The Fall of America | Book 7 | Airborne

by Benton, W. R.

  “Hello, Captain, this is the Wing Commander and in the morning, I want a photographer and two writers to go with me into the field. We are going to visit the crash site of a Chinese helicopter we shot down. I want big news made out of the fact the Chinese are here and illegally, too. I want the Chinese bodies and the whole mess photographed. Do you see any problems doing this?”

  “I didn't think you would. Do this properly and you will see your name on the next promotions list to Lieutenant Colonel. No, there is no mistake. If you do this right, you will never wear the rank of Major. Then, you know Colonel will be assured for a man who never put on Major. Have them ready two hours before sunrise.”

  He hung up the phone, opened his desk drawer and removed a bottle of vodka. He pulled the cork, poured a generous amount into his cold tea, and then sat the bottle on the edge of his desk. He took a slight sip, closed his eyes and wished his wife was with him to give him a massage, or at least to discuss his problems with. She saw things in situations he never did and usually had brilliant ideas. Only she was home and could offer him no assistance.

  I must make General when I leave here or my whole life has been for nothing. I was born to be a General and now I will fulfill my destiny or die an old man and a failure. I must be promoted, he thought as he picked up his tea and downed the drink.

  He wiped his mouth off, stood and thought, “Tomorrow I will send Moscow proof of Chinese involvement and my interrogation of the Chinese pilot before he died of his wounds. He confessed much to me and I must send that information to Mother Russia. I will be shown dressing his wounds, and speaking with him. I am sure we have some people who can make a dead man in a photo look very much alive. Perhaps I can first be shown dressing his eye injures, which will be severe.”

  Early the next morning the crews and media folks were all standing around the Russian helicopter before they departed. The media folks were all excited and the aircrew members were bored with the mission. The Colonel arrived and then boarded the aircraft. Minutes later, they moved slowly into the air.

  The Chinese had been dead a few days, but the cold weather had preserved the bodies well, only the co-pilot and other door gunner could not be used because they were torn to pieces. Photos were taken of the dead pilot and the Commander went through the motions of doctoring him up and caring for him and once he had the eyes wrapped, it looked good, but even with all the effort made by the Colonel, the man died anyway. They were gone about four hours. The smell was enough to gag all of them and the military reporters had a hard time keeping their breakfast down. Then, once they boarded the aircraft for the trip home they took some small arms ground fire, but only a couple of rounds hit the helicopter and none that caused much damage. It was mostly to the aluminum skin on the aircraft.

  Once back at the base, a brilliant story, along with images, about how Full Colonel select Ruslan 'Rusya' Gennadiyevich had tried his best to save the life of the Chinese flier, was soon airborne for Moscow. He also stated that the pilot had recently died due to his injuries. Since he had experience in other wars, his images were most convincing.

  Weeks passed and he finally got a phone call from his father stating his photos and story were the talk of Moscow. The Russian media made a huge push at showing how humane the Russians were, along side images of WWII of the Chinese decapitating prisoners. It clearly spoke, no, it shouted of the Russians being the good guys in this war.

  The phone calls to him were suddenly less harsh and rough, indicating he was now a favorite of the Generals. To make things look even better, he launched a huge attack on partisan areas, led by his airborne troops.

  The first sign of something being wrong was when a machine gun in a chopper door coughed and my troops on the ground began to fall. Our point man was chewed to pieces by the gun and when the firing stopped, little was left except for a red puddle on the trail. He was dead in a heartbeat. I'm sure he felt little, and what he felt was not for long.

  Then Russian missiles struck, killing even more, especially when combined with the devastating gunfire on the ground. It felt like we'd run into a couple of companies of troops, but I knew better. The Russians were just getting better at ambushes was all. Casualties grew as we withdrew to fight another day. I never fought them if I could avoid it, on even terms. I'd lose every single time. It's hard to beat ground troops with experienced air support. It was a sad group that moved toward base camp.

