The Fall of America: Premonition of Death (14 page)

"Not a one, but he said he heard of 'em."

"Get your men ready to move, Willy, and see if Sandra can leave with Alisa hurt like she is right now. If need be, leave without a medic, because all of you have had basic combat first aid training and you green beanies even kept a goat alive, or so I heard."

"Yep," Willy said proudly, "I kept mine alive during training, but I ain't treated another goat since."

We broke out laughing again and after a few minutes, Top slapped Willy on the back and said, "Saddle up, it's showtime."

*****

Hours later, near dusk a light rain began to fall and the temperature dropped dramatically in just a few minutes. Before we'd left, Willy explained some rules, and Tom and I found it a normal mission briefing. When we could talk, breaks to be taken and how often, food breaks and so on. It was old hat to us, but I could tell Sandra was confused. Now, with darkness closing in, she seemed a bit scared. She was a smart woman and not many would want to spend the night deep in Injun country with no help on standby. We were on our own and if the shit hit the stump, some, if not all, of us could very well die.

We were sitting back-to-back, facing the four compass headings, with each of us keeping an eye on our surroundings. We'd been informed by Willy there would be no sleep tonight or tomorrow. Three Claymore mines were rigged in triangle position around us. We were to return to the cave late tomorrow, so I figured a little missed sleep wouldn't kill any of us.

The Night was long and I grew bored near 0300 and almost nodded off, but when I checked on Sandra and found her awake, I was determined to stay awake no matter what it took.

A few seconds later, Dolly growled and looked to the west. I didn't say a word, but I heard all four safeties slip off.

CHAPTER 14

I
heard movement moving from the north moving south and Dolly once again growled, so I whispered a low, "Hush, girl."

From the movement I heard a voice say, "I heard a dog growl."

"Jonas, you're full of shit. Why in the world world would a dog be out here? Hell, most cats and dogs have been eaten up by now."

The moon was full, with a few fast moving clouds overhead, and the tree limbs overhead covered us from most of the faint light. I saw silhouettes of what looked to be a squad of men moving through the trees. Tom touched me and when I glanced at him he tapped his balled fist with his thumb.
He's going to fire a Claymore when they get closer. Lawdy, I hope these men aren't the point for a much larger group,
I thought.

Then, when I glanced back at the men, they'd disappeared.

They either smelled us or caught Tom's thumb movement, because they've gone to ground,
I thought as I got ready mentally and physically for the shooting to start. I brought my shotgun into position as I thought over and over,
Start the dance, start the dance, start the dance
.

Tom tapped me and when I looked at him, along with Tom, Sandra, and Ralph, he placed his index fingers in his ears. I knew the Claymore was about to blow.

Seconds later the cool and quiet night air erupted with an earth-shattering explosion, followed instantly by loud piercing screams. I heard shotgun and rifle shots, and actually saw a small branch fall from the tree overhead. It fluttered to the ground uninterrupted. From the muzzle blasts in the darkness, I counted ten men still shooting, which meant more had survived than I'd thought. Obviously, the angle of the Claymore when we placed it caused us to miss most of them.
Hell, how did we know where they'd show anyway?
I thought and felt fear gnawing on my stomach like a small animal. I knew from experience once the firing started I'd be okay. I always grew scared when any battle first started and usually ill following a fight. Puking was not uncommon.

Two loud explosion followed, one after the other, and then it grew quiet. I'd heard a
fizz
and then felt Tom's arms move twice just before the explosions, so I'd known he'd tossed grenades. Long minutes passed with only the occasional scream or wobbling cry of the wounded. Still, we remained in position and waited. We waited for the wounded to bleed more and for the seriously wounded to die. I'd learned on my first tour in Iraq that an injured man often knew he was dying and would try to take a few enemies with him. The minutes ticked off as slowly as hours in my mind.

I scanned 360 degrees around us and spotted movement to our north. I picked up a Claymore clacker and waited for them to get nearer my wait was a short one. When I could make out the shapes of men moving toward us, I squeezed my clacker, heard the resulting explosion and grinned.

Once again, men screamed and cried out in pain. I heard one voice screaming for his mother over and over, until the victim gradually grew weaker, and the voice grew too faint to be heard. I felt nothing for my enemy, no emotions at all. They'd come to kill me and I knew it, so the most they could expect from my ass was a quick death. If that makes me a cold and hard man, so be it. War, and we are at war, is not the place to be filled with progressive ideas of deep loving compassion and soul touching tenderness. It is a time to kill or be killed so I'm deadly in battle. However, with that said, I'm usually compassionate with injured prisoners in a rear area, but only to a certain point. I'll never risk the lives or safety of anyone with me for a prisoner, and you already know what I'll do to a prisoner if I need information. Most of the time I'm up front in battles and prisoners just slow a unit down, so I take no prisoners.

