The Fall of America | Book 7 | Airborne

by Benton, W. R.

  “John, what would you say if I told you I love you?” She looked right into my eyes.

  I know I smiled, because while I felt something for her it wasn't love yet and I told her as much. She nodded, but was grinning as well. It's a wonderful feeling in a war torn nation to feel loved and I think it gives us a sense of real honest hope. As long as we can love we have hope for the future, and we can recover from anything.

  As we waited, it began to rain paper, sheets of paper.

  I had one float almost into my lap and when I grabbed it still in the air, I was overwhelmed with shock. It had a younger photo of my face, almost an 8 inch by 10 inch, and at the top read, “Wanted Dead or Alive. Reward of $1,000,000.00 by Russian Government. John Williamson, Colonel, US Partisan. Paid in Gold or currency of choice.”

  “Oh, John, this is terrible.” Cynthia said, and then burst into tears.

  I gathered up a goodly amount, because toilet paper was hard to find.

  Later, I had a hard time sleeping because I knew the reward might tempt someone to try to kill or capture me. A million dollars is a hell of a lot of money. The problem is, there is no place in America to spend the money, but it's enough to tempt many people, even good people.

  I slept poorly and tossed and turned all night. I had to get the posters removed, destroy the building where they were printed, and kill those behind the reward. The poster was nice enough to give me a Colonel Yakovich as the Wing Commander, Colonel Slava as the Base Commander, Colonel Chupakhin Vitomir Chief of Intelligence, and a General Yurkov Georgiy as the man with the. government money behind the printing. All three names were on the poster. I might be able to track and kill the three Colonels in the United States, but the fat General was out of the picture. It was very likely the General was in Moscow.

  Over morning coffee with Cynthia, who hadn't slept well either, we discussed my plan. I had spies on the base who worked for our Headquarters and I'd try to get images and information about all three men. The General was safe and there was absolutely nothing I could do about him, but I could always arrange the Colonels to be killed by a sniper or killed in a bomb blast.

  She didn't think it'd work because it would take balls to enter the base and try to steal personal information and images of the two highest ranking men on the facility. I knew we had spies that stole what we needed and often at great risk. In the meantime, I had to worry about one of my people putting a bullet in my back. If it got too rough, I'd have my Headquarters transfer me to another region of the United States. I didn't really want to do that. I dislike running from anything or anyone, and wouldn't this time, unless I took some near misses or attempts on my life.

  “Top?” I said as he neared.

  “Sir? How can I help you today.”

  I handed him a wanted poster, he grinned and said, “You're worth a million dollars to the Russians, and that's enough money to bring out the greedy. How can I help you?”

  “See all posters that can be found are gathered up and burned. Then, tell our folks the Russians might offer that money, but we don't think it would be paid. First, to kill me, it would take a partisan and I don't see the Russians allowing them to live, reward or not. They want all partisans dead. They'd probably kill the person when they went to collect.”

  “Your words are more truthful than you realize. I think they'd kill them too.”

  “Make sure the threat to my life is reported to Headquarters and see what they think. They might have some ideas. I don't want to be reassigned, but I'll do what they order. If I have to go, see that Major Cynthia Morgan goes with me.”

  The Sergeant Major hadn't said a word, but I could tell he was thinking. Finally, he said, “We might be able to get a janitor or someone who works for us to smuggle out photos of the three Colonels and then we give clean copies to our snipers with orders to take them and no one else out. They need to do their normal routine for the day and then keep an eye out for either man. Make killing them a priority.”

  “Think that will work?” Cynthia asked.

  “I think so, and members of the resistance know even if they killed John, they'd never be able to live and not worry about being assassinated. We'd track the killers down no matter where they relocated, not that it'd matter to you or John.”

  “Uh-huh, because I'd be dead.”

  “Yep, I'll get some spies to working on this, sir. In the meantime, I'm assigning five men to you for security and safety. I want five so some can rest at times and not always have to work. I want two outside and around your tent at night when you sleep, one with you during the day. I want them seven days a week and twenty-four hours a day.”

