The Fall of America: Premonition of Death (12 page)

We waited a good hour and then Tom said just above a whisper, "We need to warn Top the Russians are coming, or at least I think they are."

"I don't want to do that," I replied.

He gave me a surprised look and then asked, "Why not?"

"Top has been around, so they'll not catch 'em unprepared or am I wrong?"

"Of course he'll be ready, but not against that many men."

"All he has to do it close the door and go out the back way. They'll use some time getting in the cave, unless they have RPG's or C-4 along."

Tom thought for a moment and then said, "I'd forgotten about the door. I've known Top a lot of years, and if a person can be ready for a fight it'll be him."

"Enough talk, let's continue the mission." I stood, opened the compass and found my compass heading once more. As I moved toward the trees, I could hear the boots of the others as they walked behind me in the mud.

We continued to move toward our target until the rain grew heavier and then I moved into some pines and oak trees. Once stopped and our heavy packs were lowered to the ground, I said, "Vickie, you'll share a shelter with me and you two share. This way we have one veteran with a rookie. We need to get two shelters up, so we can get out of this rain."

When the two women looked confused, Tom pulled out two casualty blankets and said, "We'll use these. They're not as good as a tent, but will keep us fairly dry, unless the wind blows pretty hard."

A few minutes later, we had two lean-to's up and as I crawled under mine, I noticed the temperature was dropping. I said nothing, because we'd have no fire unless needed in an emergency the whole length of our mission. The light of a fire can be seen and smoke smelled for long distances, so we'd have a cold camp unless the weather got much worst. I expected one of the women to complain about the lack of a fire, but they said nothing. We had some surplus poncho liners and they were the best we had for blankets, but they'd work fine. I'd used them often enough in the 'sandbox,' as we called Iraq.

Tom approached and handed me two MRE's, gazed into Vickie's eyes and said, "That's it until breakfast. It won't fill you up, but it'll keep you alive. A lot of calories in one meal, but since we don't have the heaters you'll be eatin' 'em cold."

"What's the guard schedule?" I asked.

"One on and we'll rotate every two hours. First will be Alisa, then Vickie, you, then me."

I nodded and turned my attention to my meal. I groaned when I saw I had the beef stew meal packet, because it always gave me indigestion when eaten cold. It was an excellent meal when hot, but I detested it cold. I opened my accessory pouch and removed a spoon, multi-grain snack bread, and lemon tea. I filled my canteen cup with water and added the lemon drink mix.

I felt someone watching me and when I glanced up, I saw Vickie was confused with her meal pouch. She'd been watching me, and I could see she had no idea what to do next. I also noticed she had the beef brisket, with garlic mashed potatoes and crackers, and considered seeing if she wanted to trade, but figured it wasn't worth the effort. It was simply a meal to keep me alive until I could complete my mission.

I showed her how to open the pouches, what was in them, and that was pretty much all there was to it. I did watch as she took her first bite, met my eyes and smiled.
She must be starved to like these damned things cold,
I thought as I opened my entree. As I ate in silence, I realized that, to the women, this trip must be pretty rough. For someone who has gone from living in a house and cooking on a stove, to backpacking miles into the woods and then eating under a sheet of plastic in the rain, it was a huge change. I'd always felt that was one of problems with our society in the old days, we'd grown soft as a people. Gone was the determination and pure guts our forefathers had when they carved a nation out of virgin wilderness. Toward the end, folks were too lazy to even talk, and were text messaging their spouses while they sat on the sofa beside them. Now, those folks were either dead, wishing they were dead, or living like animals, holed up someplace.

It was then that Tom stood, slowly turned a complete circle and whispered, "Movement, all around us."

I slipped the safety on my shotgun to off.

CHAPTER 12

"C
hill, we're on your side!" A voice called out from the rain.

"How do I know that?" Tom replied.

"I'm Willy Williams! Top and I go back a few years!"

Tom gave me a big grin and said, "Come."

