The Fall of America: Winter Ops Read online

  Silverwolf neared and said, “I just discovered an ambush site, but with no blood.”

  “No blood?” I thought for a moment and then said, “Dead partisans?”

  “Yep, about a dozen and not one drop of blood. I've never seen anything like it before.”

  “Pull your gas mask and lets check the area out. I suspect the Russians used poison gas.” I said as I pulled my mask from the canvas pouch I carried on my left leg.

  It was when we neared the site and I saw squirrels running over the ground, I knew we didn't need the masks.

  “The gas has dissipated, or the squirrels would be dying or dead.” I said as I pulled my pistol.

  Glancing around, I added, “Don't touch anyone, but if you see any gear we need, take it, but check for booby-traps. I don't see any weapons or ammo. The Russians may have booby-trapped some of these bodies.”

  A few minutes later, Silverwolf said, “I don't see a single weapon in the bunch and most of the gear is gone, too. They did that to keep us from recovering anything.”

  “These folks died rough from the looks on their faces. Every one has a grimace with teeth bared.”

  “Gas, Sergeant. Looks like nerve gas to me, but it must have been released with a bomb or artillery round.”

  Silverwolf began circling and about ten minutes later, he returned and said, “Looks like a bomb to me, and it's not far from these folks. It left a crater, but I honestly can't tell the difference. I thought gas had to be sprayed out, like they used to do crops.”

  “The Russians have a number of ways to deliver it. What's this?” I asked as I bent over and picked up a map. On the map, one of our safe houses was circled and the map was in Russian. That in itself was not a big deal, but it was laminated and grease pencil notes written in Russian were on the map as well.

  “Looks like a map, but we see them all the time.”

  “Not like this one we don't. Let's get back and have Scott take a look at this.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Senior Sergeant Morozov led the Lieutenant down the trail and then moved into some thick pines and oaks to look the man's injuries over. Blood was pouring between his fingers, and growing impatient at not being able to pry the man's hands from his face, he said, “Damn, sir, let me see your wound or you may bleed to death before I can do a thing for you.”

  It hurts.”

  “Of course it hurts, it is supposed to hurt. That is good; that means you are still alive. Now, lower your hands and let me see what has happened.”

  The Lieutenant slowly lowered his quivering hands and Morozov said, “It does not look too bad, and I think your blindness is caused by blood and debris. I am no doctor or medic, but I have seen my share of injuries.”

  As he reached for the medical kit the Lieutenant wore, the Senior Sergeant thought, The left eye has been blown out and the right doesn't look much better. I need to keep his spirits up or he will go into shock. It will be hard enough to travel with him as it is. He needs morphine, but if I inject him, I will have to carry him and I cannot do that.

  Once the bandages were on tightly covering both eyes, Morozov said, “Okay, sir, we can move now. Listen to me. I can give you a light painkiller in a pill, but no morphine. If I give you morphine I will have to leave you.”

  “Oh, dear God, do not leave me, please! The pills will be enough.” The Sergeant saw blood seeping through the thick bandage.

  “I will not leave you as long as you continue to move. Can you walk if you hold onto my belt?”

  “I . . . I think so. I do not have much of a choice, do I?” The Lieutenant stood and reached out with his hand.

  Removing the belt to his trousers, he looped it and then buckled it closed. Handing the loop to the Lieutenant, he said, “If I come to a big rock or other obstacle, I will let you know. Now, if I tell you to get down, drop to the dirt right then, sir. We can do this, if we stay calm and work together.”

  “Do not leave me, Sergeant, please; the partisans will tortured me for hours, because I am an officer.”

  “We are comrades and I have never left anyone alive on the battle field yet, sir.” Morozov said and then thought, Except those who were dying anyway or slowed me down. Let us both pray, for your sake, Lieutenant, you are able to keep up with me. This is a walk for life and I will not be held back by an injured man, but do not worry, I will kill you before I leave you. War is about survival and I fully intend to retire.