"Two hours until daylight, so we wait." Willy whispered, and then leaned his back against mine.

Sandra whispered, "Ralph is down."

"Hard?" Willy asked.

"Breathing, but I can't tell in the darkness."

Pulling a poncho from my pack, I handed it to her along with a small light doctors use to check patients. I'd picked up the light from a man I'd killed a few weeks back and right now it'd come in handy.

Still whispering, Sandra asked, "What am I to do with this poncho?"

Before I could answer, Tom replied, "Drape it over your head and when you check Ralph, make sure the sides are covering his body. Don't let any of the light out of the poncho."

Many drawn-out minutes passed before I heard Sandra whisper, "He took a rifle slug to the upper left shoulder and it's clean through his body, while a single pellet struck his head. I pulled the pellet out and it didn't go in far, maybe a quarter of an inch. The bleeding from the shoulder will stop shortly."

"Gonna live?" Willy asked.

"Yep, but he'll be a hurtin' sonofabitch when he comes around. I'll give him some morphine when that happens."

"Good. He's the only member of my old team still alive. It'll be light in a few minutes, so let's get ready to check the damage done."

I scratched Dolly's head and fed her part of an energy bar I had in my shirt pocket. She gobbled it down in seconds. "Dolly's a good girl," I whispered and felt my love for her touch my soul. Suddenly my mind flashed to Newt and Skillet and my happiness instantly vanished, replaced with grief.

As we waited, over time the moans, groans and cries of the wounded grew fainter and weaker until all was quiet.

CHAPTER 15

W
ith the coming of full light, Willy whispered, "Okay, John, you and I will check those people. Sandra stay with Ralph and Tom, but all of you keep your weapons ready at all times. We'll take no chances."

I took Dolly by her leash and moved toward the site of our ambush.

The first three men I saw had been torn apart by the mine, and they'd died instantly. The next two had serious head injuries and I could see a small fragment from a grenade stuck in one man's forehead.

I moved to where Willy was squatted over a man and heard him say, "You've taken shrapnel in your gut and you know what that means, right?"

Dolly growled a loud warning and I knew she wanted a piece of the downed man's ass. I kept her leash tight and commanded, "Sit, Dolly. Stay." I smile with satisfaction as she sat.

"I . . . I'll die."

"Yep, and there isn't a thing I can do to help you."

"Kill . . . me. I . . . hurt . . . too much." The injured man pleaded and I could see deep pain in his eyes. His forehead was covered in sweat and he was pale.

Willy looked at me, crossed himself, and then pulled his knife. Turning to the man, he asked, "Are you sure you want me to do this?"

"Yes, I . . . can't take this . . .pa. . . pain." The man then arched his back and gave a loud moan. I saw his fingers clawing the dirt, leaving miniature ruts in the soil.

For God's sake, kill the man!
I screamed in my mind.

Willy's knife flashed quickly and entered under the man's left ribs, and once the blade was buried to the handle, he jerked the knife hard from side to side, twisting it as he did so. The injured man screamed, jerked a few times and then quivered violently. A minute later his eyes lost focus and I heard a loud sigh he was dead.

Pulling his knife from the man's chest, Willy cleaned the blade on the dead man's shirt. He looked up at me and said, "I hated doing that, but he'd have died anyway. I just hope God forgives me the mercy killings I've done over the years."

"I see you're Catholic, so confess the act to a priest."

"I haven't seen a priest in years, not since the fall. I've been praying, but not sure if that works or not."

I gave a low chuckle and replied quickly, "I'm not Catholic, so I have no idea if it works or not, but we Southern Baptists been praying straight to God for years. And, by the way, I'm not laughing or making light of your religion, mostly I'm laughing at the differences. I think God knows all of our hearts and he'll judge us accordingly."

Willy cleared his throat, so I felt he was uncomfortable discussing religion, and then he said, "Let's check that batch you smoked on the north side."

We found ten more bodies and all were as dead as a bottle of Christmas whiskey. It was as we were about to turn and return to Sandra that Dolly moved forward in a leap. She barked twice and I knew immediately someone was in the area. I reached down and released her leash from the collar. She shot into the woods.

I heard two loud gunshots, followed instantly by a loud scream. Tom and I hurried forward, but not too quickly because we had no idea what Dolly had treed. After moving into the woods about twenty yards, I saw Dolly hanging from the arm of a man in a Russian uniform.

Willy screamed a command in Russian, and the man glanced at us and shouted a reply.

"Call the dog off." Willy ordered, and then brought his shotgun up to cover the Russian.

"Dolly, come!"