From the rain walked a mountain of a man, wearing a green beret on his head at a cocky angle. He was loaded for bear too, with two pistols, three grenades, shotgun and two knives that I could see. His clothing was a mix of civilian and military with his trousers being jeans.

Soon a squad of ten other men joined him and Tom asked, "How'd you find us?"

Willie laughed and said, "I wasn't looking for you, but Top sent me a radio message and asked me to scout this area. Seems one of his teams reported a good size convoy heading his way and he wanted confirmation. Only, we've seen nothing. I'd have walked right by you, except one of you stood while I was looking in this direction."

Tom grinned and said, "I stood, but at any rate, the convoy is for real and we've seen it. I counted one motorcycle and thirteen trucks, and all may be manned by Russians."

"Jinks!"

"Yo!"

"Return to camp and send a message to Top. Let him know the convoy has been confirmed by the team he sent from his base camp. Stress to him the number of vehicles and the fact the Russians are now in the ballgame. Tell him to expect at least ten men per truck, or over 130 men to attack. Send it in code, too."

"Will do, Willie."

"Once you send the message, wait for a reply before you return. Top may have to escape and evade, but he's a crafty old fart. Now, get."

As Jinks took off at a trot, I asked, "Is this area clear?"

"From what I've discovered since I scouted the group that killed the general, these jokers never get off the main roads or well traveled trails. I know the Russians and they'll have some local good ole boys with 'em when they travel, as guides. They understand that no one knows the area better than the locals."

"Willie," I asked as sat on a log, "Why are the Russians here? I don't understand all of this. Don't they understand that by attacking us, and this is no advisory function, they'll simply unify us?"

Willie chuckled and replied, "The Russians have craved our country for years, and now is about the only chance they've had to get it. They're smart too, fully understanding they needed to wait a couple of years for hunger to kill large numbers of us and for diseases and tribal wars to start. With less population and weakened by disease and conflict, I suspect they think we'll be easy pickings. What they don't understand about the whole situation is the American people and how we'll come together to fight a common enemy."

"Wouldn't they do that in Russia?" Vickie asked.

"No, not these days, or I don't think they would. See, what most folks don't understand about Russians is they're a different people now than in 1945. Russian unity grew while they were fighting the Germans and then petered out after the war. They've seen so many people executed over the last sixty plus years, they no longer care who in the hell is in charge. They just want to be left alone to eat their cabbage soup."

"Do you think it's safe to have a fire?" I asked, seeing my breath as I spoke.

"I'm sure a fire is safe here, but by the time you rest overnight and then move on, I'd say no. You'll be too close to your target by then."

"Have you spotted any Russian dog handlers?" Tom asked.

"Not yet, but that doesn't mean they don't have any. See, I have no idea of the type of unit you saw in the truck, but I assume they're infantry. I doubt they're Spetsnaz, because they operate in smaller numbers, much like our green berets."

"What's that Spets thing?" Alisa asked from the darkness.

Willie grinned and said, "It's Spetsnaz, but let's get a fire going and we'll join y'all for supper. As we eat, I'll explain how the Russian Special Forces operate."

*****

The next morning, before Willie left with his men, he went over the map and explained to us what we'd find near the base camp. It didn't sound good to me, and I said as much.

He smiled and said, "Look, you're not attacking the place, so just wait a few days and see if a lone man or a couple come out for some reason. If they do, nail 'em and take 'em back to Top. It'll be as easy as fallin' off a stump." He reached into his backpack and pulled out three Claymore mines.

"Why do you have those?" Tom asked.

"As you know, if we run into a larger force, they're really good to use with an L shaped ambush. But, Top asked me to give 'em to you. He said for you to put 'em out each night and they'll add a little security to your night positions. He also said for you to not bring 'em back, so I'd guess he wants you to use them before you return."

Tom gave a devilish grin and said, "Have you seen what these things can do to a man or a vehicle? Why just one will tear your ass up!"

Willie slapped Tom on the back and said, "I've seen what a claymore can do. Listen, we need to get moving. You be sure to use these before you start the trip home and tear up some ass." He then winked at me.

