The Fall of America [Book 7]
THE Fall of America
AIRBORNE
Book 7
W.R Benton
ISBN 978-1-944476-60-1
Kindle Edition
Ebook Production by Loose Cannon Enterprises
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author and/or the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locale, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Image © Deposit Photos, by license.
Copyright © 2018 W. R. Benton
Author Photo © Copyright 2016, by W. R. Benton, LLC
© Cover layout and other images Copyright 2018 by WR Benton, LLC
Edited by: Daniel Williams, Bobbie La Cour, and Kay King
Sci-Fi Books by W. R. Benton
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Eagle People, The Year 2414
The New World Order, 666, Cold Lifeless Hands, Volume 3
The New World Order, 666, California Invasion, Volume 2
The New World Order, 666, Mark of the Beast, Volume 1
The Fall of America, Book 7, Airborne
The Fall of America, Book 6, Call Sign Copperhead
The Fall of America, Book 5, Fallout
The Fall of America, Book 4, Winter Ops
The Fall of America, Book 3, Enemy Within — Also available as Audio Edition
The Fall of America, Book 2, Fatal Encounters — Also available as Audio Edition
The Fall of America: Book 1, Premonition of Death — Also available as Audio Edition
Explore the more than 50 WR Benton books, at
http://www.amazon.com/author/wrbenton/
Dedication
To all veterans and other Americans who stand and place their hands over their hearts when the flag is raised or when they hear our national anthem. You are true Americans and understand the sacrifices of those who have been maimed or killed in the service of our nation.
To my Vietnam Veteran buddy Bill Bodeker, cancer is a hard battle, and my prayers are with you. May God make you healthy again.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
About the Author
What is the series “The Fall of America” about?
What if it all came crashing down?
It started with the biggest stock market crash in history. Banks closed down under the weight of their bogus investments, and the financial sector failed. People looked to the government to make it all better. However, they couldn't. Hyper-inflation, mass unemployment and infrastructure started to breakdown. The food trucks didn't show up at the stores, and the shelves went empty.
Things turned ugly fast when there was no power for long parts of the day —then forever. Cops, doctors, and trash collectors just stopped showing up for work when the paychecks were delayed too often, or never came. Things started falling apart quickly after that. Whole regions declared a "State of Emergency" in an effort to maintain order and civility, but it wasn't always enough. Starvation, looting and murder became the norm. Then, our American civilization collapsed completely.
The Fall of America, Book 1: Premonition of Death is the beginning of a new series about an average man whose life goes downhill fast once society breaks down. Set in the rural south, a scorched-earth showdown with some local thugs leaves John and his wife homeless and on the run. He encounters a member of a survivalist group, made up of former military personnel, and joining them may be his only hope. Just basic survival becomes vicious and resistance is at any cost, as the devastated country comes under a new siege—invading Russian troops.
The Fall of America, Book 2: Fatal Encounters is the continuing saga of the fall. John and his friends come face to face with Russian troops, but unlike the first book, this time they're ready and able to offer much more resistance. Russian invaders try to pacify the areas of the South under their control. The American resistance groups divide their forces into small cells to better operate effectively behind enemy lines. But as their efforts begin to gain ground, the Russians respond with harsh reprisals; mass executions become the norm and prison camps soon spring up in remote small towns. “Fear brings compliance,” is their motto. The battle for control of Mississippi gets hot, and a violent world gets even more ugly.
The Fall of America, Book 3: Enemy Within. Things are turning more organized by the partisans and with this organization comes larger attacks on Russian targets, which results in more Americans killed in reprisals. As the partisans become better organized, the Russians become more sadistic. The Americans are now attacking gulags and air bases when the opportunity arises and Russian casualties mount, but there is at least one traitor or more within the partisans. Can the Americans discover the enemy within?
The Fall of America, Book 4: Winter Operations. The partisans turn mean after ambushing a Russian convoy and discovering cases of the 9K32 Strela-2M missiles, or as the Russians call them, arrows. The missiles soon change how the partisans operate; they are a portable, shoulder-fired, low-altitude surface-to-air missile system with a highly explosive warhead. They have an infrared guidance system. Soon the partisans are attacking Air Bases and shooting down random helicopters using the missiles and Moscow is not pleased. However, it is the discovery of two nuclear weapons, called suitcase bombs, by the Russians, that is about to change this war in ways that have never been considered. Which side will use the nuclear weapons first?
The Fall of America, Book 5, Fallout. The line has been crossed...First they used chemical weapons on the Americans, then the Russians set off a tactical nuclear bomb in an effort to destroy a suitcase nuke captured by the rebels. Deadly radioactive fallout now adds to the already fierce battle to reclaim the U.S.A. and the partisans have even less to lose. Now the rebels must decide whether to strike back in kind—an eye for an eye? In what may be a one-way mission, John's partisan team volunteers to pick up the gauntlet. Armed with a stolen suitcase nuke, the partisans try to carry the device deep inside enemy controlled land to reach the target.
