“Yes Sir.”
******
There were at least a couple of dozen helicopters sitting on the wet grass when we arrived. They looked run down and abandoned except for a couple of Russians who seemed to be working on one of them. The Russians glanced at us as we drove up, and then went back to work doing whatever they are doing.
A few minutes later a bunch of Russian trucks drove up; they were loaded with heavily armed troops. With a lot of shouting and arm waving, the men jumped down from the trucks and began lining up next to some of the helicopters. We just stood there and watched.
After a while a really tall Russian officer walked over, saluted, and said something in Russian to our new interpreter, Ivan something. Ivan stood at attention and kept nodding and saying “da.” Then the big officer saluted again and walked away.
“Officer is Ukrainian,” Ivan told us. “Maybe no go home when Ukraine go away. Maybe born Russia I think. Is Colonel. Name Chernenko. Mens tell is good guy. He tell some mens tell they see things on ground. Mens are having big search. Maybe is helicopters. Tell okay Americanski come.”
General Evans liked the idea.
“Okay Jerry. You and Vern can go with them. Take your interpreter with you and report to General Safford when you get back if I’m not around.”
****** Captain Jerry Carpenter
A few minutes later a stocky pug-faced Russian sergeant came over to us, saluted the generals as he walked up, and motioned for Vern and me to follow him. He led us to one of the helicopters and motioned for us to get aboard. I climbed in and sat next to Vern and Ivan, the new interpreter. None of us are armed.
A few minutes late half a dozen Russian troops also climbed in and settled themselves on the bench across from us. They were obviously more than a little curious about seeing unarmed foreigners wearing Russian uniforms with officer epaulettes but no ranks. They all looked to be teenagers. Conscripts for sure.
Ivan chattered away and pointed and they all gave us very surprised looks. “Amerikanski?” one finally asked. Vern nodded and Ivan says “Da. Amerikanski.”
They chattered briefly among themselves—and then all of them simultaneously offered us cigarettes, and then light up themselves along with Vern and Ivan. I declined with a smile and a nod of thanks.
Vern is something else. He’s a master sergeant who looks like a bearded old hippy with all those tattoos and his long hair in a bun with a rubber band. More Hells Angel than parade ground material—but he’s a Special Forces operator from the Fort Benning cadre with three tours in Afghanistan and five in Iraq. General Safford says he’s one of the best combat soldiers he’s ever known. The Russian grunts sure seem to like him. Grandpa would have a fit about his hair and beard.
“First time I ever seen troops allowed to smoke on a chopper,” Vern said with a shake of his head. “These guys must have never seen a chopper burn. I seen a couple go up in Iraq. Not good.”
The Russian kids didn’t put out their cigarettes when Colonel Chernenko climbed in and, a few seconds later, the rotors began to turn. I winced. Vern saw me wince and shrugged, and Ivan tried to blow smoke rings despite the drafty air.
****** Captain Jerry Carpenter
Our helicopter hovered over the landing zone while the other choppers landed one by one and unloaded their troops. Then it was our turn and we settled into the somewhat grassy open area at the foot of a hill. We all remained seated until the tall colonel with the Ukrainian name jumped down. We watched as he bent his head as he strode under the blades and then as he straightened up and began to walk toward the Russian troops and the equipment and supplies being unloaded on the other side of the open area.
Vern and I jumped down behind him and tagged along as he walked up to a couple of smartly saluting young officers. The troops who had flown with us jumped off behind us and promptly disappeared into a large group of men who were forming up near the trees on the other side of the helicopter.
“Saluting in the field,” muttered Vern to me under his breath. “Guess they don’t think they’ve got any snipers to worry about.”
Next to the waiting officers a group of Russian soldiers were busy setting up a tent and unpacking a field radio under the direction of an older enlisted man with graying hair. They even had a fold-up card table and four collapsible chairs like the Chinese ones you might find at Walmart.
We hung back until Chernenko wave us over and began saying something to the two officers standing with him. They were obviously surprised at what he was telling them and looked us over with a great deal of curiosity while he was speaking. Then he said something else and both smiled and nodded at us.
“What’d he say?” I asked Ivan.
“Nothing Comrade Captain. Only tell Americanski comrades is okay.”
There was a lot of talking and gesturing going on among the three officers. Then one of the officers yelled something over his shoulder and a Russian grunt waiting nearby ran over and saluted. His fatigues were wet and really dirty and he needed a shave. He kept pointing up the hill as he talked, and got more and more excited as he went along. Then he pointed into the sun towards another little hill about a mile or two away to the west.
“What’s happening? What did he say?” I asked Ivan
Ivan pointed to the hill and then swept his hand towards it as he explained what he’d heard.
“He tell many mens here. He tell Russian cigarette paper. Is possible maybe yes many mens is here.”
Whatever the man said, it was enough for the Colonel. A minute or so later whistles and shouting began and the Russians spread out in a long skirmish line that looked to be at least a mile long. Then more whistles blew and everyone began walking east into the heavy growth of trees between us and the distant hill.
We followed behind Colonel Chernenko in roughly the center of the Russian line. Behind us we could see the men who had been setting the tent up hurriedly begin taking it down.
