by C T Glatte
There was a thump immediately followed by screaming men. Hank popped up with his rifle ready and fired into the writhing soldiers. Soon their cries of agony ended. Suddenly there was a whoosh and an explosion to their right. The tank rocked on its chassis. The tank immediately drove forward and suddenly they were exposed and behind enemy lines. More Russians were running up the hill, but Hank and Jimmy mixed with the torn up Russian bodies and nobody seemed to notice them.
Jimmy’s breath came in short gasps. He knew he was going to die any second. He decided he wouldn’t go down without a fight. He pulled his rifle from the dirt and wiped as much off as he could. Soldiers were coming and would surround them in the next couple seconds. Hank clutched his arm and pulled hard. Jimmy looked at him with fire in his eyes. “In the hole. We’ll pull the bodies over us. Hurry.” Hank was already pulling a bleeding corpse toward himself. Jimmy took one more look at the advancing horde and dropped his weapon and lunged forward and pulled another dead Russian up the slope. They pulled the bodies over themselves and laid into the half filled foxhole.
Russian soldiers streamed past them, some firing, some yelling, all gasping for breath. The .30 caliber machine guns kept pumping out death, but soon they stopped and were replaced with the distinct M1s and the Russian submachine guns and rifles. The battle moved past them and when he thought it was safe Hank whispered, “They’ve taken the ridge.”
Jimmy nodded, “I think you’re right. What the hell we supposed to do now?” He could feel the dead Russian’s blood dripping onto his back. It made him feel ill and he thought he might vomit, but he swallowed the rising bile and tasted the bitterness.
Hank whispered back. “Wait till they pass, then get the hell outta here.”
“And go where?” Hank just shrugged.
Eighteen
Rex Crandall had just finished filling his umpteenth cup of coffee from the dirty coffee machine when there was a buzz coming from the intel room he’d just left. He’d been at it since 0400 this morning and had only stopped to take a leak and refill the coffee. There was so much information coming into the office via radio and runners that it was nearly impossible to keep up with.
He stepped through the door and was nearly bowled over by a young seaman. “Sorry sir.” He gave him a quick salute then continued running.
Rex didn’t even have time to salute back before he was gone. He walked to the big table in the center of the room. It was a map of the west coast from Oregon to Alaska. Off the coast of Washington there was a big red piece shaped like an aircraft carrier. That one model represented the entire Russian carrier group, which they’d named ‘Terrier.’
Ensign Pako made room for him. Rex sipped his coffee and cringed at the acidic taste. “What was that all about?”
Harry Pako pointed up to Alaska on the map where a seaman was moving a bunch of green figurines backwards and another seaman on the other side pushed a bunch of red figurines forward. The map wasn’t official, it was just something they put together to better orient them to the situation. The main map was in the adjoining situation room, but somehow the runners had started coming to them first. Rex figured they’d rather deal with lowly ensigns rather than Commanders and Admirals and he couldn’t say he blamed them. Harry said, “The Commies broke through the 45th and 42nd Divisions with six armored divisions of their own. They’re heading straight for Anchorage.”
Rex felt suddenly weak in the knees and he had to grip the table. Harry noticed and took the coffee before he spilled it. “What’s the matter? Coffee’s not that bad.”
Rex shook his head. “Did - did you say the 45th Division?”
Harry looked at the note he held and nodded. He suddenly realized why Rex was distressed. “Hey, he’s probably alright. I mean, no use thinking the worst.”
Rex’s tongue suddenly felt foreign and he could hardly form words. “Wh - what are the casualties? Any word on casualties?”
Harry shook his head and shrugged. “There’s nothing specific. Just that, well…”
“What? Tell me.”
He stared at Harry, his withering glare making him take a step back. Harry stuttered, “It says, it says they’re significant.” Harry put his hand on Rex’s shoulder then glanced toward the door leading to the situation room. “You want me to deliver the news to them?”
It was Rex’s job, he was the ranking officer if only by a few days. He shook his head and lifted his chin regaining his composure. “No, I’ll do it. It’s my responsibility.” Everyone around the table was watching the exchange.
