by W. R. Benton
“How long before you know the results? I suspect right now the target is filled with smoke and dust.”
“You're right, sir. We'll wait for the dust to settle and fires to go out, and then use a satellite to send us clear images of the damage done.”
“Any aircraft losses?”
“Only one bomber and two fighters. The fighter crews have been picked up already by search and rescue. We are currently attempting to reach the pilot and navigator from the bomber and if all goes well, they'll be home before supper.”
“What do we know of the bomber crew?”
“Very little, I'm afraid, sir. At some point the bird took a SAM. Four chutes were seen, and it's assumed the two others didn't survive. The aircraft was over the harbor when struck, so it went down in the ocean. Search and rescue thinks a search attempt near the harbor would be suicidal, but they'll try a rescue if contacted by survival radio from one of the crew.”
The President nodded and then asked, “Do you think we support our partisan units at all or in any way?”
“Good question, but I honestly don't know. What makes you ask, sir?”
“General Adams brought up the partisan units he's battling near Chicago and I started wondering about ours. Surely we must have some trapped behind the lines in Liberal country.”
“Let me get someone who knows the answer for you.” He picked up the phone, dialed a single digit and said, “Sergeant Turner, I have need of you in the radio room.”
Five minutes later a Senior Master Sergeant entered the room and as he neared, the General said, “At ease, Sergeant. The President wants to know about our resistance groups and how we support them.”
“We provide them next to nothing, and I've always felt they're doing a job for us that is rarely recognized or even known about at our level. They operate, as you may suspect, sir, independently and never report to us.”
“What is your estimate at the number of partisans we have?”
“That's a pretty hard question to answer. I'd guess we have 50,000 or more in the United States. However, in Missouri, where the country is being invaded, I'd guess only a few thousand, and some have been supplied partially by Fort Leonard Wood.”
“Partially?”
“Sir, they have guns or can get them by killing UN troops. Munitions, such as mines, C-4, or other items are harder to locate for them, because they usually kill off small groups of the enemy, who won't normally have munitions. Most wear CSA combat uniforms, to avoid being shot as spies and to show any aircraft they work for us. Partisan work is extremely dangerous and, as you know, neither side will take them prisoner. So, they fight hard to avoid capture.”
“Sergeant, how would you like to earn some tax free combat pay?”
“Uh, it depends on what you have in mind, sir. I don't mind doing anything that's legal, but let's say I'm interested in hearing what you have to say.”
“You old E-8s and E-9s are all alike.” The President gave a light laugh. “I served in the Air Force for eight wonderful years and I knew within a month Senior Sergeants and Chiefs ran the Air Force. When I need a job done and right now, I'd ask a Sergeant to help me and they always knew how to get the job done correctly. I also learned they have one hell of a networking system in place, and could get things done with one phone call.”
Grinning, the SMSgt asked, “So what is this offer for combat pay, sir?”
“I want you to find and train a couple of squads of men, oh, say ten men. You can use women too, if they volunteer, but this will be hush hush. Then I want you to go to that Army post, uh...” He looked at the General.
“Fort Leonard Wood, sir.”
“Fort Leonard Wood, and I want you and your troops to mingle with the partisans that come in. I want all of you to go out with those troops and learn what they are doing and how they operate. I want each partisan group left with a radio, and for them to be trained on how to use it properly. From then on, I want regular reports from them, all of them, daily. You can then gather the information and forward it to us, at Headquarters. Now, I want you to go with the partisans, but only once or twice, just so you have a feeling for how they operate. I want to make our resistance groups stronger and give them bigger teeth so their bites are dangerous. Do this job well, son, and I promise you medals and a promotion to Chief.”
“I'll do it, sir, but for two reasons. First, because I'm interested in the mission and second, because it's a good idea and you asked me to do this. You could have just ordered me.”
Smiling, the President replied, “Yes, I could have ordered you to do the job, but an old Chief once told me, find a good Sergeant, give him the authority to do a job and then get the hell out of his way. Your chain of command is directly to me and you will report only to me on matters of importance. Your normal day to day needs will be provided by the Air Force Chief of Staff.”
“Yes, sir, I'll give Senior Master Sergeant Turner what he requires to get his job done.”
“Uh, when do I start, sir?”
“Yesterday wouldn't have been too soon. As of right now, I want you relieved of all duties and assigned to me. General, see that happens. Then, start at personnel, review records of those with communications backgrounds, and find you a good batch of men and women who may be interested in this. Give them no real information, until they've been screened and given a security clearance. Then, you decide what the resistance folks need to know about the radios and take it from there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Extending his hand, the President shook his hand as he said, “Best of luck to you, and I'm expecting a lot from you.”
Two weeks later, nineteen men and one woman were standing in line to board a bus at Fort Leonard Wood. They'd just been flown to the Fort and were now moving toward helping the partisans. Only they needed some chow, a shower and rest. The first meeting with a few of the partisans was scheduled to start in the morning.