  I discovered I'd lost over 150 killed, maimed or missing. Of my maimed, forty folks, four were not expected to live. Some had horrible wounds, so I had the ones dying for sure put down with morphine. Otherwise, some would take days to die and I had to leave them. I knew the Russians would just kill them or hurt them to gain information. I never intentionally left a wounded person behind to become a POW.

  When we left, we took all the guns and ammunition, along with other gear, as we booby trapped all the bodies. Russians, like most troops, are souvenir hunters, so the traps would kill some of them. We'd leave most watches, rings and necklaces on our dead to entice them.

  The next few days I had cells moving in all directions. I had a feeling the Russians had some forward operating bases I knew nothing about. I intended to find the bases and take them out, one at a time, destroying all the property and gear I could, as well as killing the troops. Only we had to find the bases first. I soon discovered two that were large enough they were hiring civilians to do the jobs they didn't like. Our people now washed dishes and manned the dining facilities, as well as the clubs where they could drink. I intentionally sent women to and around the bases that had sexually transmitted diseases or other illnesses that would spread quickly. My goal then was not to kill, but take a man or woman out of action for a day or two and affect their morale. To me, nothing is more degrading than a person catching an STD.

  I also wanted to bomb them, but how? I knew I had no support aircraft and couldn't get any right now. I could get some small drones that were more like toys than weapons and I had bicycles. I could drop explosives from the drones and use them over and over. I could also fill the hollow bicycle frames with C-4 and set them off during peak hours at busy locations. Mix a few nails, rocks and broken glass with the clay-like explosive, and I had a horrible bomb. I decided to try them both, since I was the boss, to show my folks I could and would do what I asked them to do. My first attempt was using the small drones. I soon discovered a perfect place to try my drone attack.

  Between myself and Seattle there was a Forward Operating Base (FOB) with a portable fuel bladder uphill of the two clubs, officer and enlisted. I selected that base for my first attack. Of the two attacks, using a drone was the safest. I had my Explosives Ordinance Disposal folks make me one explosive the drone could carry weight-wise and I had a quick release button on the drone.

  Sergeant Andy was coming with me, along with Captain Simmons' cell. We left early in the morning, while it was still dark and misting rain. It was cold too, which made it perfect hypothermia weather. We were all dressed in Russian rain gear, with red or yellow material tied around our left arms. I carried the drone and explosive to maybe 100 yards from the fuel bladder. My drone was small, almost the size of the child's toy, and maybe 14 inches from tip to tip. Not big, but large enough to carry a pound of C-4.

  “Is this too far away?” Andy asked from the brush beside me.

  “No, we have mile range, so this is ideal. I want to drop the explosives with a timer and then get in a good position to ambush the survivors. If it works well, we'll start hitting various targets on bases.”

  “What kind of targets, sir?” Andy asked, his tone almost at a whisper.

  “Commanders quarters, Headquarters, and supply. There are others, but you get the idea.”

  I connected the explosives to the quick disconnect and tested the engines, no problems. I had the drone fly up near the fence around the base and then back. I could see my target and the Russians were nice enough to keep the fuel bladder area well lighted at night.


  I met the Sergeant's eyes and smiled as I said, “Here we go.”

  The drone lifted nicely and in seconds was airborne. I noticed I heard nothing and I was sure those in the clubs heard nothing either. When it moved over the fuel bladders, I lowered to the point the explosive was almost touching and then released my package in the middle of the fuel. I then brought my drone home to use once again. Now, we waited to ambush those who survived the blast and burning fuel. Hopefully we'd bag a good number this evening. I had set the timer for five minutes and now sat watching my watch.

  Exactly five minutes later the C-4 exploded and the fuel erupted into a ball of flames that moved toward the sky. It mushroomed out, resembling a nuke blast, and burning fuel ran down the gentle slopes right to the two clubs. Since both were nothing more than canvas tents, the canvas quickly caught fire. I could hear men and women scream as they tried to exit packed doorways and felt nothing when I realized they were burning to death. Others walked from the tents completely covered in flames. We opened fire with small arms and two machine guns.

