The Fall of America: Fatal Encounters (Book 2) Read online

  Thank God she's safe, John thought, and then smiled.

  “Surprises?” Hudson asked. Hudson was a big man, well over six feet tall, 200 pounds, and wore his brown hair long, both on his face and head. John imagined during peaceful times he'd been well over 300 pounds, but food was scarce these days.

  Willy smiled and replied, “Prior to the prisoner exchange some of our ammo folks removed the powder from some Russian bullets and replaced it with C-4, which will kill anyone who fires the round. I'm not sure how powerful a blast we'll get from one cartridge, but the brass was filled to the top. If we happen to injure or kill more than the shooter, so much the better. Additionally, cases of Russian grenades had the delay settings changed. Instead of the typical 3.8 second delay they use, they will now detonate instantly. This stuff has been placed on or near dead, and severely wounded Russians.”

  John said, “So, you think they'll do like all military units and collect all the gear from the dead and wounded, that still looks serviceable, for future use, huh?”

  “That's what we hope, because that was the idea behind the modified equipment. It has to be rough for the Russians to support their combat units this far from home, so anything that can be picked up from a battlefield that looks good will likely be kept.

  But, let me continue. See, the special units that remained behind will do this and are to booby-trap areas outside the fighting area, too. And in all directions, not just the direction we fled. I'm hoping that'll confuse them a might when they try to figure out where we've moved. That confusion will, maybe, give us some time to move.”

  “What kind of traps?” A small man John had seen often, but didn't know, asked.

  “Toe-poppers1, pits with sharpened stakes smeared with human waste2, and some trip wires running across trails tied to grenades with zero delay fuses. There are more, but that gives you an idea of the measures we've taken.”

  “Shit,” Laura Jones said, “the folks we brought back here left a trail a blind man could follow.”

  “Agreed, so we're moving the command center today, after we break into smaller groups. We will operate as small units, hundreds of small units, and hopefully frustrate the living hell out of the Russians.”

  “Do these small units have any backup if shit hits the stump?” John asked.

  Shaking his head, Willy said, “No, John, you'll be on your own. We don't have a way to transport forces to a hot location in time to help anyone. We'll be scattered all over the place and it'd take too much time to gather response folks and then move to the location.”

  “So, we're to booby-trap when we can, hit the enemy at every chance, and then run like hell, right?” Laura asked.

  “As much as possible, cause confusion, and inflict pain and death on them.” Willy replied and then asked, “Any other questions?”

  Silence.

  “Okay, when you leave the compound today, make damned sure you pick up gas masks for each of your team members. We found a shit load of them when we attacked the base a while back, so they're Russian masks. Filters are limited to four per person.”

  Lew blinked rapidly and then asked, “Do you honestly think the Russians will turn to using poison gas?”

  Willy grimaced and said, “They already have, Lew. G-2 reports poison gas being used in Newton, Mississippi, last week, with hundreds of deaths. I don't understand, not fully, why the attack occurred, but it did. Hell, there's nothing in Newton that would warrant the use of gas, unless the Russians wanted to simply run a test.”

  “What kind of agent was used in Newton?” Laura asked.

  “Samples show a nerve agent of some type. We have some technicians working on it right now to break it down. Keep your masks available at all times.” Willy looked around the room and then asked, “Anything else?”

  “When do you expect our injured to return?” John asked, anxious to see Sandra and Tom.

  “Our injured are expected here within the hour and your team can wait to leave if you want.” He gave John a big smile, knowing he wanted to wait. He continued, “Reports indicate Tom and Sandra had injuries to their arms, but that's all I can tell you at this time, John. It was reported their wounds are minor, so relax a little. Oh, and by the way, both of them will remain on your team. Since there are no more questions, all team leaders need to take a look on the wall just outside the door, to see if you'll lose or gain members. Dismissed.”

  Leaving the room, John noticed his team was unchanged, with the exception Kate was now officially his sniper. Sandra was their medic, so they were good to go in his view, and they'd picked up two new people. He walked to the community bathroom and scrubbed the camouflage paint from his face, ears, and arms. He'd wait to shower or bathe once relocated. More than likely, he'd end up washing in a stream, but that was fine with him.

  He sat in the sun and watched the teams leaving, wondering how many of them would be alive a month from now. Few, if any, would be taken prisoner, especially if the Russians suspected them of being involved in the prisoner exchange goat roping. As Willy had pointed out months back, the Russians are brutal and vicious in war so we'd give no quarter and expect none in return. He looked down at the gas masks and filters thinking, I hope we never run into gas. It's some nasty shit and it's very likely folks will start dropping and dying before we even realize it's around us.

  He heard a noise and glancing toward the sound, saw a group entering the compound packing a number of litters and injured. He spotted Tom first and then Sandra, who were walking and looking exhausted, so he stood and called out to them. Sandra ran into his arms and after smothering him in kisses she said, “Took some shrapnel in the fleshy part of my upper left arm.”

  “And, you?” He asked looking at Tom.

  “Bullet burned a line almost the whole length of my right arm. We lost the machine gun, but we're both here to talk about it, so all is well.” Tom said and extended his right hand.