The Fall of America, Book 6, Call Sign Copperhead. Dazed and disoriented, John awakens in a field hospital somewhere in Louisiana. His last mission to capture and detonate a Russian suitcase nuke left him seriously wounded and unclear about the mission's ultimate outcome. As he begins the healing process, both physically and mentally, he is unaware of the Russian wrath his actions have unleashed. After being caught unaware by one of their own weapons of mass destruction, the Russians are out for a payback. But the tide of war is changing. Fresh support from Chinese tanks and aircraft will help the partisan forces go head to head in larger engagements with the Russian invaders. However it is small guerrilla units and dedicated men like John that will make the difference in driving back the deeply entrenched Russian forces in the no-holds-barred battle for America.
Chapter 1
The room was filled with loud chatter as men and women, in
twos and threes, carried on individual conversations. They were here for a meeting which had not started yet. The First Sergeant was near the door waiting for the commander, Brigadier General Thomas A. Hickey, to arrive. Suddenly the General and his staff rounded the corner of the hall, and when he was in full view, the Sergeant stepped into the room.
“Ten—hooouut!” He called out in a loud voice, the sound coming from deep inside of his diaphragm, right at the deepest pit. To a civilian, the sound might have been described as a loud double syllable grunt.
Instantly the talking ceased and the roomful of men and women stood at attention as one.
The General entered with his staff trailing.
“At ease, ladies and gentlemen.” the commander said, his tone pleasant, as he neared the podium.
“Be seated.” he said and then added, “This meeting is classified top secret and if you do not have at least that security clearance, please leave this room immediately.” He paused for a minute or two as a couple of young officers left the room.
“I am the Commander here, and for those of you who have never met me, I am Brigadier General Thomas A. Hickey. This is a pre-mission brief and each of you in this room is being reassigned as part of our mission. I will now turn this presentation over to Colonel Mike Parker, my Intelligence Chief. Please remain in the room at the conclusion of the briefing so my medical personnel can administer inoculations as individually needed for deployment to your Area of Operations.”
A thin Colonel stood, moved closer to the podium, cleared his throat and said, “Over the next seven days, each of you will be delivered to a new partisan group in occupied territory. The delivery systems or methods used will depend on your qualifications and available resources at the time. Some of you will use parachutes, others choppers, and then some will be delivered by the Chinese version of our C-130. You are to assist these partisans in becoming better organized and teach them how to get the most from their limited resources. I'll soon turn the briefing over to Colonel Wert, our Chief of Tactics.”
An attack siren suddenly blared and Chinese antiaircraft guns were heard firing in the distance and then right outside the window.
Suddenly the north wall erupted in a solid sheet of dust, flames and flying debris. Men and women were heard screaming. I felt something peppering me, almost like hand-thrown rice, and then something struck my head, hard. I was knocked to my knees and then the force of the explosion knocked me to the floor. I might have been there two minutes or an hour, I don't know, only I felt no pain but could not move my legs or arms. Off in the far distance I could hear hideous screams of pain and shouts for help, but I could help no one, not even myself. My world slowly faded from full light through various shades of gray, and I felt blood running down my face. As I lost consciousness, I smelled a scent I knew well, death. The overpowering smell of blood, cordite, and human waste filled the destroyed room. I closed my eyes to rest them a second and my world turned black.
I awoke in a tent being use as a hospital. A man wearing a white coat stood at the end of my bed writing in a metal clipboard of some kind. I assumed he was a doctor, because I saw he was a Captain and wearing a white lab coat. My vision was not clear and I had a ringing in both of my ears.
“What happened, Doctor?”
“Key spots on the base were hit by a flight of drones, each carrying a Russian version of our Mark 82, 500 pound bomb. We have over 100 injured and almost that many killed. Now, you have shrapnel in your face, chest and neck, as well as a possible concussion from the bomb. You'll be in here at least a week, Colonel.”
“The General and his staff?”
“All dead, including General Hickey. His replacement is enroute, but I have no idea who he is or where he's coming from.”
I nodded, my head hurting. A decision like that was way above my pay grade.
“How's your pain level?” he asked as he placed my chart on a hook at the foot of my bed.
“A bit rough.”
“I'll have a nurse give you something for your pain. You rest, Colonel, and by the end of the week you'll be out of here, but on limited duty.”
“Yes sir.” I said, knowing I outranked him, but he was a doctor. I was raised to respect those in positions of authority like police, doctors, judges, teachers, and clergy.