As soon as she was by my side, Willy spoke slowly and it sounded to me as if he were telling the man to do something, step-by-step. The Russian dropped the pistol from his right hand, unbuckled his belt and tossed it to the side, and then fell to his knees. He placed his hands on top of his head, lacing his fingers together.

Pulling a roll of duct tape from his pack, Willy said, "Watch this joker closely as I secure him. Any fast moves, blow his ass away."

He then moved toward the man, holding his shotgun at the ready. As he secured the man's hands behind his back, I heard them talking in Russian. Then, Willy helped the man stand and made his way toward me. The prisoner was limping and I saw blood dripping from his arm where Dolly had been holding him and from between his legs. Dolly's tongue was hanging out and she was panting hard as I praised her, "Good girl. You're a good girl, Dolly."

Beside me now, Willy said, "This sumbitch says he doesn't speak English, but he's a liar. He's a senior sergeant and if he was with these others, you can bet your ass he speaks some of our language."

"What now?" I asked.

"Well rig up a stretcher from two tree limbs and some shirts from the dead. Then, Ivan here and one of us will take turns packing Ralph back to our base camp. We need to hurry too, because everyone and his brother heard our battle."

When we returned, Sandra was placing an IV in Ralph's arm and Tom grinned when she saw the Russian.

"Sandra, while Tom and John rig a stretcher for Ralph, can you take a look at our guest?"

"Sure." She replied, and then stuck a long forked stick in the dirt beside Ralph and hooked the IV on one of the branches. While we moved off to get the shirts and tree limbs, I could hear the conversation.

Willy rattled off some Russian and the man sat in the dirt, and then stretched out on his back. His hands were still tied behind him.

"How do I do this safely?" Sandra asked.

Will grinned, put his shotgun on the ground and then pulled his pistol. Walking to the prisoner, he knelt beside him and place the gun barrel against the side of his head. "Now, check the bleeding at his groin first, then the arm. If he moves suddenly, you'll hear my shot. Treat him for blood loss, but no painkiller or antibiotics at this point."

I returned with two bloody shirts in my hands and a few seconds later, Tom placed two limbs beside the clothing on the ground near Ralph. I buttoned the shirts down the front and then ran the limbs down the long sleeves of each. We placed Ralph on the shirt buttons and the job was complete. While it'd not hold up for miles and miles, I suspected it would last long enough for us to get the man back to our base camp. If not, we'd make a better one using a poncho.

I watched as Sandra unbuttoned the prisoners trousers and lowered them, along with his green cotton boxer shorts. She gave a light chuckle and said, "Looks like our Dolly tore his scrotum open, and he's a puncture wound to his penis. He's bleeding badly, but the injury is not serious. Once back at camp someone will sew it closed for him."

She placed a bandage against the bleeding bag and taped it in place.

Tom commented, "Rough wound, and our boy almost lost the family jewels."

"Now, let me check his arm."

Willy spat out some more Russian and the man rolled over on his stomach. Pulling her sheath knife, as the green beret sat on the prisoners back, she sliced the shirt up the entire length of the arm. When she pulled the material away from the arm, I grimaced at the damage done.

The forearm muscle was torn loose at the elbow and flapping, and a huge chunk was completely missing from his upper arm. The bite to the upper arm had to hurt and it was bleeding profusely. Sandra placed a bandage on both injuries and then taped them in place.

"He's good to go."

Willy asked, "Can he carry an end of the stretcher?"

"I don't know, really. The medical side of me says he shouldn't, but I think he can for a while anyway."

"Get saddled, we're moving," Willy ordered and then spoke to the Russian. The prisoner moved to Ralph's head and squatted by the stretcher.

Tom went to the front of the stretcher and as soon as they lifted Ralph, we began to move overland toward Top. I felt uneasy, but had no real reason to feel the way I did.

"John, take point, I'll pull drag. We'll take no breaks on the way back. Make a beeline to Top, but don't compromise safety for speed. I love Ralph like a brother, but I'll not risk our lives for his. Next on the stretcher will be Sandra, me, then John and finally back to Tom. If the Russian tires, tough shit. Rotate on the stretcher every twenty minutes."

I stepped off at a slow but steady mile-eating-mile rate and scanned the area closely as we moved. A few times I stopped the group, only to spot a squirrel scurrying up a tree or a rabbit making a mad dash to safety in some thickets. The return trip, as far as all were concerned, was too slow, but uneventful.

Once we entered the cave, Top smiled, moved to the prisoner and asked, "Where'd ya find this vodka slurping sonofabitch?"

Willy grinned and said, "Last night his group almost walked through our over night position, so I popped a Claymore, and then John popped another. This is the only survivor out of two squads."

"He looks to be bleeding a little."