  “What of Cynthia? You know she lives with me now, right?”

  “What you do is none of their business, and who you do it with even less so. They are there for one and only one reason, to keep you alive.” Top said.

  “See what we've talked about happens and within the hour. I want the information sent by code to Headquarters. From this moment on, I can trust no one and must be prepared to take action any second. The only people I can really trust is you Top, and Cynthia.”

  “I'll see this is done.” he said and then left us heading to his office.

  “Oh, and what makes you think I wouldn't kill you for this kind of money?”

  “Come on, be serious. You said you love me and that you want to be my mate.”

  “I do want that. So, you should see security beefed up a great deal. All briefcases or boxes should be checked before they are allowed to enter a building with you. All they have to do is set a timer and make an excuse to leave the room. Once the blast is over, then they'd contact the Russians. Make it hard for anyone to kill you. I love you, John, and if you get killed, I'll not want to live, so I hope they kill me when they do you.”

  “Noble, but not needed. There is no need for you to die as well. I'll do all within my power to keep you and I alive.”

  “You mean me and your baby, don't you?”

  I was shocked, and hoped this time my lover and baby would survive. The last time Spetsnaz killed both of them. I pulled her into my arms, kissed her deeply and felt her desire kick in and that alone triggered a change in me. Passion suddenly ignited, but it was 1700 and I had meetings to attend until around 1800.

  “Did the medical folks tell you about the baby?” I asked, trying to get my mind on something other than loving her.

  “No, it's not been confirmed yet, but I've missed two periods, so I'm sure I'm with child.”

  I glanced at my Russian watch and said, “I have meetings until 1800 but wait for me and we can eat in the mess hall together. After that, we can cuddle up on my bed and listen to Free Partisan Radio as we talk. I hope you are pregnant, because I want a baby to love.”

  “Uh, I had more than talking on my mind, sir.”

  “It'll happen. I will love you before we sleep.” I pulled her to me, gave her a hard hug and a deep kiss. This would be an easy woman to learn to love, and deeply too. She loved pleasing her man.

  Headquarters agreed with me trying to take the three Colonels out, except with a time limit. If I couldn't take them out within 30 days, they'd reassign me to the Southeast portion of the US. I agreed, because what else could I do? I'm not a coward, but I don't have a death wish either. As everyone stated, “A million dollars is a lot of money.”

  Less than three days later, I had information on the top three Colonels on the base. I even had color images, which meant I was able to provide my snipers nice clear photos. The images were from their personnel records. Of the three snipers, I considered Staff Sergeant Roper to be the best shot of all of them. I wanted the base watched 24/7 with no shots taken except on one of the three Colonels.

  Roper went to a different location each day and lay prone for eight hours, waiting for one of the Colonels to exit a building, but so far he'd seen nothing. He grew hot as the day progressed, but he didn't move, not even for a canteen of water. It was the third day and late afternoon when he spotted
Colonel Chupakhin Vitomir, Chief of Base Intelligence, exit what Sergeant Roper thought was the Headquarters building.

  It was just starting to turn dusk when his spotter elbowed him. He'd already seen the man, so he just nodded. The Sergeant moved the cross-hairs on his scope to make up for any drop in the bullet in about a thousand yards, then lined his sights up on the Colonel's chest. Sergeant Roper took a long deep breath and as he released it, he squeezed the trigger. He was rewarded by a slight thud as the suppressor kept the noise of the 30.06 rifle firing to a minimum.

  In the scope he saw his intended target fall as the bullet passed through his chest and exited as it threw blood and gore out his back. He suspected his target screamed when hit, but Roper heard nothing. When bystanders neared the man, Roper waited, not wanting them today. He wanted to make sure his target was fatally injured, so he waited for them to lift him. Then he would shoot him again.