  As they shook, John said, “We've broken into teams or cells. We keep Kate, and have two new members, John Carr and Margie Lawder. John and Margie are getting us some supplies and ammo. I have a gas mask here for each of us and four filters. Seems the Russians gassed the town of Newton, so we can expect them to keep using the gas if they feel they can gain something using it.”

  It was then he noticed Margie and John returning with their hands full of boxes, so he said, “We need to give them a hand.”

  They soon had the boxes on the ground and Carr said, “Most of it's ammo, but we've a little of everything from C-4 to Claymore mines. The rations are mostly Russian, but there are a few MRE's in the box, too.”

  “What did you do in the army?” John asked.

  “Infantry for a while, then communications. Call me Jay, as I don't answer to John much these days.”

  “Jay it is then.” John then introduced everyone.

  Margie said, “I was able to get my hands on some brass wire, a spool of parachute cord, and some fish hooks. I'm retired Air Force, E-6, and taught survival for a few years. I also have some chemical warfare suits, but they're all large sizes.”

  At that point, Kate walked to the group with yet more boxes. Placing them on top of the others, she said, “One set of BDU's for each of us, all large sizes, and grenades. They're giving stuff out so they don't have to hide it later. I already have my ammo, so I'm ready to go when you are.”

  “Okay, let's go through this stuff, divide it up and be on our way. For those of you who do not know her, this is Kate, our sniper.” John said.

  John saw Jay's right eyebrow raise in surprise.

  Twenty minutes later, they were moving away from the compound with Kate on point and Tom on drag. The weather was clear, with a few cotton balls of clouds to the west, but nothing that concerned them. John noticed no wind and the temperature was warm, but wasn't hot. Dolly walked at his side, as if on a casual stroll.

  They were to move west, toward the Mississippi River and it was up to John, as the cell leader, to select a base camp. He was
happy leaving a large group and joining a small one, because it's much easier to hide a small group and they'd be a hell of lot easier to feed. All of them had field experience, so he actually felt safer. How long will we stay in these small cells? he wondered, as he scanned the countryside.

  He'd pulled Kate aside before they left and told her to move cross country and to avoid roads and trails. She had enough sense not to cross any open fields, so they stayed in the high brush and woods. It was slow going, but a lot safer. In his mind, safety was more important than speed.

  Almost two hours before dark they stopped in some trees for the night, mainly because John liked the position and they needed some food. Sandra changed the dressing on Tom's arm, then Tom changed her bandage. Both injuries were clean and healthy looking, with no sign of infection. Sandra's wound had a bad bruise surrounding it. Pulling out two aspirin she handed them to Tom, who washed them down with tepid water from his canteen. Sandra then popped two in her mouth and pulled her canteen.

  John left two guards out, Jay and Kate, and relaxed a little as he said, “Reduce all rations by half until we get to the stage we know where our next meal is coming from. And, tonight no fires to cook with, because we have no idea who we share these woods with right now. ”

  Margie nodded, looked as if she was going to speak, but didn't.

  “Where,” Tom asked, “do you have in mind for a camp?”

  “Maybe ten miles south of Edwards. What do ya think?” He sat in the dirt and leaned back against an ancient oak. Dolly put her head in his lap and he scratched her ears.

  “Hell, that's as good as any other spot. We'll just need to find a good clump of trees and make a home.”

  “Are you healing okay?” John asked, and Tom knew he meant from the death of his wife, not his current injury.

  “I'm healing, but it's going to take me some time. The deep pain is gone, but I still dream of her.”

  John nodded, but didn't reply.

  “John, does it matter which MRE you get?” Sandra asked.

  He gave a low chuckle and replied, “Not in the least. They're all nasty cold.”

  “Why don't these have a flame-less heater with them?” She asked.

  “Old is why. I'm sure the shelf-life of these expired years ago, but they're all we have. I've heard some folks are eating the old C and K rations from the Second World War.”

  Suddenly Jay appeared and said, “I have movement on our back trail moving in our direction.”

  As everyone moved into position John said, “Jay, go get the other guard and come back here, and do the job quickly.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Colonel Georgy Vetrov was in the middle of a staff meeting with his officers and senior non-commissioned officers. He was speaking as he paced at the head of a table. A huge map of Mississippi was on the wall behind him. As the senior Russian officer in charge of Mississippi, he was pissed at the poor performance of his troops against a bunch of civilians and worn-out prior military members. Vetrov was short, only five inches above five feet, not an ounce of fat on his muscular frame, and on the high side of his forties. His salt and pepper hair was worn short and he wore no facial hair at all. It was his cold gray eyes that most people noticed first, because he didn't just look at others, his eyes penetrated to their very soul. He had a reputation as a man who accomplished anything with nothing, but for some reason his promotions had been slow.

  “I cannot tolerate our miserable performance and changes must happen, and now!” He yelled as he thought, if I can squash resistance in this sector, I am sure for the star I deserve. I will not be kept from my promotion to general due to pathetic actions by my men.

  “Sir, we need more men, more supplies, and, of course, more aircraft.” Major Victor Abdulov said as he glanced at the papers in his hands.

