this is Raven 16, over.”
“Go Raven.”
“We were just attacked by a Chinese attack helicopter and I have ten, repeat ten dead, dying or wounded. My medic said we have a category one with mass casualties.”
“Roger that, Raven. Wait one.”
“Copy.” the Sergeant said, and suddenly felt a pain in his upper back. Turning to the medic he added, “When you get the chance, I think my back was injured.”
“Take your shirt off, if you can.”
Kovarov moaned as he removed the shirt and said, “I have hole in the back of my shirt and blood on it, so something struck me. It is starting to hurt now.”
“Raven 16, this base, over.”
“Go base.”
“We have a helicopter coming for you and should be at your location in approximately five minutes, copy?”
“Do you want morphine for your pain?”
“No morphine if I can do without it. I will take some pain pills, but morphine makes me sleepy.” Then he turned to the radio and said, “Copy that, and the whole squad is down except for the medic. I am hit, but have refused morphine because there are only the two of us, over. I will take some once on the helicopter, over.”
The medic said, “I understand, and since there are only the two of us, sleep would be stupid.”
Five minute later, after looking Kovarov over the medic said, “Piece of a bullet or cannon shell struck you. It is painful, but most of the bleeding has stopped. I will wrap it to keep it clean and try to stay alert as we wait for a helicopter to arrive.”
Kovarov asked, “How many dead and injured?”
The medic handed the new Captain a pain pill and said, “Seven dead, four injured and I am the only uninjured one of the whole squad. While your injury is minor, by morning you will be in severe pain unless we get you to a hospital soon.”
“Lieutenant Demian was promoted to Major less than an hour ago and I was made a Captain. He must have had the shortest living time of anyone recently promoted in history. I am sorry to say he did not last an hour.”
“We need to get the wounded prepared for pick up by the helicopter.”
They'd no sooner gotten the men ready than the radio came alive, “Raven 16 this is Medevac One, over.”
“Go ahead, Medevac.”
“Do you have anyone who can pop a smoke grenade for us? I should be over you in three minutes. Once you see or hear me, pop the grenade.”
“Copy, and will do.”
Captain Kovarov closed his eyes to rest them a minute and the pain pills put him to sleep. He'd look back later and not remember being flown back to base or having the operation to remove some steel near his heart. When he next opened his eyes he was in a single bed and in a private room in a hospital. He'd even forgotten about his promotion until the Colonel came around and pinned the new rank and two medals on his hospital pyjamas. All his gear and personal items were moved from his tent and taken to his room in Officers Quarters, his new home.
John and Major Xue left Colonel Oliver in charge as they took a squad of men to take out a Russian tank manning a roadblock that was stopping all traffic. Since the macadam road couldn't be used by the partisans at night, the needed supplies and gear were taking three times as long to reach the partisans. The supply folks were forced to use other means of transportation to make deliveries. Besides, as John said, it's too good of a target, isolated as it was, not to attempt destroying it and killing the crew.
John led a squad belonging to Lieutenant Colonel Simmons on the mission, mainly because he knew them better than any other group. All wore face paint and camouflage Russian clothing as they walked through the woods toward the big beast. The difference was each wore a strip of white cloth around their left arm. An hour before dark John and Xue were in place, watching the tank crew and machine-gun team eating supper.
The two men soon returned, briefed what they'd seen, and everyone settled down to eat and wait for a few hours to pass. The meal for the Russians was a Green Frog, just like most of the meals eaten by the American resistance. Some in John's group had Chinese or American rations, depending on what was available in supply. John ate a cold MRE and fed half of it to Dolly.
“She loves those rations, huh?” Sergeant Duke asked.
“She'll eat most anything,” John replied, “even my cooking.”
They'd pulled back a mile and would move forward once darkness visited. They rarely spoke in the field, unless in camp and they never smoked in the field at all. More than one group of Russians had been discovered by the smell of cigarette smoke. At night, American snipers would watch for the glowing end of a cigarette to glow even more, meaning the smoker was inhaling, and fire a round to strike about two feet below the red dot. More than once they'd kill the smoker. As American snipers said, “Smoking kills.”
Dolly was enjoying the trip because she'd not been out much since John had joined the partisans; at first she'd been part of attacks on Russian tanks, convoys, and even attacks on Russian bases and airports. She was well trained to hand and voice commands. John had hesitated to take her on many missions now because she was the last part of his old life still alive and she was ageing. She was a link to his past, and looking at her often had him thinking of life before the war came along and when he was running a security company.