  My troops then began shooting into the two tents and before long I heard aircraft nearing. I had my people move deeper into the woods and return home. I then flew the drone over the damage and dropped the Ace of Spades cards as I took color photos and videos of the place.

  Later, Chinese Sergeant Wan Tu walked with me a great distance, smiling.

  Finally, he said.“We hab good fight.” I could hear the pride in his tone.

  “Yes, tomorrow we'll try the bicycle bomb.”

  “Dat one will work good.” he said, and continued smiling.

  Early the next morning I moved to a base we'd not attacked yet and had one of my lady troops approach the main entrance and ask about a job on base. The Russians, being like most troops, liked having others do the jobs they hated. He gave her directions to base personnel. She rode her bicycle filled with C-4 to the building knowing the busiest time of the day was near lunch and set the timer for noon. The small timer was connected from its position under her seat to the detonator, which was inserted into the C-4 in the hollow frame. We'd even filled the handlebars. At various places around the base, she cautiously slipped the Ace of Spades card where it would be found following the bombing.

  She then mixed into the crowd and made her way toward the main gate.

  At the main gate the same guard stopped her and asked, “Did you not ask about a job?”

  “I do not have all of my papers with me. I only have my identification card and I need my social security card and drivers license.”

  “Come.” he demanded, which frightened her.

  “I will call the office and speak to my friend, Igor, and see if they have job for you.”

  He called, spoke to someone in Russian and said, “You will need a birth certificate and then you can have a job. They have many on the list.” He put the phone back in the cradle, shrugged and added, “When you return, go there and ask for Igor, tell him you have a friend that works the main gate. He will know it is me. If you hurry, you can do this today.”

  “I will rush.”

  “Where is your bicycle? Did you not have a bicycle?”

  “Yes, I have one, but the tires have gone flat. I ran over some nails. I will have my father pick it up on his way home from work. He works on the base and can bring it home for me later.”

  Smiling, the soldier said, “Go, and best of luck with the job search.”

  After she exited, we sat waiting patiently with our small arms loaded and ready for the explosion. We could see the front of the personnel building and were aware it was also the base Headquarters building. Minutes move slowly when you wait in a war.

  Chapter 20

  Colonel Yakovich was growing nervous as he was briefed by the Base Commander of the new forward operating base. They were in the Lieutenant Colonel's office having lunch with most of the Colonel's staff from Seattle there. The base was doing well, with 101 confirmed partisan bodies as of 0600 this morning. It had been operational for two months, but it was the first time he'd been able to visit. The first 45 days were spent adding security, mines, barbed wire, and towers along the fence line. There were shouts heard outside and then the loud sounds of engines running.

  The Base Commander, Lieutenant Colonel Select Ruslan 'Rusya' Gennavich, stood, walked to the window and said, “The fuel trucks to fill the propane tanks have finally arrived and here it is, almost noon. They were to have been here yesterday. Master Sergeant Yurievich, see they hold off on refueling until our meal is completed and we leave the area. The smell of the propane can make some ill, especially after we have just eaten. Tell them to wait fifteen more minutes.”

  The face of the watch under the bicycle seat showed three minutes until noon.

  Soon after the Sergeant disappeared the noise stopped and the Colonel moved back to his seat. He picked up his water glass and said, “As I was saying, I look forward next month to the arrival of the thermal systems for our helicopters. I am sure my Black Sharks will be much more effective with the updates.”

  Master Sergeant Yurievich entered, closed the doors and waited patiently in his chair for the meal to finish so he could call the room to attention when all the brass left. The face on the watch now showed one minute until noon.

  Colonel Yakovich stood, moved to the window and smiled. Since he'd provided proof of the Chinese being in the three state area, his name could do no wrong in Moscow. He had a half a glass of vodka in his right hand and an unlighted cigar in his mouth when the world as he knew it turned white and a loud explosion filled the air. Glass from the double windows no more than fifty feet from the blast shattered sending sharp glass shards into the room with the force of a shotgun. The room instantly filled with flying debris, flames, and dust. Blood floated in the air, mixed with dust.