He left and an attractive nurse gave me a shot of something, using my IV line, and I drifted off to sleep. I guessed correctly, I discovered later, it was morphine. Just before I fell asleep, I remember thinking how clean the nurse and doctor looked compared to a partisan. They both looked crisp and smelled fresh, almost like a field of wild flowers.
I awoke at night, late night, I suspected. Most of the medical staff was sitting near a desk in the center of the tent. Some were smoking, while others were drinking what I assumed was coffee. All looked tired and sleepy. Two were seen stretched out between two chairs, obviously trying to catnap. I was in deep pain again, my shoulder felt like it was on fire.
“Nurse!” I yelled out louder than I intended.
“Yes, sir?” A man I'd not seen was standing beside me.
“My pain, my pain is getting to be rough.”
“I'll help you in just a few minutes, Colonel. I have a Major here that lost a leg and is in a bit more pain than you. As soon as I kill his pain, I'll see to your needs.”
“That's fine.” I spoke much louder than I thought I would again. “You do what needs done and I'll wait.” I can't hear well, I thought, which is why I'm speaking so loud.
“Thank you, sir. We started a major offensive against the Russians, so we have those wounded and then you folks from the drone attack. We only have 100 beds and the drone attack alone filled most of those. We're using folding cots now, just to keep the wounded off the ground. Since the drone attack, we're all working 14 – 16 hours a day, with no days off yet. They're coming, but not for a while. On a scale with 1 being the least and 10 being the worst, what would you say your pain level is right now?” He stood and then moved to my side.
“I think about an 8.5. My neck, back and head are killing me.”
Looking at my chart, he mumbled something, glanced at his watch and said, “I can give you more morphine, but it'll make you sleep.”
“As long as it kills my pain, I don't care if I sleep or not. What time is it?”
“Zero two hundred, sir.” the nurse replied, and then yawned.
“I should be sleeping anyway, so the shot will be fine.”
Minutes later I drifted off to sleep, feeling no pain.
The next day I heard from a nurse, who'd heard it from a doctor, that three men and a woman assigned to the base were executed for giving details to the Russians on where things were on the base to cause maximum damage when the drones flew overhead. They knew of General Hickey's briefing, too, and they died because they had brought death to visit us, a simple law we had. Sort of like a tooth for a tooth in the Bible. They killed the General, so we killed them. Besides, traitors and spies were always executed.
The war was dragging on, even with protesters in Russia raising hell, but there was no noticeable slow down by either side. The Chinese were more aggressive, but still did not take an active roll in combat except for flying. They constantly bombed the Russians and were very good at dropping supplies to forward partisans, using parachutes or LAPES. For the first time since the war started, most units were fairly well supplied, too.
It was also well known they dropped agents and spies into Russian controlled areas. I'd found them good brave men; they used no women in combat roles, but the language was a problem for all of us. In the field, I never knew when radioing an aircraft how limited the pilot's English might be. At times I'd get a pilot with almost fluent English and the next one might be able to say yes, maybe. Of course, those with limited command of the English language were of little use to most partisans. It was a good way to get killed, if an aircrew made the slightest mistake.
Ten days after I'd entered the hospital I was released. The f
irst night, I gave thought to my life up to this point and while I was lucky to be alive, I didn't feel that way. I spent the first evening out of the hospital sitting in my quarters drinking bourbon, thinking, and feeling sorry for myself. I'd had three women, good women, I'd loved killed in this war. My first and second wife and my latest lover, Carol, who I'd planned to marry just a little over a year ago. We'd been wounded together during her last combat action. Since she was pregnant with my child, she was to be removed and stationed at the Chinese base. When our small forward operating base was overrun, we'd tried to relocate to a safer location but ended up in a firefight with Russian Special Forces, Spetsnaz. I recovered from my wounds, but she died of hers, of course taking my unborn child with her. I drank whiskey until I grew sleepy, then went to bed.
After five days of recovery time given by the hospital, I was sent to see a Full Bull Colonel one afternoon near 1600. It was sprinkling rain, but had rained hard overnight so there was a lot of mud and mud holes. I did my best to keep my boots free of mud, but it wasn't to be. When I entered his office area, I had large chunks of mud clinging to my boots. I cleaned off what I could, and thought, What the hell, I see no mat, and entered. I told the Sergeant I was there to see the Colonel.
“I'll see if he's available, sir.” she said as she stood, knocked on his door, waited for his response, and then entered. She could have knocked on his door without getting up; the offices for Colonels and below were that small. I'm sure, like me, this Colonel slept in his office, too.
A few minutes later she came out of his office and said, “You may enter now, sir.”
I entered and before I could come to attention, I heard the Colonel say, “At ease, Colonel, and have a seat. You'll have to sit on the edge of my cot, but what I have to tell you won't take long, John.”