Everyone rested as they waited; some even slept, but two guards were on duty at all times. This wasn't John's first rodeo and he knew the hunter often became the prey in wars. He remained awake, because he rarely slept on a mission. He sat on a log and scratched Dolly's ears as he whispered to her. She moved closer and placed her head in his lap.
A little after midnight the group moved toward the tank. All were wearing NVGs and they were wide awake. The group stopped about a hundred feet from the tank as John checked it out by using his binoculars. The tank looked buttoned up and the machine-gun was not manned, but he counted ten men sleeping near the g
un. The tank had about six five gallon cans of diesel fuel stacked on the back above the engine, and not a hatch was open.
The idea was three people would crawl forward, throw grenades at the sleeping gun crew as two others moved to the tank and punctured holes in the fuel cans. Hopefully the flamethrower would be able to move in then and end the battle right after that. John knew it would not go well, because things always got messed up in battle.
He, Xue, and Corporal Nance, who carried the flamethrower, crawled forward as others moved for the fuel on the rear of the tank. Dolly remained behind. The closer they moved the more John thought the turret was moving. It seemed to him as if the gunner was waiting for some reason. Before the turret was pointed in a different direction, or was it? It was then Dolly appeared at his side.
Suddenly Nance screamed, and her upper half went up in flames as she tripped a mine. The tanks on her back exploded, turning her into a mass of burning fuel. She felt none of this because there was nothing left of her from her waist up. The mine had killed her instantly, and it also warned the Russians. The machine gun began a tat-tat-tat, but John knew they had no targets, or did they? He and Xue were in a depression, so the gun could not hit them, and the machine-gun on the tank moved and was pointing at them, but could not be be depressed down enough to hit them. It was then, when the motor on the big beast started, that the first of the diesel fuel on the engine began to burn. John suspected a thermite grenade had been placed on the top barrel because the outside of the tank was fully engulfed in flames in seconds.
Then, just as the second compressed tank on Nance's back exploded, the two partisans tossed grenades at the machine gun nest. The firing slowed but didn't stop. Just as John was about to rush the gun as the assistant gunner loaded more ammo, someone fired an RPG that went flying over his head and struck the gun dead center. He still heard small arms fire, and Xue screamed as he took a hit to his chest and fell.
John tossed another grenade and ran to the burning tank where he slapped some C4 on the chassis near the treads and pulled the fission fuse. Bullets from his people were heard hitting the beast and then ricocheting away with a loud zing. He ran away from the tank and when the explosive went off, the treads started rolling on the rollers only to land on the grass. The guns were still firing on the tank, and it was still dangerous. Then an RPG struck the rear of the tank and the motor exploded, causing the hatches to open and the crew climbed out with their hands up. Smoke poured out of the now open hatches.
The squad soon had the prisoners secured and John actually crawled inside, where he discovered thermal imaging screens. They were on, so they'd known when approached from front and rear, but couldn't deal with double threats at the same time.
“If this crew had been slightly more experienced, a lot of us would be dead right now.” John said to Xue, who was outside looking down from an open hatch.
“We were lucky. I think they spotted us the second we moved from the woods, even though we crawled.” Xue replied and then moaned from the pain of his new wound.
He now knew how they were tracking him as he moved forward, but were all tanks fitted with thermal cameras or just the newer models? He placed explosive time charges in the tank to explode in ten minutes, climbed out, and then ordered his troops back into the woods. Once in the woods they stopped just long enough to see the explosion, and watch the turret fly off into space with a loud boom. It landed with a loud crash in the darkness of some trees.
He ordered them to continue moving as other compressed containers and ammunition began to explode on the destroyed tank. Xue was not seriously injured, but he'd come as close to dying as a man could and remain alive. A bullet hit him him in the side and burned a furrow from almost nipple to nipple. It then exited under the left nipple.
He was bleeding well when the medic wrapped him and “Doc” said, “If that bullet had struck you just a half inch more to the left we'd not be having this talk right now. I've never seen a man come so close to death and yet not be more seriously injured than you. If you pray, now would be a good time to thank God that you are alive.”
They were about a mile from the site of the attack, when someone said, “Hush, I hear a noise.”
John listened and said, “Chopper. Get out your ponchos and let's pray this one doesn't have thermal capability or some of us will die.”
Chapter 13
Captain Kovarov stood at attention as the Colonel presented him with two medals and pinned on his new rank. The medals meant little to him, nor did the rank, but the increase in pay was very nice. He would be paid 22,000 rubles a month, instead of 7,500. If he could get command of a company, he'd earn an extra 5,600 a month to serve overseas in a combat area and even more for handling classified information and being on parachute jump status. His pay could end up close to 45,000 rubles (or about $724 US dollars, as of May 30, 2018) a month.
