Read The Fall of America: Winter Ops Online
Authors: W.R. Benton
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me speak to the flight commander.”
“Give me a couple of minutes, sir. I have to change frequencies to do this.”
“Do what is needed, but hurry.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Colonel paced the floor until the radioman said, “Use my headphones, sir.”
“Flight lead, this is Lieutenant Colonel Vasiliev and I have a mission for you.”
“Copy, you have a mission for us, sir. Go ahead.”
“What are you loaded with, as far as munitions?”
“Napalm, rockets and some bombs, sir.”
“I want you to drop napalm on the fence lines on the south side of the base, and then hit the fuel storage area with rockets. Any Gatling guns?”
“Yes, where do you want them?”
“As close as you can get them to the hangers without damaging the structures.”
“We will try our best.”
“Radioman, I will be outside watching this, so if I need changes made, I will call out to you. Senior Sergeant, I want you and five of your men to come with me; the snow is falling harder now, so be sure of your targets if you shoot.” Stepping outside, he was appalled by all the damage and fires he saw. The fuel tanks were sending flames hundreds of feet into the air and the hangers were aflame as well. Abruptly, the southern fence line was a huge ball of rolling fire and he knew the jets were attacking. Gatling guns, with their loud cough were heard over the other weapons fire and, using his binoculars, he saw partisan after partisan blown to pieces. Two rockets were seen to leave one jet and they head straight for the fuels area. When the second jet released his, most everyone looking saw they were low.
“Get down,
now
!” the Senior Sergeant yelled and a second later, Lieutenant Colonel Vasiliev's world turned black.
He heard noises, but could not open his eyes. He smelled blood, smoke from burning rubber, and death. He tried to move, only his limbs refused to work for him and a few seconds later, he entered the black void of unconsciousness.
When he next heard something, he discovered he could open his eyes, but when he looked around, he was with partisans and not Russian troops. He heard English spoken.
Then a voice asked in Excellent Russian, “Colonel, do you know where you are? Open your eyes, because I saw you looking around a few minutes ago.”
Vasiliev opened his eyes, saw Corporal Scott and said, “Your Russian is excellent.”
“So is yours, sir. Do you have pain?”
“No, but I am a bit confused about how I got here and where am I?”
“You were discovered moaning in your command post, the building destroyed, by one of your own aircraft I must say, and most around you were dead. You were captured because you are an officer. Right now, you are in an interrogation center.”
“W . . . what will happen to me?”
“It depends on how well you answer our questions, sir.”
“But, the resistance keeps no prisoners of war.”
“Would you believe me if I told you we have exactly five prisoners and each is a high ranking officer? They are Majors or above and will be kept until the end of this conflict, then exchanged.”
“Or used for reprisals, right?”
“That could happen as well, yes, sir.”
“What are the extent of my injuries?”
“You have a concussion, three fingers on your left hand have been broken, and your right ankle is lightly sprained, but not broken. You are also missing about half of your left ear and you have some minor facial injuries.”
“Then, I take it I am in no danger of dying?”
“Oh, but you are, if you do not answer our questions during your interrogation.”
“I see.” The Colonel lowered his eyes and then quivered.
“Colonel, we have people here who can no longer work as fighters, because they have been maimed during questioning conducted by your people. They are the lucky ones, but let me assure you, they love to question Russians. They learned much about torture from being guests of your army, sir, and they will demonstrate later just how effective they can be.”
Two men neared and Scott said, “Pack the stretcher to cell number 6. He is to have his ankles in chains and his collar chained to the wall. If he makes a run for freedom, kill him.”
Seeing Vasiliev looking at him with questioning eyes, he repeated the orders in Russian.
“Colonel,” Scott said, “you will now be taken to our guest lodging, where you will be given a blanket, some chains, and fed twice a day. By the way, our troops are only fed twice a day and they will be eating the same food you will, Russian rations. I do hope you enjoy your stay with us and if so, please recommend us to your friends.”
Meeting Scott's eyes, the Colonel said, “I will cut your heart out for this one day.”
“Maybe, sir, but I doubt that, seriously. The first place the interrogators start working is on a prisoners hands, arms and legs. I suspect by the time they finish with you, you will not have enough use in your hands to even write your name.”
In English, Scott said, “Take this man to his cell.”
Vasiliev discovered his cell was about five feet wide and eight feet long, with a ten foot ceiling. He was chained to a wall, but given enough chain to use a large empty can as a toilet. He was surprised to find the place heated and his blanket almost new. A one gallon plastic container was near the toilet can and it held what looked to be drinking water. He saw an uncovered light, which he was to discover, burned 24/7, and he was fed through a small siding slot in the metal door. His bed was made of concrete and in the middle of it was a Holy Bible in Russian. He moved to the bed, tossed the Bible to the floor and then tried to sleep, but it did not come.
I need to get out of here and the sooner the better. If they start the torture and discover I am the commander at Edwards, they will likely kill me
, he thought.
He spent the remainder of the day reliving his childhood years in his mind and tried to remember the smallest detail. It was after he relieved himself in the metal bucket he heard a voice whisper in Russian, “Who are you?”
Unsure if it was a Yankee trick or not, the Colonel replied, “I am the admin officer assigned at Edwards, and you?”
“I am Major General Unetsov and I have been a prisoner for over three years.”
“Who is the ranking officer, sir?”
“That is Lieutenant General Stepan Sokoloff, and he is a good man.”
“Inform him I am going to try and escape, if I can.”
“It will only get you killed, but if you must try, do it before the first interrogation or they will cripple you. None of us have the use of our legs or hands as we once did.”