  “Good, Sergeant. When we return, I will see you are given a medal.”

  Medal? A worthless piece of cloth and some tin? I would rather have a quart of vodka, he thought and then replied, “Why thank you, sir. Now, we need to be moving. Let me know if you have problems, the first mile will be the hardest.”

  “I will move, and thank you, Sergeant.”

  “Enough talk, sir. We do not know who else is in these woods. We need to be quiet, and let us move now.”

  The first quarter mile was rough, but after that, the Lieutenant seemed to gain some trust and walked much easier. At first he seemed hesitant to take a step, but with time he moved much faster. The day passed uneventfully, with no one seen and nothing heard. As dusk neared, the Senior Sergeant was near a small lake, so he stopped for a few minutes.

  “I am hungry.” the Lieutenant said.

  “We have no food, sir. There is a lake near, which I'm sure has fish, only I have no way to catch them.”

  “Is there a stream?”

  “Yes, there is one leading from the lake, why?”

  “Often fish will swim from a lake, enter a stream and then be trapped when the water level drops. You can find them by feeling with your hands in the water under rocks, logs, or stream banks. You must use caution, because at times snakes will be found instead. Or you can make a fishnet from a limb shaped like a 'Y' and use your undershirt to make the net portion. You can use it to catch small fish or minnows.”

  “It is cold now and I will need a fire, if I am to fish the stream. Let us move deeper into the trees and find a good spot. I think I have about an hour of light left and then it will grow dark.”

  “Good luck, Sergeant.”

  It was cold and the Sergeant didn't really like the idea of getting wet, but they were both hungry, which meant he had to try. He stripped completely naked and entered the cold waters of the stream. He glanced at the sky and cursed the falling snow.

  An hour later, after catching four large fish under the banks, he had them cooking over the flickering flames of the fire. He knew fresh water fish carried parasites, usually worms, so he cooked the fish well. He didn't know the locals called the fish bass and would not have cared anyway. His hunger was acute and he also craved a strong glass of vodka, but knew that would have to wait until he returned to the base.

  As soon as the meal was finished, with two large fish left over, he wrapped it up in some cloth and attached it to his belt. At least now, they'd not starve to death, because there was enough fish left for a couple of days. By his estimation, they should be close to the base by morning.

  “Lieutenant? Can you walk?”

  “Yes, but I thought we would stop for the night.”

  “Sir, we cannot take that risk. With partisans moving around us, we need to return to the base as quickly as possible. If we are caught out here, I would fight hard, but the battle would not last long. We need to continue to move until we reach safety.”

  Standing, the Lieutenant said, “I understand; I am just hurting and tired. My mind is not working well.”

  Pulling his first aid kit open, the Senior Sergeant handed the officer a small white pill, placing it in the man's hand.

  “Take the painkiller, so you can continue to move.”

  Lieutenant Smirnov pulled his canteen, placed the pill in his mouth and washed it down with a swig of tepid water. He screwed the top back on the container and said, “Let us move now.”

  In the darkness the officer tripped often, until Morozov realized he was moving too quickly for the man, so he slo
wed his rate down. Deep inside, the Senior Sergeant was afraid, because he'd seen what partisans did to captured Russians, and it filled him with apprehension.

  All went well, until half way through the night, and the Sergeant smelled smoke. Moving forward carefully Morozov hoped to see the fire before he saw a guard. It was directly up wind and strong, which mean the men with the fire were to their west, or left side. The Senior Sergeant would move forward about ten feet, stop, listen and smell, only so far he'd seen nothing.

  The Lieutenant said, “I —”

  The Senior Sergeant slapped him hard and then whispered, “Damn, Lieutenant, keep your voice down, sir. Do you not smell the smoke? It is probably partisans and we do not need for them to catch us.”

  “I was not thinking.” the Lieutenant whispered back.

  “Sorry I hit you, but you endangered our lives. Now, we are going to slowly move forward and hopefully not see anyone.”

  “Okay, I will keep quiet.”

