The Fall of America: Fatal Encounters (Book 2) (20 page)

Margie was just about to make a mad dash across the road when Sue said, “Stop, because I hear something.”

“I hear it too, now, but I didn't a second ago.  Here,” he handed her Dolly's leash and added, “take her, and she'll jump at the same time you do.  She'll offer you a bit more protection once you're on the other side.  Now wait and let's see what's causing the noise.”

A lone motorcycle rode over a slight hill in the road moving south at a good speed.  Then a few seconds later a convoy approached.  They counted ten trucks and still they waited, to see if another motorcycle was riding drag.  After almost ten minutes, John said, “Go.”

Margie ran across the road and at the end, leaped high into the air, landing beyond some brush, with Dolly at her side.

Looking at Sue, John asked, “Ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Go!”

Her run was almost an exact copy of Margie's and she landed on the other side of the brush as well.

John had just broken cover and was almost to the middle of the road when a motorcycle, moving south at a high rate of speed suddenly appeared over the hill.  The encounter spooked both men, but John recovered first and fired three rounds at the bike.  The motorcycle fell to its side and slid down the road with the rider's left leg trapped under it.  It came to rest about twenty feet from John, who approached, shot the rider the head, and then took most of the man's gear.  He then slipped an ace of spades card into the dead man's mouth.  

Then he made tracks in the mud from the side of the road toward the bushes on the side he'd just left, hoping to confuse any Russians.  Hopefully they'd head the wrong direction, the way they'd come.  He realized it'd not fool a good tracker, not for long anyway, but might buy him a few minutes of precious time.

Going back to the dead rider, he picked up the man's pistol, a Makarov PMM, and PP-19, “Bison” sub-machine gun, with the magazine pouch, and oil can.  Then, he placed the pistol in his trouser cargo pocket and the four spare magazines in his shirt pocket.  It was then he noticed a dispatch pouch, so he picked it up and threw the sling around his shoulder.  He placed his AK-47 strap around his neck and carried the Bison as he joined the others.

Once with the others, he handed his AK-47, along with spare magazines to Sue as he said, “You take this.  Are you familiar with using it?”

“It's what I carried before, but lost it during the ambush, or else my cell took it with them.  I remember having it before I blacked out.”

“Follow me and we'll take the long road back home.”

An hour before dark, they neared the cellar and John called out.  Tom stuck his head from the doorway and replied, “Come on in!  We thought you'd been captured.”

“No, but it was close for a bit there.” John said as he left the trees and made for the cellar.  Seeing no guard he asked, “Surely you have a guard posted?”

“Kate's watching and you can be sure she had you in the cross-hairs of her 30.06 for a few seconds.  She has a new sniper rifle, a VSS Vintorez, with a case of 9X39 mm SP-5 cartridges, but hasn't sighted it in yet.  The information we have is it will penetrate body armor. She was given five, ten round, magazines to go with the rifle and even a NSPUM-3 night vision sight.  I've been carrying the night vision sight to scan the area with after dark.”

“Did Santa Claus come to visit?”

“Nope; Willy blew up a convoy and they discovered a shitload of these sniper rifles, along with ammo and sights.  A group passing through this area gave the rifle, ammo and gear to her.  Apparently, Willy sends out groups in general directions hoping they make contact with folks like us.”

Margie approached, handed her burlap bag of food to Tom and said, “Have someone put us a decent meal together, because I'm worn out.”

He grinned and said, “Come on in, and John, I know a woman's who has been worried sick about you.”

Later, over a meal of fresh beef stew, the first in years for many of them, John gave an update and then had Margie tell her tale of the town of Edwards.  When the prison camps were explained and the poster announcing the executions shown, Tom shook his head.

“What are you thinking?”  John asked, as Sandra sat by his side holding his hand.

“I think the poster is outdated and they've grown tired of killing, because it gained them nothing.  Now, it doesn't mean they've turned soft, actually just the opposite.  The camps, I suspect, will be well guarded and not something we'll want to attack, unless we have an advantage in some way.”