  Two men with rifles neared and were ordered to guard them as others lifted him. When Colonel Chupakhin Vitomir‘s body was picked up and fully extended, Roper sent two more bullets into his chest and the Colonel's chin dropped; he was dead.

  Sirens sounded and their high pitch wail seemed to just add to the overall confusion. A couple of men pointed off in the distance and not one finger was near the sniper. An airstrike hit minutes later, only it wasn't even close.

  As Roper and his spotter ran, the shooter radioed Base.

  “Uh, Base Three, Quick Draw One, over.”

  “Go Quick Draw.”

  “Cobbler three.” He said, the code indicating Colonel Vitomir, the number three man, was dead.

  “Repeat, Quick Draw One. Over.”

  “Cobbler Three is no longer a player in the game.”

  “Copy, Quick Draw One.”

  “Starting our escape and evasion. Out.”

  “Good luck, Quick Draw.”

  Roper moved quickly through the trees and brush. In a matter of minutes the Russians had choppers in the air, but the witnesses were confused because he'd been no place near where they were searching. He smiled and kept running.

  On the base, Colonel Slava knew after talking with witnesses the death of the Chief of Intelligence was no isolated case of luck. The Colonel had been murdered. Of all the people walking around the grounds, the senior man was killed, which meant the sniper knew Russian uniforms and ranks. He'd been selectively killed.

  The Colonel suddenly felt a chill go down his spine and moved out of the open. Once in his office he poured himself a double shot of vodka and found he spilled much of the liquid due to his hands shaking. He didn't like knowing the sniper killed by rank, because he was the next ranking man on base.

  Over the next four days it was quiet and Colonel Slava found himself drinking more vodka than usual. He was drinking each morning, early, just to walk two blocks to his Headquarters building. The sniper had not returned, so maybe it was safe for him to relax a little.

  The weather was perfect as the Colonel walked to a Black Shark two seat attack helicopter and was to go on a flight to keep his status current and to still receive flight pay. Everyone was in a good mood, with all of them joking. He'd just moved up the external steps to climb into a seat when the canopy glass took a glancing bullet and the chunk of lead zinged off into space. There followed three more shots and each one was close, very close. While the bullets didn't pierce the aircraft armor plating it did send each bullet off as a dangerous ricochet. The launch crew was going nuts with bullets bouncing all over. One man fell screaming, with a bullet to the shin, and the broken bone clearly seen sticking from the mangled flesh.

  One portly Sergeant screamed and fell, his left arm bleeding hard, and the crew chief fell with a bullet to the back. As they lay screaming the sniper was cursing with each miss. Colonel Slava ran into a nearby hanger and went out the back door. He then called his driver and had his car, minus the flags, brought to him.

  Just as he stepped from the hanger, he felt a red hot poker enter his back and watched the bullet, along with part of himself, strike the car door. Off in the distance someone was screaming. The concrete of the sidewalk felt cool to his face as he hit hard. Less than a minute after being shot, he was pulled into the back seat of his car and was moving for a hospital.

  “He hit you high and in the shoulder, sir.” Sergeant Victorovich said, “So you are lucky. Here, let me push some material against the wound to stop the bleeding. We will be at the hospital in a few minutes.”

  He was very confused as he slowly lost consciousness.

  Chapter 13

  Three days after the wanted posters were dropped to the ground, someone shot into the outhouse with four rounds, which normally wouldn't be a big deal, but I was in the small smelly place at the time. How they missed, I have no idea. I'd dropped a pocket knife in a sheath from from my belt and bent over to pick it up from the floor. Four holes appeared right above my head and then continuing on, the bullets made four holes behind me. It's very unnerving to experience something like that. While the bullets hit no one, the attempt on my life made everyone a little nervous, especially me.

  No one had seen anyone with a rifle and there was not much I could do except to warn folks at all meetings, “If you try to kill me and miss, and I catch you, I will kill you right then and there. You will get no trial, no hearing, not even a chance to explain your action. You will either be shot or stabbed to death.”