  You had better stay quiet or I will stick a knife in you. You, the big officer, will not get me killed. Morozov thought and then slowly moved forward.

  Suddenly, on his left he spotted a light and guessed it was a couple hundred feet from the trail. There is always a chance they have mined the trail to give them advance warning, he thought, and then moved toward the trees to his right, hoping to circle the trail for about a hundred meters. His heart was pounding in his chest as he moved and hoped the Lieutenant wouldn't draw attention by falling or talking. He slipped the safety off his Bison as he moved.

  Twenty minutes later, he was back on the trail and moving toward the Russian camp. The Lieutenant had remained quiet and other than having to hold onto the belt to lead the injured man, it was hard to believe the officer was injured. While still snowing lightly, the moon was out and it looked as if the bad weather would soon be gone. The moonlight made for faster travel, but the Sergeant knew it would allow his enemies to spot him faster too.

  Near dawn, he stepped around a curve in the trail and came face-to-face with a partisan point man. The confrontation surprised both men and as the American brought his gun up, the Senior Sergeant fired from the hip. The slugs of his sub-machine gun stitched the man up the left side, barely grazing him, until a bullet struck his left shoulder. The round exited the man's back, blowing

  bone, blood, and gore out behind him. The partisan fell unmoving, but Morozov knew he had seconds to escape. Either the wounded American would fire or his comrades would come to investigate the shooting.

  Jerking the belt he said, “You must run now, Lieutenant, or we both will die.”

  When the Senior Sergeant cut to the left and started running, he felt no resistance on the belt. Looking back the officer was keeping up, which was good, because Morozov would leave him in a second. Bullets knocked down leaves and small twigs as they moved, but the NCO knew hitting a running man in the woods was hard to do for most soldiers. It was then he felt a blow to his right leg and he fell, taking the officer down with him. Once he glanced down, he knew they were in trouble, because the round had struck bone; the front of his kneecap was missing.

  “Sir, I cannot walk.”

  “I will carry you then. You will have to tell me how to walk; now hurry, before the Americans come to see if we were injured. Once away from here, you can splint your leg and be able to walk again.”

  Bending down, the Lieutenant had Morozov climb on his back and after he picked him up, he said, “Whisper to me as we move.”

  “Straight ten steps and then turn sharply to your left.”

  Taking the steps was slow, but once done, both men knew they could do this for a short distance.

  “How far do we need to move, Sergeant?”

  “Maybe one kilometer. I do not see them looking for us long, because the temperature is too cold, and it is still snowing. Also while the moon is out now, the clouds are moving closer. The moon will soon be covered and once the clouds do that, it will be dark again. I think in another hour, we will start to have sunlight. Go straight about forty steps and I will tell you when to turn to your right.”

  An hour later, the two men were under a large oak tree as Morozov trimmed a limb to use as a splint for his leg. The limb was long enough that he'd removed the branches and then cut the stem in half. He'd already cleaned and wrapped the injury as well as he could, so once the splint was in place, they could move. He had taken two of the white pills; his pain was almost gone, but enough remained to remind him of his injury. He wondered how painful it would be to move.

  He wrapped the splint in place using his cutup tee shirt, and then with the help of the Lieutenant, he stood. He took a single step and then winced in pain; it hurt badly, but what choice did he have? To remain meant death and that wasn't an option for him.

  “Is your pain severe?”

  “Bad enough, but we must move, do we not?”

  “Yes, so hand me the belt.”

  Ten minutes later, Morozov was in such pain he was crying silently as they walked. He wanted to take another pain pill, but knew too much of the medication would harm his liver, so he kept moving.

  More than once over the morning, he felt faint and he knew soon he'd have to rest for a few hours. His mind was clouded with painfulness of such a level he worried about passing out. He gritted his teeth and kept moving. The snow had stopped, but the temperature dropped a great deal, and now he grew concerned about freezing to death if they stopped without a fire. He didn't want to build a fire, because any partisans in the area would either see the smoke or smell it, and that he couldn't afford, so they kept moving.