Rex strode toward the door and wrapped sharply then pushed his way inside. His commanding officer, Lt. Cmdr. LaVoy looked up. Rex walked up and saluted. LaVoy returned the salute but noticed his Ensign wasn’t his normal cocky self. “What’s the matter, Ensign?”
Rex simply handed him the folded piece of paper. He watched LaVoy read through it, his eyebrows rising up and down. “Damn,” He said. He held up the paper and shook it. “I knew those boys were too green to hold. Damn cowards cut and run.”
Rex’s face went from pale white to bright red in an instant and he clenched his fists so hard they turned pure white. LaVoy didn’t see it coming but Commander Shills did. He yelled, “At ease!” But it was too late. Rex lunged forward and had his hands wrapped around LaVoy’s neck before he even realized he was going to do it. LaVoy gasped and dropped the paper and gawked through bulging eyes at the suddenly crazed Ensign. He opened his mouth to yell, but only gurgled.
A second later there was a flash from Rex’s right and he turned just in time to see the grimacing face of a towering Marine and the end of his rifle buttstock. Rex saw stars as the butt hit him in the cheek. The pain was instant and intense. His vision blurred and he felt himself falling. He rolled to his back and through filmy eyes again saw the Marine holding his M1, ready to strike him again at the first hint of resistance. The room closed around him and the last thing he saw before the blackness took him was LCDR LaVoy on all fours retching.
Ensign Rex Crandall opened his eyes and didn’t have a clue where he was. He stared at the ceiling, it was dappled rust brown from water damage. He was flat on his back laying on something hard and flat. He moved his head to the left and immediately regretted it. His head throbbed. He touched his cheek, pawing at it gently. It was twice as big as normal and was tender to the touch. The skin felt tight, like it was about to burst open. His left eye was shut, the swelling extended all the way from his chin to his forehead. He tried to sit up, but his whole body ached. He took it slow. He needed to know where he was. Peering through his right eye he saw the entrance to the room was barred. He mumbled, “Oh hell, prison.”
A nearby voice startled him. “We call it the brig in the service.”
Rex took a pained breath and forced himself to sit up. He swung his legs and placed them on the drab concrete floor. He noticed he was still in his uniform. He glanced at the sailor sitting across the room on another bench. He looked bedraggled and hung over. “Brig, right.”He looked at his hands and noticed his wedding ring and his watch were gone. “How long have I been here?”
The sailor shrugged, “About two hours I’d say.”
“Two hours? That son-of-a-bitch hit me harder than I thought.” He went to stand up but the room spun and he sat down again. “Dammit.”
“Take it easy, sir. Looks like you got hit with a two-by-four.” He indicated his face.
Rex nodded, remembering. “Rifle butt. It was a Marine’s rifle butt.”
“Jesus, what’d you do to piss off a Marine? You’re an officer for crying out loud.”
Rex shook his head and remembered his son. Oh my God, Jimmy. “Is there someone nearby? I need to get outta here.”
The sailor snorted, “you and me both.” He reconsidered, “actually, they’d just put me back to mopping the toilets.” He leaned back and pointed his thumb toward the barred entrance. “There’s a guard around somewhere. He comes by occasionally.”
Rex stumbled to his feet and
let his equilibrium return. He went to the steel bars and hung on them. He didn’t see anyone nearby, just a dull hallway with a bare bulb light. He raised his voice, “Hey. I need to talk to someone. Guard.” He tried to push his head between the bars but his swollen face wouldn’t fit and it hurt. He yelled with a scratchy voice, “Guard!”
He heard boots clomping toward him. The cadence was slow. Finally, a burly sailor holding a nightstick stepped into view. He was well over six-feet tall and had a substantial belly hanging over his Navy blue pants. He wore a white sailor hat over his bulbous head which seemed to come straight out of his shoulders. He had no discernible neck and Rex wondered if he had some physical ailment or perhaps he’d lifted too many weights. He didn’t salute but looked dimly at him with his mouth slightly open. Rex could hear his nose whistling as the breathed in then exhaled through his mouth. “I need to talk to whoever’s in charge around here…” he leaned forward and read the embroidered name tag. “Seaman Greenway.”
