The Fall of America: Winter Ops (29 page)

“Well, I don't see where we can stop either situation from happening.” he said.

“I don't know, to tell you the truth, but let me think on this a while.”  I said as I moved to a small portable desk all the previous Colonels had used.  I sat in a metal chair, threw my cap on the desk top, and started thinking.

“Hale, tell Captain Silverwolf I need to speak with him.”

“Yes, sir.”  he said and left the room.  I sat there working my mind and inattentively scratched Dolly's ears.

Five minutes later, the two men entered and I said, “Both of you have a seat.  Silverwolf, I want you to take a squad and get as close to the airbase at Jackson as you can tonight.  I want you to circle the base and check security closely.  Also, look for any prisoners you may see.  I know they are gathering a thousand civilians and three Colonels from the resistance, according to our intelligence, to kill in retaliation of our attack on Edwards.  Hale, you provide him security.”

“Wow, that's a lot of people.”  Hale said.

“They are all to be women and children too, so that makes it worse.”

“Holy Jesus, no. Why?” Silverwolf said, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“I told you, retaliation for our attack.” I said as I leaned forward and met his eyes.

“I can't imagine killing like that.  Have they no hearts?”  Hale asked, but we ignored his question.

“Look, I want to prevent it, if we can, and we may be able to do so.  I suspect we'll lose some of the prisoners, but that can't be helped.  I figure a ten to twenty percent loss rate, depending on how strong the base is.”  Silverwolf said.

“Right off the top, I think we'll lose closer to a fifty to sixty percent because the Russians will shoot at them as much as us.”  I replied.

“Damn.”  Silverwolf said.

“Look, it'd beat burning to death, and even ten lives saved are better than none.  Now, your mission tonight is a sneak and peek, no combat if it can be avoided.  If you're seen, consider the mission a failure.  Any questions?”

“I'll need to take some mine detecting gear, because the fence line is sure to mined at the weakest points.”

“Get all you need and good luck.”  I stood, mainly so they'd know the discussion was over, and then shook their hands.

“John?”  I said to Silverwolf.

He was about to leave and had his back to me, but he turned and asked, “Sir?”

“Don't rush this mission, and be my eyes.  I really need this information; if we can save these folks depends on what you learn this evening.”

“I'll give it my best shot, sir.”

O
ne minute Master Sergeant Morozov had been talking to the Lieutenant and the next he was in hell, with bodies being blasted apart and blood flying in all directions. Men screamed as metal balls, bullets, and shrapnel tore into their bodies.  In the matter of the few minutes, all the men were down, with most dead.  The Sergeant looked at the Lieutenant and most of his head was missing from the chin up.  Blood, now running over the dirt path, covered him. When he tried to move, his left arm didn't function well.  Looking down, he noticed most of it from the elbow down was missing.  He quickly took the Lieutenant's belt and secured the arm, using the belt as a tourniquet.  Then, moving slowly, he backed into the brush.

His heart was pounding, and he knew from experience he was lucky to have survived the ambush.  In pain and shock, he crawled for about a hundred meters and then stood.  He was in some dense oaks, so assuming he was safe, he stood.  A bullet instantly clipped the tree beside his head, splinters stuck in his cheeks and he took off running.  It was a good half mile before he pulled off his coat, cut a long wide strip from the bottom and wrapped his arm.  He moved about two kilometers and crawled under the limbs of a huge pine, to lick his wounds.  

I need morphine, but if I take it, I will fall asleep.  I know one of the radiomen was talking while killed, so a rescue force will be sent for us.  It is likely they heard the explosions and the gunfire before the man with the radio died.  I need to watch for the symptoms of shock and blood loss.  But, at least I am not bleeding like before
, he thought and pulled out a flask of vodka, which was all he would use for pain.  
I have to stay awake, so I can be picked up when they come.

Over the course of an hour, the Master Sergeant grew weaker. Finally, when he'd about passed out from the loss of blood, he heard a flight of helicopters nearing. He scooted back against the trunk of the tree and waited.  He'd give them time to land, unload and reach the rescue scene, then he'd fire his Bison.  Oh, this pain is getting to be too damned much, he thought as he pulled his last flask of vodka from his shirt pocket.  He glanced at his watch and waited.

After exactly fifteen minutes had past, he raised his Bison and sent a long burst into the air.  Then, minutes later, Russian troops discovered him.

An IV was quickly started, morphine given and his injury better dressed.  He was packed to a helicopter and taken to Jackson Air Field and then to a hospital. He woke up two days later.

His eyes hurt when he opened them and his skin itched from the morphine. He blinked rapidly to clear his foggy vision and then raised his head.  He was in a private room, due to his rank, and a few minutes later an orderly walked in.

“Well, Master Sergeant, how are you feeling?”

“Son, get me a doctor, now.”

“Yes, sir.”  The orderly flew from the room and returned about five minutes later with an old major.

“Are you in pain, Sergeant?”

“No, but where am I and what are the extent of my injuries, sir?”
“Your left arm was in bad shape, so it was removed.  You had a number of shrapnel wounds to your back, arms, and legs, which will heal in time. You are now missing your left earlobe, and as far as I am concerned, you are lucky to be alive.”

“When will I return to Russia?”

“That depends on transportation arrangements.  You will be transported home, discharged, draw your full retirement pay, along with a disability payment each month.  I see no reason you cannot live in comfort the remainder of your life.”