“I am sorry, sir.” Vasiliev said.
“It is war and these things happen. It would be better to have died in battle than to be a prisoner and Moscow will be hard on us when we return.”
“I am only a Lieutenant Colonel, sir, so I know little of Moscow or its workings.”
“Mark my words, escape and you will be a hero; be released as a prisoner when this all ends and you will end up in a gulag.”
“I hear you, sir.”
Silence for a good five minutes.
“Sir?” Vasiliev asked.
“Yes, Colonel?”
“If I can get away, what should I tell Moscow?”
“Give them our names. We have two Colonels, Petya Mihaylov and Artem Kozlov. There are three Generals; myself, Colonel General Ivan Popov and Lieutenant General Stepan Sokoloff. Tell Moscow we have told the Americans nothing. I fear for our families if Moscow does not think we are resisting and we are. But, every man has his breaking point and all of us have experienced ours.”
“I will tell them, sir.”
“Oh, and Colonel?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Good luck, because you will need it. If you get away from this camp, head due north and you will run into the Jackson Air Base. There lies safety.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Enough, someone comes.”
He heard keys jingling and voices speaking low, but he knew no English. He'd seen a few old American movies on television, but he understood none of it and the movies had subtitles. A key was inserted into his cell's lock and he waited for the door to open. He suspected two men, but what if there were three or more?
Two bored looking and young partisans entered his cell, and he pretended to be asleep or passed out, so one would come near him. His eyelids were barely open.
“Hey, get up!” one yelled and neared him.
His pistol is on his right hip
, the Colonel thought.
When he didn't respond the man bent over to shake him. When he touched Vasiliev, he threw the chain over the mans neck and pulled it tight. As soon as he felt something snap, he clawed for the pistol. Since most of the weapons were Russian, he knew how to use the gun. He fired one shot, dropped the other guard, and then taking the man in his arms by his head, a quick snap broke his neck. He raced against time as he pulled the keys from the dead man's pocket and attempted to find the proper one to unlock his chains. Soon he was free, but knew he'd have to fight his way out; he'd been too slow. He moved to the downed guard and stripped him of his Bison sub-machine gun, ammo and two grenades. He'd already taken a knife and ammo from the man with the broken neck.
He then stepped into the hallway and heard General Unetsov say, “Good Luck! Remember us! Return for us! Return!”
When he stepped outside, he was surprised to find it dark, with the moon showing that half the night was gone. He stayed in the shadows and at one point saw a squad of men running toward the cells. He watched for search lights, but saw none.
Damn me, I am sure they have night vision gear they have stolen from us. I need to use more caution. I must return.
He had no idea when he was away from the camp, because there was no fence or guards.
I must keep my calm about me or I will perish
, he thought.
Keep my eyes open for mines and booby-traps, too.
He moved slowly, fighting the urge to run, to run as fast as he could. He knew he had to maintain control or he'd end up dead or captured again and one equaled the other, in his mind. What the General said was true about Russians who became prisoners of war going to gulags, because most had in the past.
If I go to a gulag, most of my family will disappear
, he thought, as he moved slowly through some thick brush, keeping his noise to a minimum.
The night passed slowly for him and near sunup, he grew hungry and tired, but he kept moving. Knowing his survival depended on him either reaching safety or being found, he started to hunt a hole for the day, and then realized, Russians ruled the land during the day. So, he continued to move.
The land was rough, swampy and marshy areas all around, and at night the temperature was cold enough he felt the need for a fire but didn't want to stop, and he had no way to start one anyway. Each bad section of land he had to walk around, which was difficult, made his progress north much slower. He knew the partisans would be after him; after all, he'd killed two and they'd want revenge. His fear suddenly grew larger, but he forced it down and continued to move.
As he walked he looked for food, but the plant life he saw was unfamiliar, and he'd not risk a shot at any animal. He'd been hungry before and knew he'd not starve to death. He did drink water from a fast moving stream, but wasn't sure if it was smart or not. He knew he should purify it, but the only way he knew to do it properly was to use chemical pills, bleach, or by boiling. He had no pills, was fresh out of bleach, and he suspected if he got a fire burning the smoke or smell would get him caught.
When I return, I will have the hospital give me a physical and see if I have picked up any parasites. They will know how to treat me
, he thought.
As he moved, his aches and pains grew greater and by mid morning his head was pounding. He had to stop for a bit to allow his double vision to return to normal. It was then he decided to stop every hour for ten minutes, or longer if needed, in hopes his pain would lessen. His first break was for thirty minutes, so his pain level would drop.
He fought the urge to vomit, but wasn't sure if it was caused by bad water, his injuries or fear. He continued to move. He'd neither heard or seen any sign of pursuit, but suspected he was being tracked.
Keep moving north until you can move no more
, he told himself as he watched a sluggish snake slide toward the water of a nearby swamp. He knew little of this country, except there were poisonous snakes and alligators were wild, but other than that, he knew nothing.
It was mid-afternoon when he heard the sound of a helicopter. His head came up and he listened closely. It seemed to be nearing his position, so he moved toward a wide open field, hoping to get picked up. He was still dressed in a Russian Lieutenant Colonel's uniform so he suspected he'd be picked up quickly.
Five minutes later, the helicopter flew right over him, made a lazy circle and then flew over him again, but lower this time. He saw the gunners in the door watching him closely. He waved and screamed, unaware his voice would not be heard over the roar of the aircraft engines. Finally, the aircraft neared him from the front and when he moved slightly to the left to avoid flying debris, he saw the barrels of a Gatling gun move with him. They'd locked onto him and he knew a false move on his part would get him killed.