He was at morning stand up when Colonel Ippolit said, “How about all of us giving a big hand to our newest company commander of one of our airborne units, Captain Kovarov.”
Everyone clapped and then when it grew quiet, Ippolit said, “When you bring me large numbers, I will reward you, as you can see. Junior Lieutenant Demian was posthumously promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, and his family will be given his award and decorations, as well as his retirement pension. He was a brave man, his actions resulting in the death of many partisans, and he will be buried with full military honors. Now, weather, give me the forecast for the coming week.”
Kovarov thought it strange that in a one hour briefing Demian was mentioned once and then he'd quickly been forgotten. He let his mind go where it wanted during the meeting, knowing he was forgotten now, more or less, too.
When the meeting was over, the Colonel had him stay, gave him a company to lead, and told him to start searching in homes for the resistance. He had the power to kick doors open and enter any home he saw fit. Anyone with a gun was to be killed on the spot, just as anyone who fired on his troops at any time. It was not the kind of job he wanted, but he'd follow orders, because he was a professional soldier. He would be working closely with the Russian Secret Police, which he hated.
He went to his new officers quarters and was amazed at all the space and luxury that was just for him alone. He had his own bathroom, shower, kitchen, living room and all but the bathroom covered in carpet. He'd gone shopping the day before for groceries, so he could cook and eat at home, too. He had a radio and TV, but kept them both tuned to Armed Forces Russia channels. He had to admit the officers lived much better than the enlisted did, and by a long shot, too. He looked at the huge double bed, when he'd just spent most of his military career sleeping on the ground or on folding cot.
The next morning, early, his troops were loaded on a deuce and half truck and driven across town to the home of a man who worked in aircraft maintenance for the Russians. Word had it the man was a partisan spy. They were to enter his home and see if any evidence that he was a spy could be found.
As they pulled up and men started jumping from the two trucks, automatic fire and a machine gun opened up on the Russians. Men and women fell as they climbed from the big trucks. Some were dead before their feet hit the pavement of the street. Explosions were heard along with screams of pain and fear.
Kovarov had warned his troops to be cautious with all doors, because most would be booby trapped. The first door they came to they placed a grenade in front of the entrance and no one was surprised when the door flew off it's hinges; it had triggered a secondary explosion. When the door struck the floor on the inside, the Russians raced in, guns blazing. When they moved upstairs a man with a shotgun kept blowing them to pieces.
Finally, Kovarov called for a flamethrower and had her squirt a few flames up the stairs. Almost immediately the partisans had had enough and surrendered and the house was left to burn. When they exited the home, two shots rang out from inside and two Russian soldiers fell, dead. Sniper fire continued from the structure and, then, when the fire was h
uge and spreading to the house next door, a single shot rang out and the shooting stopped. The sniper made the Russians pay highly for his life. Four were dead and six seriously wounded.
As they drove back to base, the driver of the truck said, “I think we need to park our trucks maybe a block from the house we want to search and walk to the place. That way, if at night, no one will know we are there until we kick the front door in.”
“We may try that the next time. This cannot be allowed to continue.” Captain Kovarov said.
The minute he walked into his office, a Corporal who was his secretary said, “The Commander wants you to call him as soon as you return.”
He cannot know of our dead yet, so I wonder what he wants, he thought as he picked up the phone and dialed the number for the commander.
He then waited as a woman with a sexy voice went for the Colonel.
“Colonel Ippolit speaking. This line is secure.”
“Captain Kovarov, sir, and I am returning your call from earlier today.”
“Prepare for a mission. We have satellite images of what intelligence thinks is the partisan camp. My image folks claim the images are of large tents, some vehicles and so on. I cannot make heads or tails out of most, even when looking right at it. The name of the operation is Operation Hurricane II. Our goal is to hit and take the partisan headquarters.”
“Yes, sir, we are ready.”
“I will cover more in the morning at stand up.”
“I will be there. I think it is important to bring up that we lost a number of our troops tonight, and I will brief you in the morning on how we can reduce the numbers of dead and wounded soon. It is actually simple.”
“I will be waiting to hear. We will talk in the morning.”
“Yes, sir. Enjoy your day.” Then turning to his secretary, the Captain said, “I will be in my quarters, cleaning up and shaving. Since most of the day is gone, I will remain there. Call me if you need me.”
Once in his quarters, he pulled a bottle of vodka from his freezer, poured three fingers worth and then ran his hand through his hair.