“We will be housed in NCO billeting suites while on the Post. We will all be kept in the same building, so we'll be ready for contact or to go into the field at any time. This is not a vacation, so keep your booze consumption under control, you are not authorized off base when off duty, and when you go out with the partisans, make sure as hell you tell me before you leave. We meet in the morning at 0700 in the conference room at Headquarters to get to know some of the resistance members. Now, since there are no questions, we'll be taken to our quarters.”
James sat in the hard plastic chair and asked, “So how will we get more batteries when they're needed for the radios?”
“Along with the radios, we'll establish regular supply drops for you and your people. You will, once you have radios, be able to request what you need at any given time.” Turner said. “We'll automatically include batteries in any supplies we send you.”
“Sounds good if it works.”
“I see no reason it won't, because even if you have to call off a drop, you'll be able to talk to the aircraft as they approach you. I'd like to go out with you for a week or so to get an idea of what you face from day to day, so I can support you even better.”
“Sure, grab your gear and we leave in twenty minutes. I'm going to load what you've given us so far and we'll take the supplies back to camp with us. My folks will think it's Christmas with all the stuff we have here.”
Turner laughed as he stood and said, “I'll bet.”
An hour later, he was riding in Gator's old truck down a broken and rough stretch of highway that used to be Route 66. The road had once been the primary road, until it had been replaced by Interstate 44, and the lack of upkeep showed.
“Is the road always this rough?” Turner asked.
Gator spit a stream of brown tobacco juice out his window and replied, “Nope, it gets rougher here in a bit. Then we'll turn off and head to the woods. James, can you see what that is in front of us, oh, 'bout a mile?”
“It looks to be a roadblock, but I can't tell you which side is manning it right now. The dista
nce is too great.”
“Surely no UN troops would be this close to the Fort, right?”
Shaking his head, Gator said, “Son, one thing I can say about the typical UN soldier, they have a set of balls. Not long ago they had a roadblock up and running less than a mile from the gate to Fort Lost in the Woods. I'm turning here, so we don't look suspicious to those manning the barricade.”
As he turned, James said, “This will take us eventually to highway 63 South, but you know this, right?”
“Hell, I know where I am. I figure to turn on CC highway and move to camp.”
“Oh, that'll work, and fine too. I never thought of that.”
“And you're the boss?” Gator asked, then gave a loud cackle.
About a mile down the road, the old man said, “Jeep looking thing behind us, so what now?”
“Think you can outrun them?” Turner asked.
“Hell, I cain't outrun a bicycle in this old truck.”
“Let's let them make their intentions known first and then, if we need to do the job, we'll pull over, but be ready to fight.” James pulled a .45 auto from his holster and placed a round in the chamber. He kept the pistol between his legs.
“Shit, they're flashing their lights and honking the horn now. The driver is motioning with his hand for me to pull over.”
“Obey the man, Gator.” Turner, who was riding shotgun said, as he pulled his 9mm and then placed his hand beside his leg.
“Looks to be three of them, from what I see but I ain't never been real good with math.” Gator said as he pulled over and came to a complete stop.
“The driver and another are getting out, so they'll approach both windows. Turner, you take your man out, while I take the other. Then we'll all attack the one in the vehicle.”
A man wearing a blue UN helmet walked to the drivers side as another man went to the passengers side of the truck.
“Papers, please?” the soldier asked.
“Why did you stop me?” Gator asked as he handed his vehicle papers to the soldier.
“You avoided our roadblock. Why?”
“'Cause I'm heading home and don't live that way. Now, iffen I lived that way, I would have stopped to say hello to y'all.”
“So, you are Homer Poor?”
“I am.”
“I have to ask you to step from the truck and open the back for me, sir. I see you are a grocer, but we are having problems with partisans in this area.”
“No! Partisans, here?” Gator asked as he moved around in the truck, so he appeared to be getting ready to step out. The soldier stepped back a few feet so the driver would not be close to him when he dismounted.
Gator opened the door, stepped from the cab and then moved toward the front bumper.
“Sir, we need to see the back of your —”
With the door open and Gator out of the way, James place two rounds into the soldier and heard Turner fire twice as well. Both men screamed, but the man beside Turner turned and stumbled back toward his vehicle. The Sergeant stepped from the truck, lined up his sights and shot the soldier between the shoulder blades. The 9mm bullet passed through the man's body and took part of his spine as it left his chest.
Turner continued toward the vehicle, seeing the last man attempting to start the engine. He fired at almost the same time as Gator did, who'd approached on the other side. Both shots hit the windshield, causing it to spiderweb but neither man knew if they'd struck the soldier or not. Suddenly the horn began to blare loudly.
Gator motioned for Turner to check the man as he covered him. Turner moved to the drivers side, looked in the window and saw the top half of the soldier's skull was missing.
“He's dead.” He yelled to be heard.
“Get his damn body off that horn!” Gator screamed to be heard.
Turner opened the door, pulled the body out of the vehicle and then said, “Now what?”
Grinning, James said, “Get back in the truck and we'll get the hell out of here. Someone will show once they can't reach these fools on the radio. Check each body before we leave and take anything we might need.”