As soon as they'd left, Tom said, "Okay, everyone touch up your makeup and let's get ready to move."

"Makeup?" Vickie asked, and then giggled like a little schoolgirl.

"The camouflage on your face, hands and neck. We always reapply it in the morning, because some will have rubbed off over night."

I heard her giggle again and mumble, "Makeup."

*****

Near noon, we spotted movement near a road we had to cross. Tom went forward to scout and returned a few minutes later. He pointed at the two women and motioned for them to stay, and then indicated by pointing at me and then the direction he'd come that I was to go with him. He then pointed to my eyes and I gave an okay by using my thumb and index finger. It was clear he wanted me to look at what he'd spotted.

We moved forward slowly, but the trip was short, and when I glanced at the area Tom pointed out, I spotted an old eight-wheeled Stryker parked beside a sandbagged machine gun nest. I saw no weapon mounted on the top of the light personnel carrier and suspected they had removed it for some reason. I waited, and a few minutes later two men exited the vehicle and made their way to the machine gun, where two others waited. Tom and I watched for over thirty minutes before he touched my arm and we moved back to the women. Once there, we moved away from the Stryker and went deeper into the woods.

Stopping after about a mile, Tom squatted on his heels and said just barely above a whisper, "I think this is the best opportunity we'll get to take a prisoner. I counted four men, no weapon on the Stryker, and an M60 used in the machine gun nest. One of the men was wearing a Russian uniform, so that's the one I'd like to take back to Top, if we can."

"Typical crew for a Stryker, without a gun of any sorts would be two men, but they could do the job with just a driver in a safe area. The M60 usually has two men as well. How do you intend to get a prisoner?"

Tom explained his idea and I had to admit, I thought it was a solid plan and could think of nothing better. Once his briefing was complete, he said, "Eat and relax a bit. We'll move into position two hours before dark. Alisa, move out about fifty feet and guard for a couple of hours. You'll be relieved by Vickie."

The day passed slowly, with me taking catnaps, nibbling on the contents of an MRE, and not talking at all. Finally, it was late afternoon when Tom whispered, "Saddle up."

Our trip back to the Stryker was uneventful, but my senses were on high alert for any smell, movement, or sound. We stopped at almost the same spot we'd used before. Tom and I moved forward, leaving the other two behind, mainly because we weren't sure they'd be quiet enough. At the vehicle, like soldiers all over the world, they were shooting the shit and relaxing. That was a good indicator to me and I thought,
looks like they have no idea they're being watched.
After a few minutes, I saw the Russian pull out a bottle of something from the Stryker and he passed it around the group. We remained in position for well over an hour, then moved back to the others.

We remained in position until well after midnight, then moved directly behind the machine gun position and placed a claymore mine. I made sure all four metal legs were in the soil and the front was toward the enemy, by feeling the embossed text on the front of the mine. I then ran the line off a ways to Tom. Tom was to detonate the claymore when one of the soldiers woke and moved to the forest for his morning pee. I would then capture the lone survivor, just after the claymore exploded, and the women would rush the machine gun to kill anyone yet alive. I hoped things went as planned, but suspected they'd go to hell, and quickly. In combat, few things go as planned.

Earlier two of the men moved into the Stryker to sleep, most likely, and two remained at the machine gun. But, from what I could see from the moonlight the two at the gun seemed asleep a little later. I was wrong, and in just few minutes one of the men moved off about twenty-five feet and took a leak.

The night passed slowly as I watched the men. Occasionally one would walk around the vehicle. I could tell they didn't have much experience, because more than once I was tempted to kill them both with a knife. I was sure I could do the job, only we had a plan and I'd stick to it.

Just as darkness was turning into gray, I heard a two-stroke vehicle coming up the road and figured it was someone passing on the daily orders or carrying messages. Soon, an old beat-up dirt bike rode up and the driver turned his machine off and dismounted. All this time the machine gunner had his weapon on the man. Finally, I heard a voice say, "Point that damned thing in some other direction, will ya!"