A few minutes later and a couple of the Russian helicopters began flying very low about a mile ahead of the slowly walking line of Russians. The sky was dark and cloudy as it hds been every day for almost a week. It looked like rain.
*******
After about an hour of walking there was a lot of shouting from over on the left and the forward movement of the Russian line slowed to a stop. I could see a man, obviously a runner, trotting towards the colonel. He did not have to run far because Chernenko was already walking rapidly towards the shouts. We followed. Wonder what’s up.
Empty cartridges covered the ground in the open area we reached. And they were still shiny. There were also a lot of pieces of wax paper with strange markings scattered about. And as we walked up, one of the Russians began shouting and waving a bloody bandage. It had obviously been recently used and discarded.
“Chinese,” Chernenko said as he looked over at me. “It is Chinese.” Damn, he speaks English. Well that figures.
Almost immediately there were more shouts. This time from a couple of Russians who have ventured beyond the open space and into the woods to relieve themselves. We walke toward the shouting and immediately saw two recently dug parcels of ground that were mounded up a bit. Every one of us instantly knew what we were looking at.
“I sure wish to hell I had a weapon.” I said.
“You got that right, Boss. I don’t like the looks of this shit at all.”
Chernenko obvious didn’t like it either. There was a bit shouting and those of the Russians who hadn’t already done so began chambering rounds in their assault rifles. Then there was more shouting and some of the Russian troops began moving cautiously into the trees ahead of us to set up a perimeter; the rest of the Russians got out their entrenching tool shovels and began digging into the dirt mounds.
It didn’t take long.
There were shouts and loud and obvious curses from the men digging in the little pile as they moved back away from it. Almost immediately the men working on bigger dirt pile had pretty much the same reaction. On
e of them gagged and threw up his breakfast.
We followed behind Chernenko as he and one of his captains went forward to look while their men resumed digging and the first bodies were dragged out. Uniformed bodies.
“Chinese,” Chernenko hisse at me through clenched teeth. “Those are Chinese uniforms.”
I’m pretty sure I know who was in the other grave but I had to be sure. So did Vern and the Russians. And we were right. The dead men were in Russian uniforms and their weapons and gear have been tossed in with them.
“Motherfuckers, son of a bitch cock sucking mother fuckers,” Vern wailed as he pointed. “That’s Willy Williams, I’m sure of it.” I knew him at Benning.”
I didn’t know what else to do so I put my arm around Vern’s shoulders for a moment and give him a consoling hug. Some of the Russians had tears in their eyes.
******
“Yes Sir, I’m pretty sure they found Williams and Kramer and the missing Russians”…. “Yes Sir, buried with their weapons and gear. The missing money too… “Can’t tell, Sir, but they obviously went down fighting. There are a shit pot full of dead Chinese buried nearby, looks to be twenty or thirty of them”… “Yes Sir, I will.
“Vern, I’m supposed to stay with Colonel Chernenko and his men while they try to find the Chinese. You can either go back to escort Williams and Kramer to the States, or go along with us. General Safford says it’s up to you.”
“Shit man, they’re dead. Nothing I can do for Willy and Jack now. I’m coming with you. Maybe we can get those motherfuckers.”
******
Colonel Chernenko’s troops were really spooked. It wasn’t surprising; they were almost all barely-trained teenage conscripts. In any event, despite the efforts of the officers to hurry them along, they were moving very slowly, afraid there were Chinese around every corner.
I wasn’t exactly rushing forward myself and neither was Vern. We each picked up one the assault rifles the diggers pulled out of the grave. We were cleaning them as best we could while we walked. The Russian grunts walking near us shared some of their rations and ammunition with us as we moved slowly through the trees all day long.
They’d seen our reactions as their men and ours were pulled out of the ground and we’d seen theirs; we’re all comrades now. My God, the Russian field rations are terrible.
We followed the Chinese for hours and it was easy to do. There were a lot them; they left their footprints all over the place as they moved through the increasingly dense forest. I was not sure, but it looked like they were heading east towards the railroad.
One of the Russian officers must have said something because pretty soon it became obvious that a couple of squads of the young Russians were sticking particularly close to us. Almost too close; they hadn’t been trained enough to know that it is not a good idea to bunch up in combat.
It turned out that having the Russians stay with us was Colonel Chernenko’s idea. We were walking behind him when he stopped for a second after the first hour or so of walking. When we caught up to him, he explained.
“You and your sergeant are experienced soldiers and my men are not. They are just boys and need someone to tell them what to do. Try to keep them alive when we find the Chinese, eh?”
I immediately nodded my head and agreed, and so did Vern; we’d both been on Special Forces A-teams and had experience leading foreign troops in battle in the mountains of Afghanistan. I’d been there at the very end of the fighting and had very little experience; Vern had done three tours and had a lot.
That night we made a dry and hungry camp and slept out in open. It seems the Russians had never slept out in the open before, not even the officers. But they all had cigarette lighters and the forest was full of dead wood.
It did not take long before we were all huddling around little fires with growling stomachs from the field rations that the Russian troops were carrying. Their campfires were burning everywhere and obviously could be seen and smelled for miles. God, I hope the Chinese aren’t close and hostile.