  The steps in front of the personnel building were full of folks coming and going to lunch when the bicycle exploded into thousands of small pieces of metal. The metal, rocks and broken glass mixed with the C-4 only added to the body count, as it killed fifty straightaway and wounded a good hundred others. Then, the fuel truck went up. The propane tank left a fifteen foot crater under the explosions and the workers with the truck simply disappeared. Three quarters of the personnel building was blown out onto the quarter acre of grass behind the facility toward the base gymnasium. Bodies, broken, burned, and ripped, littered the grounds in all directions.

  The fuel tank on the truck exploded last, killing many who'd only been injured by the propane tank explosion. Smoke from all the fires now raging was turning the overhead sky dark gray and the flames continued to roll inside of themselves. Oily black smoke mixed with the smell of burnt bodies filled the air. The crackling and popping of the flames could be heard, along with the screams of the injured and low moans and groans of the dying.

  Forward Operating Base Oscar had just become a living hell for all assigned there. People screamed for help as others screamed for their mothers. Master Sergeant Yurievich removed his belt and placed it on the stub where his left arm used to be. He tightened it as tight as it would go. He then crawled out from under the heavy solid oak table and saw nothing but rubbish and bodies. Blood, still wet, dripped from the walls, and those not burned were torn to pieces. He moved among the injured, the few there were, looking, and finally found Commander Yakaovich, who lay in the remains of the hall with a six inch wide shard of glass in his stomach. His hair was smoking, his eyes were both gone, and a grimace was on his face as he lived his last few minutes.

  “Sir, are you in pain?”

  “Inga . . . my . . . love, I . . . hur . . . hurt.” the Colonel said, his words slow and drawn out. His pain was obvious now.

  Yurievich squatted beside him, took his filthy hand in his and said, “It was . . . the . . . partisans, sir.”

  The Colonel moaned and said, “Kill . . . them. Kill them . . . all.” He gave a loud sigh, a rattling was heard in his chest, and his bowels relaxed. The Sergeant read the Colonel's lips
, because he could hear nothing. A second later, as a foul smell joined others in the room, the Colonel gave a long moan and was dead. His hand was still grasping the Sergeant’s hand against pain when his head fell back limply.

  Suddenly the room was filled with medical personnel and military police. It was then Master Sergeant Yurievich remembered the base medical clinic was across the street and the police headquarters not a half a block away. He was sure both of those buildings were damaged from the explosions too, but nothing like this.

  A woman dressed in all white neared him, said something his shattered eardrums did not hear, and then gave him a shot of morphine in his left arm. As she wrote morphine, 1210, on his forehead with her lipstick, the medicine began to work. Seconds later, his world faded into black and he was asleep.

  The nurse stood and screamed, “Orderly! I have a live one here! Stretcher needed here!”

  The rescue crews worked night and day pulling bodies from the rubble and I pulled my main force back, leaving four snipers to select targets of opportunity. We'd done what I wanted to do and that was to leave the building smoking. The propane tank truck was just an added bonus. Now, my snipers would kill anyone of any importance that come to see the damage done. Over the next four days, nine more lives were lost and each was a Major or higher in rank. Lucas, my newest sniper, killed a brigadier General who came to see the damage with his own eyes, and that was on the fourth day. He seriously injured six more men who tried to rescue the General. According to my snipers, they were still pulling bodies from the rubble on the fourth day.

  I withdrew and moved to the west to an old saw mill I knew of, to rest and then break into cells once more. I needed a few days to brief my cell leaders on targets, places to leave alone and some spots just to watch.

  Once the cells left, I decided to use the saw mill as a temporary base camp because it was located in almost the center of the state, the building was still sound and well insulated for cold winters. After a few weeks, we settled down and made the place a home. Folks were coming and going regularly, but usually at night to avoid being seen by the Russians. Then, overnight that changed.