When Turner gave him a questioning look, he added, “Money, watches, and such we can use to barter with other groups, and any weapons or ammo you find. I'll search their truck.”
Three days later, as they all sat on the edge of a huge field, the radio squawked, “Uh, Robin Hood, this is Nottingham One.”
“Go, Nottingham, it's your dime.” Turner said.
“Roger, uh, we'll fly over you just once, then make the drop. We've already faked a few drops, but we'll fake a few more before we leave.”
“Copy, and I have you visual now at my 12 o'clock position.”
“Count me down, over.”
“3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . overhead —now!”
“I have you in sight and will line up for the LAPES now. You have one egg only, Robin Hood.”
“Copy, one egg.”
The aircraft turned slowly, lined up the field and then made a low approach, almost as if to land. Suddenly, a huge parachute inflated from the back of the aircraft and pulled a pallet of goodies and gear out. It landed in the field with a loud bang and a cloud of dust. The partisans remained in position.
“Uh, Nottingham, we have the egg and all is well.”
“Copy you have the egg. Enjoy your day, Robin Hood, and remember, you call and we haul. Over.”
The aircraft flew away and could be heard faking other deliveries or, for all James knew, maybe they had more to make. He knew all the fake drops would confuse their enemies and for sure make it impossible to know which was real or not.
“Now we wait an hour. Why it's important to make the drops during early morning hours is, we need the sunlight to remove what has been delivered and then get it back to camp. Once at camp, we'll have to see what goodies they've dropped us. Keep in mind, you can send in a shopping list and have it here when you need it. I'll do my best to see you get what you need.” Turner said, and gazing into the eyes of James, he smiled.
An hour later they moved to the pallet and quickly loaded everything in the truck. They then moved down the road in the opposite direction of camp and then circled around on a blacktop road. After a few miles they turned again onto the gravel road. They soon pulled into camp and unloaded the boxes.
“Cases of Meals Ready to Eat, or MREs to the vets.” James said, and then laughed.
“First aid supplies with morphine, lights, and other gear.” Nancy said, and her voice sounded excited, like a little girl opening gifts on her birthday.
“Ammo here, grenades and some mines.” James said with a grin.
Turner moved to the coffee pot and poured a cup of the hot black liquid. It felt good, and tasted even better. He enjoyed watching them unload and checking the boxes, and he suspected now the resistance would become formidable.
Chapter 21
The President of the United States was sitting in his bunker sipping on whiskey as he realized he was living like Hitler in the days before Berlin fell to the Russians. The only difference was, Hitler didn't drink and spoke German. All around him, his nation was starting to crumble before his very eyes. He gulped the rest of his drink, picked up the phone, and called Spain. He sat in his black overstuffed leather chair behind his desk as he waited for an answer, and moved his wife's photo to the corner of his desk.
“Awww, Mister President, how may I assist you this evening?”
“I need help. My country is going to hell, and I need more troops and weapons.”
“We discussed you this morning, Herr President, and what you need to do is listen to your Generals. Stop running the show on your own, do you understand me?”
“Yes, I understand. It's just I don't trust my Generals.”
“You will turn this over to your General staff, sir, or we'll cut all aid and terminate you immediately.”
“Are you serious? Do you not know where I am?”
“I know about the bunker, sir. Are you in your of
fice in the bunker? If so, I hope you're relaxing on the brown leather sofa or your black overstuffed chair behind your desk. Is the photo of your late wife still where it was earlier today, on top of your desk? I understand the image was very close to your coffee cup. Remember, your favorite pen is in the top drawer and on the left side, away from the other pens and pencils. Hell, I can fax you the blueprints of your bunker, if you doubt my word. I know where you are, sir.”
“You sneaky sonofabitch! How dare you put me on your payroll and then spy on me!”
“Temper, sir. Another outburst like that could result in you experiencing a heart attack or stroke. Just let me say it pays for us to keep our employees under watch, at least for a while. Newly hired employees are sometimes difficult to work with.”
“I'll turn the war over to my staff in the morning, but please, send us more men and equipment.”
“Patience, sir, and if you have needs, we'll fill them for you, as long as your Generals run the show.”
“I understand.”
“Good night, Mister President.” the voice said.
“G . . . good night.” The President said as he thought, Oh, I hate turning this over to the Generals. He poured his glass full this time and knocked it back.
The Boss decided he needed to run to a grocery store and stock up on a few things. He didn't go out often, and most of his time was spent reading or watching television. It was early evening, dark, and near eight. He walked to the car, got in and then his cell phone rang. That's strange, no one has my number. I'll bet it's another wrong number, he thought as he said, “Hello?”
“Boss, you're using the wrong word. It should be goodbye.” a female voice said.
“W . . . who are you?” he asked, but deep down inside, he knew. He knew then he'd made a mistake, but what it was he'd never know.
“I'm the woman sent to kill you, sir. Goodbye.”
He'd just opened the door to run when his car exploded into the air, taking big pieces of The Boss' body with it as flames mushroomed into a huge fireball. By the time the hood of his car landed in his driveway, The Boss was a dead man.