The barrel immediately swiveled off the man, which told me the gunner knew the man or recognized the voice. The other guard said, "Hank, how've ya been?"

"I'm doin' fine. Where are the other two?"

The guard pointed to the Stryker.

"Wake 'em up. The colonel wants ya to return to camp and you're to come with me. Now, get 'em up and movin', because I've a busy day ahead of me."

"I'll wake 'em, but Ivan will be pissed. We were told to stay here a week and he was in the vodka pretty hard last night."

"He's been pissed before, so wake 'em."

The guard chuckled and moved to the vehicle.

A few minutes later I could hear cursing and the two men came out with the guard exiting last. Both men moved to the woods to pee and I noticed the Russian was standing right in front of the Claymore mine. I remained in position and the American was close enough to worry me. The last thing I wanted was for him to take a leak on my head, but he missed me by inches.

As I watched my guard zipping up his pants, I heard a loud explosion, followed by screams. I came up off the ground, knocked the man to the ground with the butt of my shotgun, and he lay unmoving. I heard screams and cries for help, then saw Tom running toward the machine gun. I heard one long burst from the gun, of maybe five seconds, heard a couple of shotgun blasts, and then silence.

I stayed in position, knowing if I moved too early someone might just shoot my ass. As I waited, I removed a roll of duct tape from my pack and taped my prisoners hands behind his back. I quickly taped his feet too.

"John, all secured! We have one wounded."

I made my way to the machine gun and saw Tom working on Alisa's legs. Blood was pooling under her and Vickie stood by unmoving. By looking at her eyes, I could tell Vickie was going into shock. The machine gunners head was almost completely gone and the ammo man had been hit in the stomach. Both were beyond caring and the cyclist was twitching and jerking as he screamed.

The blast from the Claymore really messed the bike rider up, and there was no way he'd survive. I pulled my knife, knelt beside him and cut his throat.

I stood and then ordered, "Vickie, look in the vehicle and see if they have any blankets. Also check for first aid supplies while you're in there."

"I'll . . . I . . . I'm going."

I squatted by Tom as he worked and asked, "Serious?"

"I think the bone in the left leg is broken and the bleeding won't stop."

"What about the right leg?"

"It's a clean in and out injury. I imagine it hurts like hell, but this leg has me worried. I'm going to use a tourniquet and see if that works. I'm using a direct compress now, but it's not even slowing down, so I suspect the femoral artery has been damaged."

"Vickie, is there a stretcher in there?"

"Yea, do you want me to bring it out?"

"Bring it and what you've found." Then, turning to Tom I said, "We need to load her and get moving. I'm sure others heard the explosion."

"Did you get a prisoner?"

I nodded and motioned with my thumb, "He's back in the trees. Let me get him, while you take care of Vickie."

When I neared the prisoner, he looked up at me with huge frightened eyes and they grew larger as I pulled my sheath knife. I hadn't cleaned it since I'd cut the throat on the cyclist, so the blood was fresh on the long blade. I squatted beside him and said, "I'm going to cut the tape at your feet, but you try anything and I'll kill you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," was his weak reply.

I cut the tape and then said, "I'm going to help you stand. Once you're on your feet, don't take a single step, or I'll blow you in half with my shotgun."

He nodded, so I helped him to his feet.

"Now, move toward the gun and do the job slowly."

As we walked by the dead Russian, I noticed him staring at the body, or what was left of the man. The Claymore had blown him in half and only the upper half was in the grass. I wasn't surprised; after all, the mine threw 700 steel balls that are about one-eighth of an inch in diameter, and that would ruin anyone's day. As we neared the machine gun, my prisoner took in the damage done. Both of the dead suffered from the Claymore, but it was the shotgun blasts that killed them. I noticed the prisoner looked at the dead cyclist a long time, and he understood where the blood on my knife came from. I wasn't sure how the gunner lived long enough to fire at all, but he had, and knew Tom would tell me more later.