  I turned security over to Top and lived my life as normally as I could. All boxes and briefcases brought into any tents I was in, or would be in at some point that day, were checked closely by my military police. Dog teams moved around us at all hours.

  Cynthia was a loving woman, and I was slowly falling love with her gentle and soft ways. When not out on a mission, she was all woman, and dressed the part too. She had the ability to go from deadly partisan killer to sweet Southern Belle in less than five minutes in dress and behavior. I respected her for that, because it showed she cared about our nation. She also cared about herself, it showed plainly, and she wanted me to be happy too. She was all lady, a woman, my friend, and my lover. She knew when to be a professional partisan and when to turn intimate with me.

  One morning, right at dawn, Cynthia was standing beside my cot as I slept. She'd just returned from the showers and was wearing a robe, with her hair wrapped in a towel. She removed the day’s uniform from my locker, when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked and spotted a grenade rolling into my tent.

  “John, grenade!” She screamed and then kicked the explosive out of my tent. I heard screams and yells, but had no idea what was going on. I sat up, but heard no explosion. I did hear two gun shots.

  “I got 'em! Here, help him stand. Hard to stand after a .45 strikes a man in the leg.” I heard Top say.

  I pulled my Russian pistol and made my way outside.

  “Move closer to me, sir.” Top said. “The grenade didn't go off, which means we're lucky. It's Chinese made and they have about a 70% failure rate. If it had been Russian or American made, we'd not be having this talk out here.”

  A tall skinny kid of about 18 stood, supported by Top and another man I didn't know.

  “Who is this boy?” I asked.

  “He's the man I saw roll a grenade into your tent. I actually stood over by the ATV and watched him pull the pin and saw the handle fly into the air. He was alone.”

  “Did you do this for the money?” I asked him, only before he could answer me, I fired two shots from my pistol. Both bullets struck him in the head and he was dead instantly. Blood and gore splattered on the ground behind him. I could see my actions shocked Top.

  “Hang him by his ankles in the center of camp so others may see him. Place a sign on him that reads, “I wanted to be the assassin of our Commander. I failed. Will you be next?” Let the body hang for 48 hours. Then pull him out into the brush a couple of miles from here, but no burial.”

  “Yes, sir.” Top replied. “Oh, Sanders, I can tell you have n
othing to do. I have a job for you, son.”

  Shaking his head, the young man said, “You usually do have a job for me or you find me one pretty damn fast. What is it now, Top, dig a new latrine?”

  “No, we are going to hang a man.”

  “Hang a man? Who?”

  “Never mind who, just know he's already dead.”

  “Then why hang a dead man? It looks to me like hanging wouldn't be needed.”

  “To make an example of his ass. Now, come here and you take his feet.”

  A minute later the body was gone.

  Once in the tent I told Cynthia what happened and warned her to go no place, not even my tent, without being armed. They could try to kidnap her to get at me.

  I grabbed all of my field gear and said, “I'll be back in the morning. I have an overnight mission with Andy King and his troopers.”

  “You be careful and take no risks.” she said with that sexy smile of hers.

  “I won't take any risks. You be careful here, too, because the Russians want me badly. I know they'll hit this place when they discover my location. They'd take you in a minute to get back at me.”

  She pulled me into her arms, kissed me deeply, and said, “Plenty more where that one came from, so be safe and return for more.”

  “I'll return as soon as I can.”

  Andy ran a professional group of men and women, with absolutely no talking in the field and very little moving around when stopped. He was well prepared and organized for this and any other mission he ran.

  When I asked him about it, he replied, “Either keep them professional or watch 'em die out here. Most partisans are professionals in action now, but as recent as two years ago that was not true.”

  As we started down the trail, my camouflage face paint was already itching and bothering me, and I had another 12 hours or so to go. My pack was heavy, close to 70 pounds, but most of what was in the thing was there to help keep me alive. I could think of nothing in the pack I didn't, or might not, need on the mission. It would be a long night with little sleep and poor food, and I was sure I'd end up with indigestion from the rations.