I laughed and said, "Dolly almost tore his balls off and bit his tallywhacker, too. The muscle of his forearm was ripped from the elbow."

Top winked at me and said, "Remind me not to piss off Dolly. One of the men killed a deer late yesterday, so give our canine hero a big raw steak tonight. I feel anyone that can capture a real live Russian should be rewarded. Does this bastard speak English?"

Willy replied, "He claims he doesn't, but if he didn't, why was he with a bunch of American's? I suspect he's working as an adviser."

"Don't worry about it. Someone in intelligence will go to work on him shortly. Oh, by the way, your Stryker is now history."

"How'd that happen with it mined?"

Top chuckled and said, "Late last night a group of close to ten men loaded the thing and cranked the engine. I swear, when the explosives went off, it shook this cave. From the spot we use for guard duty the flames must have been 200 feet in the air."

"Well," I added, "it had well over three quarters of a tank of gas left, and I think your boys may have placed too much C-4 when they booby-trapped it."

"At first light we did a recon and from body parts found, it must have been a squad."

Tom grinned and said, "You know, there ain't no good way to die, but that was likely one of the fastest ways I know of. You're here one minute, and in small pieces the next."

"As we say in special forces, you're in hell before you know you've died."

"Ganton!" Top suddenly yelled.

"Yo!" A huge black man of about twenty-four yelled back.

"Gather up your men and get this Russian bastard out of here. Ask Colonel Parker to work this guy over hard. I figure he knows a little something, only don't expect too much, because he's just a sergeant."

"Will do, Top. Okay, y'all heard the top sergeant, saddle up."

"What of my injuries? Will you not treat them and give me something for my pain?" The Russian suddenly asked in perfect English.

Before I could react, Willy backhanded the man so hard he fell to the floor. Then pulling his knife, he placed his foot on the Russian's chest and said, "You told me you didn't speak English, you lying bastard. I hate a liar with a passion! You denied speaking the language so you could listen to our conversations."

"Sir," Top yelled, "don't kill the worthless piece of shit, he may know something that will save lives. He's a valuable prisoner, Willy!" Top pleaded, and moved to Willy's side. He placed his hand on the captains shoulder and added, "He's not worth it, Willy. Let it go."

Sheathing his knife, Willy said harshly, "I want no medication given to this man or any enemy we capture from now on. We don't have an endless supply, so save it for our own."

"Well said. Ganton, get this scumbag away from us now!"

"You cannot deny me medical attention, because it is part of the Geneva Convention. As a POW I demand medical treatment!"

Top grinned and said, "Ivan, the United States government signed and agreed to the Geneva Convention, not us. See, America no longer exists as a sovereign nation, so we don't have to adhere to a damned thing. I think your trainers may have forgotten to tell you that part. I don't think this is your lucky day."

Ganton moved to the prisoner and said, "Let's move. You burp or look cross-eyed and one of us will stick a knife in your gut."

I pulled the duct tape from my pack, threw it to Ganton and said, "Cover his mouth with this once outside, and he'll be quiet on the trip.

Sandra was suddenly by my side and when I looked at her she looked like hell warmed over. She hadn't slept in close to thirty-six hours, so she had a right to look rough. I started to speak, but she said, "We have to take Alisa's leg off in just a few minutes."

"Do you have what you need?"

"Pretty much, because it doesn't really take any special tools except for a bone-saw. I just wish we had more of her blood type."

"Ganton, stop!" I called out as the man started to leave the cave with our prisoner. Then turning to Willy I asked, "Is blood type on Russian dog tags?"

"No, they don't have the same information on theirs as we do, but it should be on a card in his wallet."

Top must have read my mind, because he ordered the prisoner brought to us. Then he smiled at the Russian, pulled his pistol, and then asked, "What is your blood type? If you answer me, you will receive full medical treatment. If you refuse to talk or lie to me, I'll kill you where you stand."

"My blood type is O negative, why?"

Willy, who'd opened the man's wallet, pulled out a small card and said, "Yep, O negative and his name is Adrik Chirkoff. He's also a senior sergeant."

"What kind of name is Jerkoff?" Tom asked and then broke out laughing.

"That's enough of that, Tom. Ganton, our Soviet visitor has just volunteered to give two pints or more of blood." Top said, but I could see he was wanting to laugh as well.

Sandra instantly shot back, "He can't give "

"Yes he can and he will. After you take blood from him, treat him properly and give him a painkiller. Take as much as you can without killing the man."

The Russian grinned as Ganton led him to the area where the blood would be taken.

"Top, he's already weak from the loss of blood. If I take two pints it could very well kill him. If I take more than two, he'll die." Sandra said.

"I fully realize he may die, but I'll not let one of my people expire if I can avoid it at any cost. And, young lady, there is something you need to learn about war."