Vern and I took pity on the Russians; we began showing some of them how to dig out a little hole in the ground for their hips. Pretty soon the others caught on to what they were doing and began copying them.
It got surprisingly chilly as the night progressed. The Russians were wearing the hooded field jackets they’d been carrying. They put them on as soon as the sun went down and then talked softly and tried to sleep all scrunched up in front of their fires.
We, on the other hand, had not expected to stay out all night and had nothing to wear to keep out the cold. All Vern and I could do was sit huddled and shivering near a fire with our arms wrapped around our knees. Damn, we should have taken a couple of jackets off the dead Chinese or Russians.
Our distress at the cold was obvious and must have been discussed by the Russian troops because a few minutes later a couple of Russians going on guard duty brought us their jackets and motioned that we should put them on. They pantomimed that they would trade out with the next two guys who stand guard and stay warm by jumping up and down and moving around a lot.
Vern and I were effusively grateful and everyone smiled at everyone by the light of the fires.
Early the next morning at daybreak, after a cold night of constantly waking up and doing jumping jacks in a futile effort to warm again, we got up and gave the jackets back to their young owners with sincere professions of thanks. They didn’t speak English but our gratitude was obvious.
We were shivering as we joined the Russians as they began moving at first light without waiting to eat. A couple of hours later a shot was fired and there was a lot of shouting. The troops on our far right had come across some Chinese, five of them.
A sorrier bunch you’ll never see. One was obviously dead with his jacket pulled over his head; all the rest were wounded and starving. One of them looked to be a goner for sure.
Out came the canteens and what was left of the field rations, and the Russian medics got to work. Chernenko was puffing on a cigarette and waving it around with his hand as he talked on the field radio his radioman was carrying. No matter what they’ve done it’s hard to be pissed at people when they are in this kind of shape and totally harmless.
And we had a problem. The surviving Chinese were effusively grateful and talking and gesturing between gulps of water and bites of the food some of the Russians dug out of their pockets. But none of us spoke Chinese, and not a one of them spoke anything else. So we were not exactly sure what the wounded Chinese were trying to tell us.
After a lot of gestures and pointing we got the picture, or at least we think so; there are about a hundred Chinese troops somewhere ahead of us. At least that’s what the captured Chinese seem to be saying with their many pointing and hand-waving gestures and counting on their fingers.
It turned out they were really pissed at being abandoned and know they’ll never be able to go back to China and their families. More citizens for Taiwan, Vern suggested with cynical smile. He had spent time there and likes the place.
While the talking and gesturing was going on, one of the two old Russian helicopters that had been scouting ahead for us landed and quickly loaded the three most seriously wounded Chinese and five or six of the Russian troops including one of the medics. The rest of the Chinese would be evacuated when more helicopters arrive.
****** Captain Jerry Carpenter
Things really began to pop about thirty minutes later. Three Russian gunships flashed over the tops of the trees and began systematically patrolling in a great circle around us while a stream of troop carriers coming in behind them landed and began disgorging troops. They were also unloading ration boxes and mounds of canvas that turned out to be tents. Looks like we’re going to be here a while.
And then things got even more interesting. “Heads up, boss,” said Vern. “Here comes a shitload of brass.”
Generals Evans and Safford, and a couple of Russian generals were climbing out of a Russian chopper that had
just settled onto the landing zone in a cloud of dust. We trotted towards them and saluted as they came out from under the turning blades and approached us.
All the brass looked grim as they walked with us to see the remaining prisoners. They had already stopped to see the graves and the dead men.
“How are you two doing,” General Evans asked.
“Good as could be expected, Sir,” I reported. “We’re freezing our asses off but getting along fine with the Russians.”
“Yeah, and you’re carrying weapons, which is what you are not supposed to do.”
“Sorry Sir, it’s my fault, not Vern’s. It started feeling a bit hairy out here by ourselves so I told him to grab a couple of the weapons we found in the grave along with Williams and Kramer. Sergeant Hurlburt was obeying my orders, sir.”
“Yeah, and it was a good decision under the circumstances. I should have known better than to send you two out unarmed.
"Okay, you can carry weapons so long as you’re out here in the bush with the Russians. But don’t carry weapons when you’re in a camp where media types might see you. And don’t you dare even think about going into China armed or unarmed.”
“Yes Sir, Thank you, Sir.”
******
Corporal Ma came into the camp with a stitch in his side from running so hard. “Lieutenant Bao,” he gasped as he held his side. “Troops are coming this way. Lots of them. Russians for sure.”
I wasn’t surprised. We’d been sitting here watching the Russian helicopters fly around on the other side of the valley since about noon yesterday. They overflew us a couple of times but they couldn’t see us because we set up our camp under the trees where there was a lot of cover.
Damn. We have to move but if we move now the enemy helicopters will see movement on the ground and find us. We’ll have to wait until dark.
“Sergeant Shen, order the men to remain absolutely motionless. Remind them that it is movement that attracts the eye. We’ll break camp and move deeper into the mountains as soon as it gets dark.”
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