The sailor’s beady eyes opened in surprise. “How do you know my name, prisoner?”
Rex looked back at the other inmate who smiled back shaking his head. Rex turned back to the guard and pointed at his name tag. The guard looked down and the confusion and anger disappeared from his face. He grinned. “Thought you guessed it.”
Rex said, “Look, is there anyone else here I can talk to? Perhaps your commanding officer?”
Seaman Greenway shook his head. “No. He doesn’t like me to disturb him…ever.”
“Well I need you to do it. I…”
He stopped when Greenway put his nightstick back in it’s leather ring and pulled a huge set of keys from his belt. He fumbled through them, finally smiling when he found the right one. “This is it.” He stepped forward and before inserting it remembered protocol. “Step back, prisoner.” He barked. The sudden outburst startled Rex, but he complied immediately. Greenway inserted the key and slid the door open. The sobering seaman got to his feet and took a step, but stopped when Greenway gripped his nightstick and glared at him. “Not you. You stay put.” He motioned Rex, “You can come out. I’m to take you to the interrogation room once you’re awake.”
Rex understood the service was taking any able bodied men, but this was ridiculous. He reconsidered, this is the perfect job for him. Simple job for a simple mind. Rex waited until the big man relocked the door. He pointed at the young man who was sitting back on the bench, “You stay there.” The young prisoner stuck his tongue out and pushed his nose up with his thumb. Seaman Greenway laughed uproariously, grabbing his bouncing belly. “Funny face, prisoner.”
He put his heavy hand on the back of Rex’s neck and pushed him along the hallway. Even if Rex had wanted to get away he knew he wouldn’t be able to break the guard’s grip. They went up a short flight of stairs and turned down a back hallway to another door. Greenway used another key and opened the door and shoved Rex inside. It was sparse with only a table and two chairs. The walls were white and he thought if he had a measuring tape the room would measure a perfect square. Interrogation room, just like the comic books.
He went to a chair and sat. Like the room it was hard and sparse. The table was old but had a nice shine on it. He rubbed his hand along it and pulled it back when another door on the other side of the room opened. It didn’t have a doorknob on the inside and Rex hadn’t even noticed it. The person closed it behind him and the door disappeared. Rex felt a bolt of fear course through him, what the hell’s happening here? He’d struck a superior officer, he knew there were stiff penalties but this seemed over the top and somehow more serious.
The man turned and walked toward the table. He wasn’t in uniform, but wore black slacks a well pressed white shirt with a black tie. His dark hair was slicked back and he had nondescript brown eyes. He smiled but didn’t show his teeth. His features were handsome but not memorable, just a normal business man he’d seen a zillion times. He placed a bag on the table and reached out with his right hand. “Name’s Mr. Black, nice to meet you.” He indicated the bag, “I brought you ice for your face. Put it on, it’ll take the swelling down.”
Rex stood and shook his hand, “I’m Ensign Rex Crandall.”
Mr. Black shook his head, “Not anymore you’re not.”
Mr. Black spent the next half hour explaining to Rex that he worked for a clandestine unit known as ‘the branch.’ Rex asked him what branch of what organization, but Mr. Black never answered any of his questions. He simply waited until Rex stopped speaking then continued as if there’d been no question. It was maddening but effective; eventually Rex stopped asking.
When Mr. Black finally stopped talking, Rex sat in stunned silence. It was a lot to take in. “So, you send people into Europe to spy and you do it with the help of European resistance?” Mr. Black’s expression didn’t change so Rex continued. “I didn’t know there was a resistance.” He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I’m assuming you’re recruiting me for this? Or is it something else?” No response. “I’ve barely any training past basic. I mean I know how to shoot, but I’m not up for, what do you call it? Tradecraft? I mean I’m an intel officer, not a warrior. I’m far too old for this sort of thing.” He pushed back from the table and leaned back shaking his head and crossing his arms across his chest. “I won’t do it.”