“What will Willy do?” Margie asked.

“Hard to tell, because he's original in thought, but he needs this information so some of the resistance can move their families, unless it's too late.”

“Is the group that gave you the sniper rifle coming back this way?”

“They said they'd be back this way tomorrow, and if we needed to contact them to be close to the spot where the dirt road intersects with the pavement.  Jones, the leader, said they'd be in the area a little after sunrise.”

John said, “I know Jones, and he's a good leader.  In the morning, I'll take Dolly and meet him.  I'll tell him what we know and have him pass it on to Willy.  Hell, we don't even know where Willy is, so we can't contact him at all.”

“It's on purpose, so if we're captured, we can't say where the boss is hiding, don't you see?”

“Oh, I understand easily enough, but it makes it hard to get needed intelligence to the man.”

Tom nodded and then said, “Joshua, go relieve Kate.  Oh, I hear ya, John.”

“Sue,” Sandra said, “come to me and let me take a look at your shoulder.  In the conditions we live under, it doesn't take long for an infection to occur.”

D
urchenko was the last man off the trail in the swamp, and he felt weak and dizzy.  He'd refused to leave until his men were loaded first. Once in the chopper a medic inserted an IV and started checking his vital signs.  His pain was severe and the medic gave him a shot of morphine to give him some relief.  As they flew, the Master Sergeants world, gradually, grew slightly darker until he entered a deep black void.

When he awoke, he couldn't open his eyes; they felt too heavy.  A feeling of serenity filled him, so he was not scared, and soon drifted back to sleep.  Then he heard metal striking metal, and his eyes still wouldn't open.  He attempted to stay awake, fighting the urge to sleep, only he could not.

When he next awoke, his eyes opened quickly enough, only he was confused.  I am in a hospital, but how can that be and why?  He thought.

An attendant saw him moving, walked to his bed and said, “Master Sergeant Durchenko, can you hear me?”

“Yes, of course, you damned fool, but why am I in a hospital?”

“You were on a patrol when someone triggered an explosive device.  Your doctor will explain your injuries to you.  I understand you were a real hero, only allowing extraction after your men were all taken off first, so I suspect you will be awarded a big medal.”

“Medals are just a piece of cloth and chunk of metal.  Get my damned doctor and do it now, private, or I will climb out of this bed and beat your ass.”

“I will get him for you, Sergeant.”  The man scurried away.

Searching his mind, he remembered no mission, but it would come with time.  He leaned back and closed his eyes.

A tall thin doctor, a major, entered reeking of alcohol and asked, “What is the problem, Master Sergeant Durchenko?”

“Sir, I want to know the extent of my injuries, what happened, and why I am in a hospital.  I remember nothing.”

The doctor said, “According to your men you are a super hero, but the first helicopter on the scene said one of your men, while on a mission, tripped a mine.  Out of the nineteen men with you, nine were killed and five more wounded, some severely.  You were partly shielded by men in front of you, but the shrapnel passed through them and then into you.  I'm sorry, but you have lost your right leg from the knee down. We tried to save it in the operating room, but it was mangled too badly.  Your other injuries will heal, so in a few days, you will be on an airplane bound for Moscow.  From there you will be presented with a medal and discharged.  Since you already have enough years for retirement, you will do well enough.”

“The leg was all I lost?”

“That's enough, don't you think?”

“I am just glad nothing else is missing.  How are my, uh,—”

“Your family jewels are just fine.  I can assure you, the only part of you that will not be the same when you leave is the leg.”

Durchenko started laughing.

Glancing at the orderly, the major turned and walked from the room.  Durchenko sobered, looked at the private and asked, “Do you fail to see the humor?”

“I do not think this is funny, Sergeant.”

“Son, men are dying here and all I lost was a leg.  I get to go home, retire, and move back to the  farm.  Hell, I can farm with a wooden leg.  I am one lucky sonofabitch, do not you think?”