The Master Sergeant grunted as he thought,
You do not care how I live or where.  You, because of your position
as a doctor, will be well taken care of. I am just another number to you and your staff.

Shortly after the doctor left, Vasiliev entered the room and walked to Morozov's bed.  Handing him a paper bag he said, “In that bag, you will find the best vodka in the world.  Now, I am sorry you will be medically retired, Taras, but your injuries disqualify you from further service.  Oh, and I have told the doctor the vodka will be in your room, so leave it on the table.”

Giving a light smile, the Sergeant asked, “May I have a small drink, sir?”

Picking up a drinking glass from the table, he handed it to the Sergeant and asked, “Did you learn anything of the partisans at all?”

“Sir, about three miles further, straight as an arrow, they are living in a vacant farm house.  I saw it myself when we scouted.  I would guess their strength as maybe two companies of men and women. It is heavily mined and I spotted one sniper in a tree, so there are more.”

“Of course, no sign of the tactical nuclear weapons?”

“Oh, no, sir.”  He took a drink of his vodka, smiled and then added, “But you know if they have them, they are inside and guarded closely.”  He then took a big gulp of his drink.

“Master Sergeant, I have you leaving on a plane in the morning and it is actually the first flight out.  You will be returned to Moscow, where you will be given a medal and promoted to Lieutenant, before you are discharged.”  Colonel Vasiliev then came to attention and saluted the Master Sergeant.

Morozov returned the salute and said, “Thank you, sir.  It was an honor to serve under you.”

After the Colonel left, the Master Sergeant knew the man was worried.  Losing nuclear weapons to terrorists could cost a man his career or life easily.  Moscow took things seriously and a smart man always remembered that point.  
Oh well
, he thought, it is not my problem.  
I am out of this war and will retire to the country and live as a farmer.
 He took a big gulp of his vodka and smiled.

Colonel Vasiliev strutted across the room, stopped behind a wooden podium and said, “At 0400 hours in the morning, a specially trained group of Spetsnaz will parachute into the area where our troops were ambushed in an attempt to find where the nuclear weapons are kept.  This will be a high altitude low opening jump and the unit consists of ten men.  Their primary mission is to locate the weapons, not secure them, but if they have a chance to recover them, they will do so.  Any questions?”

“Every time I have worked with Spetsnaz, they are difficult men and tend to fight a lot.  They cause trouble, sir.”  Major Borisovich, the chief of intelligence, said.

“These have been here a week and have not left their barracks.  Gentlemen, they will stay in the barracks, leaving only to complete their mission, and then fly back to Jackson when the mission is over.  I am surprised, Sambor, that even my chief of intelligence did not know they were here.  Looks like our security is working better now.”

“Why not use conventional troops, sir?” A Captain asked.

“We just tried that, remember?  And, by the way, please stand, Captain Boris, so everyone can see who is in charge of the men.”

A slim man of average size and weight stood and the only difference between him and some of the men in the room was his hair was shorter. He was close to thirty, blue eyes, and there was absolutely nothing special about him that stood out.  He then sat back down.

“Captain Boris and Master Sergeant Makar are your point of contacts for Spetsnaz while they are here.  I expect all requests to speak to them to come through me first.  Now, Captain Varlaam, would you be kind enough to give us the weather forecast?”

The young Captain turned on his computer and a map of the once United States was projected on the wall of the room.  “Gentlemen, we can expect unseasonal weather tomorrow, with the morning cool, minus ten Celsius, but with clear skies.  However, by noon a front will move in bringing heavy snowfall. I expect over fifteen centimeters of snowfall for tomorrow, but more is on the way.  The winds will start to blow shortly after the snow arrives from the west at between 25 and 32 kilometers an hour.  It is going to be a cold day tomorrow, gentlemen.”  

As the members of Captain Boris' group boarded the airplane, Colonel Vasiliev shook the man's hand and yelled to be heard over the running aircraft engines, “Best of luck and good hunting!”

The Captain nodded and gave a thumbs up.  He was ready to go.  The Colonel's breath was clearly seen in the cold morning air.

Once on the aircraft, they all plugged into the communications system. The pilot introduced the crew quickly and then said, “We will be at the drop zone in less than thirty minutes, but I will need to climb a little once over target.  You will know we are close when I begin to circle the aircraft to gain altitude.  At 7620 meters, you will see the jump light by the ramp door flashing red, then the ramp will lower and the light will go to all red.  At that point I will have warned you, and you should be standing on the open ramp ready to leave the aircraft.  When the light flashes steady green, jump.  Any questions?”

“No, sir.”  Boris said and then glanced at his men.  They were ready, and they were always ready, night or day.

The talking stopped as each man dealt with the excitement of a HALO jump.  Most found the jump exhilarating and thrilling, while others, like Master Sergeant Makar did it only for the extra pay every month.  He was saving for his retirement in five more years.  Of all ten men, only Sergeant Vasily Geraslym truly loved HALO jumps, because he was a thrill seeker.  He loved the rush he felt when his chute deployed at a little over 152 meters and he often wondered what it would feel like, if his canopy failed to deploy.  He knew his death would be instantaneous, so he didn't worry about it.

Most of the men appeared to the loadmaster to be sleeping, but under the closed eyelids, each man was going over his gear, his position in the group, and his assigned and potentially assigned tasks.  They were all cross-trained and, for instance, if the medic fell dead or wounded, any one of them could be designated the new medic.  Their minds were active and working, but none sat in fear; after all, they were Spetsnaz, some of the best trained men in the world.