Mr. Black’s face hadn’t altered at all until Rex uttered the last bit, he grinned slightly. He reached into his pocket and unfolded a piece of thick official letterhead from the Admiral’s office. Upon it was a neatly typed legal document stating the prisoner, Rex Crandall was being tried for assault of a superior officer with the intent to murder. If found guilty the penalty was death by firing squad. He recognized Admiral Childreth’s signature at the bottom.
Rex looked up, stunned. “Firing squad? This is ridiculous. I never intended to murder anyone, it’s outrageous.”
Mr. Black finally spoke. “There will be a trial and a stand-in will take your place. You’ll be tried and found guilty and shot by a firing squad several weeks from now. You will cease to exist.” Rex stared with his mouth hanging open. He tried to interject but Mr. Black continued. “With the war on, there’s no time for long trials. As you no doubt noticed, the military has taken some liberties with the laws lately in order to win this war. No one will bat an eyelid at the execution of an insubordinate and dangerous officer.”
Rex shook his head, baffled. “My wife will. What about my wife? She’ll be hysterical.”
“And you will by no means contact her or you truly will be executed. In fact, you breathe a word of this to anyone at anytime and you’ll be executed along with the person or persons you told.”
Rex stared into Mr. Black’s eyes and knew he wasn’t bluffing. “So I just disappear? No contact with anyone from my past? My wife? What happens when this is over?”
Mr. Black responded matter of factly, “You likely won’t survive this war, truth be told. We’ve had some successes but the counter-insurgents and the Korth themselves are very tough to fool. You gave your rights away when you attacked that fool of an officer.”
“He called my son a coward. Called the whole Army cowards.”
Mr. Black nodded, “yes I did call him a fool for a reason.”
Rex looked Mr. Black in the eye. “Do - do you have a way through this ‘branch,’ to find out of my boy’s alive?”
Mr. Black gave a slight nod. “It’s a mess up there right now, but I’ll see what I can find out for you.”
“Thank you, I…”
Mr. Black cut him off, “You’ll spend the next five months in training. We’ll send you to a secret location and you’ll cease to be the person you are now. You’ll be trained in ‘tradecraft’ as you call it and many other skills both deadly and helpful in your new role.” His eyes hardened, “Be warned, there is no washing out. If you can’t complete the training you will be killed. We can’t afford to have any washouts walking free.”
Rex gulped, but managed to ask, “I don’t speak a
ny other languages.”
Mr. Black grinned, finally showing off his perfectly straight, white teeth. “That’s not a concern. We’ve acquired some alien tech for that particular problem.”
Nineteen
MaryAnn thought she’d never be warm again. Despite the gawking submariners plying her with coffee and warm blankets, she still felt a chill. The sea had sapped all her energy and she was sure she wouldn’t have survived for even a few more minutes. The submarine passing nearby, the sailors seeing and rescuing her was nearly beyond comprehension, but it had happened and she was grateful beyond measure. Despite her gratitude, she didn’t at all like the confinement of the submarine.
Soon after she’d been pulled aboard they’d submerged and even though she was still reeling with delusional thoughts, she nearly panicked as she realized she was far beneath the waves with only a thin layer of steel protecting her from crushing pressure and a watery death. The smiles, snacks, coffee and blankets helped, but didn’t make her entirely comfortable.
She sat on the side of the cot they’d given her and decided she didn’t like being alone in the dimly lit sleeping quarters. The Submariners were no where to be seen. She’d been told they were heading into combat and wouldn’t be able to return her to the mainland any time soon. The mere thought of being inside a submerged tin can made her extremely uncomfortable, but heading into combat in one was almost beyond her capacity to imagine.
She’d been given a pair of small sailor blues. She was grateful to discard her soaked and torn flight suit. The duds were a little too big, but she filled out the hips nicely. She kept one of the wool blankets draped over her shoulders and stood up. She didn’t want to be in the way, but she also didn’t want to die alone.