Feeling uncomfortable around the senior NCO, the orderly asked, “Will that be all, Master Sergeant?”

“Yes, get out and go to work.”

Now, he sounds like a normal Master Sergeant
, the orderly thought as he left the room.

It was mid afternoon when Master Sergeant Belonev entered wearing a big smile.  Durchenko had just woke from a nap, but smiled at his old friend, and asked, “What brings you around?”

“Why, I came to see what a real war hero looks like.”

“Well, I do not feel like a hero.”

“Colonel Vetrov said you were submitted for the Golden Vodka Award, with shot-glass, second cluster, and you know he has no sense of humor.  If he says it, it's true.”

Durchenko laughed, although it brought him pain, and said, “It is good to see you, Dmitry.  It took me a couple of hours to remember the explosion, but the man who planted it was experienced.  He knew most men would mark the tripwire and then step over it, which is what we did.”

Belonev reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pint of vodka and handed it to his friend, “Drink if you like.”

Durchenko opened the bottle and chugged about a third of it, then handed it toward Belonev, who shook his head.  “It is for you, so slip it under your mattress when you're done, because the medics will take it from you if they see it.”

Durchenko lowered his head and said, “I lost a lot of men, good men.  I heard earlier that one of the wounded died from his injuries, so I lost over half of them.”  Tears began to run down his cheeks.

“Listen, I have done the same in the past, and I once lost fifteen out of twenty. I heard you had your men removed before yourself, and that's more than most officers would do.  Just that act alone makes me proud as hell to know you and call you my friend.  You were thinking of your men, even when seriously hurt, and that is what makes a real leader.”

“There will be eleven families back home that will be informed of the deaths of their sons, fathers, and husbands.”

Putting his hands on his narrow hips, Belonev said, “Durchenko, that is enough crying and feeling sorry for yourself bullshit.  You are a soldier, a brave one, so start acting like what you are.  Hell, you lost a leg, so no one is calling you a coward or a poor NCO.  If they do that, I'll knock them on their asses.”

He nodded, wiped the tears from his eyes and took another gulp of his vodka.

“I would trade places with you in a minute.  You are going home and will spend the rest of your life on your farm, while I might get killed tomorrow.  Relax, rest, and sip your vodka.  The men who died were all soldiers and knew the risks, so forget about them.”

“I am lucky in many ways.”

“Sure you are, and do not be so fast to forget it either.”

They talked for a few more minutes and then Durchenko fell into a deep sleep, due to mixing alcohol with his pain medication.  Belonev took the vodka bottle raised it in a toast to his old comrade and took a sip. Just before he left the room, he pushed the bottle between Durchenko's mattress and springs.

Colonel Pankov was wondering how a single American could kill half the men in Durchenko's group and yet escape.  The war against the resistance was going poorly, with many more dead Russians than Americans, except for the civilian executions. The mass killings had been stopped, per a request from Pankov, but the commander had given him one year to get his prison camps into action or the executions would start again.

According to Pankov, he now had over a thousand captives and more than two hundred in the Edwards camp alone.  Twenty camps were being constructed, and people locked inside as soon as the wire was strung and connected to electrical power.  Electrical power was supplied at all camps by huge industrial generators.  Towers were up in about half of the camps, dog teams walked the fences, and armed guards positioned at strategic locations. Vetrov thought,
I am willing to bet most of what he claims that has been started has not been done, but he has one year and then I will start my execution squads again.  The only thing I have actually seen with my own eyes is the wire strung at Camp Edwards and two guard towers.

“Sir, the forecast for today is light snow, which is being pushed south by a cold front out of Canada, but it will not amount to much.  Temperatures should be down in the single numbers, Celsius.  I think we will have less than an inch, but the winds will blow hard and out of the west at around fifty-six kilometers an hour, with some gusts of twice that speed.  There is the possibility for property damage, downed lines, and falling limbs or trees.”