  The men were seated at a well worn table in a Capital building in Jackson, Mississippi, and it was cool in the room, because there was no natural gas, propane or fuel for heating. Each wore a coat and in a couple of cases, thin gloves were seen.

  “Major Abdulov, is that all you can say, more, more, and more? We will work with what Moscow gives us to work with and no more. Our supply lines are stretched thin as it is now, yet you cry for more.”

  Abdulov said, “Sir, with all due respect—”

  Slamming his open hand down on the table hard, Vetrov said, “Enough. I want to know how we can more efficiently use the men, material and supplies we have now. Work with what you have, but work smarter. There will be no more talk about getting more of anything.”

  Abdulov, angry, but not stupid, replied, “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, I want to know more about the ambush that killed some members of the resistance and the murdering of ten of our men in a convoy. Lieutenant Colonel Pankov, update me on this.”

  Pankov walked to the map, and using his finger, pointed to the spot where the short fight with the partisans had taken place. He cleared his throat and said, “One of our choppers caught a large group of Americans crossing a river yesterday at approximately 1400 hours. We killed fifteen and captured two. Of the dead, ten looked to be between the ages of twenty and thirty-five, while the remainder were older. None carried any identification, but the leader of the group had about a dozen cards in his pocket; all were the Ace of Spades. As you all know, the card is used by the resistance to mark their kills.”

  “Have the captured been turned over for interrogation?” Vetrov asked.

  “One woman has; the other, a man, managed to roll from the helicopter while in flight, falling to his death. The woman is resisting, as is to be expected, but we will break her eventually.”

  Vetrov said, “Keep working on her. It is not likely she knows much, but every little bit of information we can gather gives us a better idea of what we are up against. Now, about the murders of my men.”

  “Yes, sir. Late last night, near 0200, an eight truck convoy was moving near the small town of Edwards, when it came under heavy fire delivered by Americans. Witnesses say they counted at least three heavy machine guns, detonation of two American Claymore mines, and estimated enemy strength at forty or more men. Most of our dead were killed by mines.”

  “Did our men keep possession of the trucks and cargo?”

  Lowering his head, Pankov replied, “No, sir, they backed off to regroup and then moved into defensive positions.”

  “You really mean they ran, right? What was our loss in cargo?”

  “The Lieutenant in charge said he lacked the manpower to retake the trucks and our loss was total. Three of the trucks were carrying drums of aviation gas and all was lost, as were all the trucks. I flew over the area this morning and all that remained were blackened frames of the vehicles. It was in a fairly open area, with the only shelter being some old buildings to the north of the highway.”

  Vetrov placed his hands behind his back and walked around the room thinking, I must do something to show the Americans I will not allow attacks on my men and supplies. I need something that will shock them and make them quiver at the mere mention of my name. Fear will make them docile and more controllable. Of course, the ambush may be in retaliation of my recent poison gas attack on the small village of Newton.

  He walked to the room's only window, his hands still behind his back, and looked out. After a few minutes he said, “Lieutenant Colonel Pankov, order the lieutenant that was ambushed last night to gather up one hundred Americans. Once they are collected, I want the lieutenant to personally see that all are executed in front of the state capital building. From this day forward, for every Russian soldier that dies by the hands of an American, ten of them will be executed.”

  Major Abdulov said, “Sir, think about what this will do for the cause of the resistance. I think it will hurt us in the long run, because we want to win their hearts and minds. This will—”

  Vetrov laughed and said, “Major, I find it funny you bring up the American motto for winning the Vietnam War, which they lost by the way, 'Win their hearts and
minds.' It is all bullshit. All these people, all any people fully understand is pure terror. My order was not a question and I expect it to be carried out without comment. We must smash all armed resistance and force the people to do our will. If you cannot do your duty for mother Russia, then I will find a major that will, but only after I personally shoot you. Do you understand me, Abdulov?”

  “My apologies, sir. I meant no disrespect and will faithfully carry out your orders. However, as a member of your staff, I felt it my duty to express concern.”

  “Your duty, as you called it, has been noted. I want no one, not a man in this room, to ever question my motives again—ever. Remember your place, Major, or you will soon discover my warning about relieving you of duty and shooting you is no idle threat.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Pankov, remain after the meeting so we may talk of another subject. The rest of you, return to your units and straighten the men up. Tell the men I want no drinking while on duty, all guards alert and awake, and any mistakes and I will have the man shot. Now, dismissed.”

  The men stood at attention, Vetrov waved them off, and then moved to a chair beside his intelligence officer. The colonel still stood at attention, so the commander said, “Be seated, Vlad, and let us speak about the American resistance movement a little more.”

  “I will answer any questions you may have, sir.” Pankov said as he thought, Watch out, he is using your first name, so the sonofabitch is going to screw you over. He then sat in his chair.

  “What do you think happened to all the men and woman who fought us at the prisoner exchange? I mean, all of the Americans have disappeared.”

  “No, they have not disappeared, sir, they have broken into small cells and are scattered all over the state, or returned to their home states. It's a basic tactic used by guerrillas in this type of war.”