  It was as they crossed a small clearing that he heard the helicopter and felt a knot in his stomach suddenly come alive. If the crew thought they were partisans, they were dead meat, because there was no way they could move fast enough to avoid being killed.

  “Lieutenant, stop and wave your arms and I will do the same. We have to convince the helicopter crew that we are Russians or we are dead! Wave, and do it now!”

  The helicopter approached, circled and finally after many long minutes, it sat down in the field and four men ran to the two. Two men guarded them, as they were asked their names and units. Realizing the two were Russians, the crew escorted them back to the helicopter. Once inside, they were strapped into their seats and handed hot cups of tea. A highly trained medic began working on both men, inserting an IV, but he started evaluating the most seriously injured first, the Lieutenant.

  They'd raised about fifty feet in the air, when someone screamed and Morozov saw something fly by the door of the aircraft. There came two loud explosions, just outside the aircraft, causing the helicopter to roll violently and then shudder. Two machine-guns opened up and the noise was loud. The gunner on the left side screamed and most of his backbone, blood and bone fragments, flew from his body to land on the back of the other gunner. The spattered gunner ignored the mess and kept firing. A few minutes later, the single gun grew quiet, and gun smoke from the cabin disappeared into the slip-stream.

  The medic moved to the downed gunner, looked him over and said something in his microphone. He then met the eyes of the Senior Sergeant and shook his head. The gunner was dead and all that was holding him in the aircraft was a strap of nylon.

  Three bullets entered the cabin from the floor with loud pings. One bullet struck a piece of metal and ricocheted around the cabin, until it struck the medic in the left leg. The medic fell to the floor and screamed as he opened his pouch, and removed a syringe of morphine. He injected the drug into his leg and began dressing the wound. One of the other bullets must have pierced a line, because a thick oil like substance began to flow steadily to the floor.

  The helicopter climbed to a higher altitude and moved toward the base.

  Just as the base was in view, the aircraft began to smoke and thick toxic fumes filled the rear cabin. When Morozov looked up, sparks were flying and he wondered if the liquid pouring from the ruptured pipe was flammable. The lone gunner handed
out smoke masks to those still alive. The Senior Sergeant pulled his mask from a small red canvas bag and donned it quickly.

  The pilot turned and yelled something that no one heard. The aircraft began to shake violently, then a piece of tin from the aircraft flew past the door where the dead gunner lay, and the helicopter started descending. Morozov tightened his seat-belt, crossed himself, and then grasped the mounting bracket of his red canvas seat firmly. Damn me, go through all that shit in the field, and then get killed in a helicopter crash. My luck has not been good on this mission. I hope when we hit, I do not cause more injury to my leg. If not for the morphine, I would be crying now, he thought as he clinched his teeth and waited for impact.

  Impact was bone jarring hard and Morozov quickly unbuckled his seat-belt, grabbed the Lieutenant by his ankles and ran from the aircraft, not caring if he caused the officer more injuries or not. When he reached what he thought was a safe distance, he turned, saw the gunner and one of the pilots run, and a split-second later there came a loud explosion. As the red flames and black smoke rolled into each other, they formed a mushroom cloud overhead; one of the men still in the helicopter stepped from the flames. He was totally engulfed in fire and was shrieking loudly as he stumbled away from the inferno. Morozov raised his bison and put half a magazine in the man.

  “No one should be allowed to burn to death, no one!” he screamed when the weapon clicked, empty.

  The survivors gathered together and discovered they were inside the perimeter of the base, so all felt safe. Emergency response teams were moving toward them now so the Senior Sergeant asked, “What happened? That was a flight from hell.”

  The co-pilot was on the ground screaming with an injured back and the Lieutenant was unmoving. The surviving gunner said, “I am not sure. I heard the pilot say the fire warning light was on and then smoke began filling the aircraft. I think the fire burned it's way to our fuel, or the crew did not turn the electrical switches off when we crashed. We will know in a few days.”