The Fall of America: Fatal Encounters (Book 2) (3 page)

They were to move west, toward the Mississippi River and it was up to John, as the cell leader,  to select a base camp. He was happy leaving a large group and joining a small one, because it's much easier to hide a small group and they'd be a hell of lot easier to feed.  All of them had field experience, so he actually felt safer.  
How long will we stay in these small cells?
 he wondered, as he scanned the countryside.

He'd pulled Kate aside before they left and told her to move cross country and to avoid roads and trails. She had enough sense not to cross any open fields, so they stayed in the high brush and woods. It was slow going, but a lot safer. In his mind, safety was more important than speed.

Almost two hours before dark they stopped in some trees for the night, mainly because John liked the position and they needed some food. Sandra changed the dressing on Tom's arm, then Tom changed her bandage. Both injuries were clean and healthy looking, with no sign of infection.  Sandra's wound had a bad bruise surrounding it. Pulling out two aspirin she handed them to Tom, who washed them down with tepid water from his canteen. Sandra then popped two in her mouth and pulled her canteen.

John left two guards out, Jay and Kate, and relaxed a little as he said, “Reduce all rations by half until we get to the stage we know where our next meal is coming from. And, tonight no fires to cook with, because we have no idea who we share these woods with right now. ”

Margie nodded, looked as if she was going to speak, but didn't.

“Where,” Tom asked, “do you have in mind for a camp?”

“Maybe ten miles south of Edwards. What do ya think?” He sat in the dirt and leaned back against an ancient oak.  Dolly put her head in his lap and he scratched her ears.

“Hell, that's as good as any other spot. We'll just need to find a good clump of trees and make a home.”

“Are you healing okay?” John asked, and Tom knew he meant from the death of his wife, not his current injury.

“I'm healing, but it's going to take me some time. The deep pain is gone, but I still dream of her.”

John nodded, but didn't reply.

“John, does it matter which MRE you get?”  Sandra asked.

He gave a low chuckle and replied, “Not in the least.  They're all nasty cold.”

“Why don't these have a flame-less heater with them?”  She asked.
“Old is why.  I'm sure the shelf-life of these expired years ago, but they're all we have. I've heard some folks are eating the old C and K rations from the Second World War.”

Suddenly Jay appeared and said, “I have movement on our back trail moving in our direction.”

As everyone moved into position John said, “Jay, go get the other guard and come back here, and do the job quickly.”

C
olonel Georgy Vetrov was in the middle of a staff meeting with his officers and senior non-commissioned officers. He was speaking as he paced at the head of a table. A huge map of Mississippi was on the wall behind him. As the senior Russian officer in charge of Mississippi, he was pissed at the poor performance of his troops against a bunch of civilians and worn-out prior military members. Vetrov was short, only five inches above five feet, not an ounce of fat on his muscular frame, and on the high side of his forties. His salt and pepper hair was worn short and he wore no facial hair at all. It was his cold gray eyes that most people noticed first, because he didn't just look at others, his eyes penetrated to their very soul. He had a reputation as a man who accomplished anything with nothing, but for some reason his promotions had been slow.

“I cannot tolerate our miserable performance and changes must happen, and now!”  He yelled as he thought,
if I can squash resistance in this sector, I am sure for the star I deserve.  I will not be kept from my promotion to general due to pathetic actions by my men.

“Sir, we need more men, more supplies, and, of course, more aircraft.” Major Victor Abdulov said as he glanced at the papers in his hands.

The men were seated at a well worn table in a Capital building in Jackson, Mississippi, and it was cool in the room, because there was no natural gas, propane or fuel for heating.  Each wore a coat and in a couple of cases, thin gloves were seen.

“Major Abdulov, is that all you can say, more, more, and more? We will work with what Moscow gives us to work with and no more. Our supply lines are stretched thin as it is now, yet you cry for more.”

Abdulov said, “Sir, with all due respect—”

Slamming his open hand down on the table hard, Vetrov said, “Enough.  I want to know how we can more efficiently use the men, material and supplies we have now. Work with what you have, but work smarter.  There will be no more talk about getting more of anything.”

Abdulov, angry, but not stupid, replied, “Yes, sir.”

“Now, I want to know more about the ambush that killed some members of the resistance and the murdering of ten of our men in a convoy.  Lieutenant Colonel Pankov, update me on this.”

Pankov walked to the map, and using his finger, pointed to the spot where the short fight with the partisans had taken place. He cleared his throat and said, “One of our choppers caught a large group of Americans crossing a river yesterday at approximately 1400 hours. We killed fifteen and captured two. Of the dead, ten looked to be between the ages of twenty and thirty-five, while the remainder were older. None carried any identification, but the leader of the group had about a dozen cards in his pocket; all were the Ace of Spades.  As you all know, the card is used by the resistance to mark their kills.”

“Have the captured been turned over for interrogation?”  Vetrov asked.

“One woman has; the other, a man, managed to roll from the helicopter while in flight, falling to his death. The woman is resisting, as is to be expected, but we will break her eventually.”

Vetrov said, “Keep working on her. It is not likely she knows much, but every little bit of information we can gather gives us a better idea of what we are up against. Now, about the murders of my men.”

“Yes, sir.  Late last night, near 0200, an eight truck convoy was moving near the small town of Edwards, when it came under heavy fire delivered by Americans. Witnesses say they counted at least three heavy machine guns, detonation of two American Claymore mines, and estimated enemy strength at forty or more men.  Most of our dead were killed by mines.”

“Did our men keep possession of the trucks and cargo?”

Lowering his head, Pankov replied, “No, sir, they backed off to regroup and then moved into defensive positions.”

“You really mean they ran, right?  What was our loss in cargo?”

“The Lieutenant in charge said he lacked the manpower to retake the trucks and our loss was total. Three of the trucks were carrying drums of aviation gas and all was lost, as were all the trucks. I flew over the area this morning and all that remained were blackened frames of the vehicles. It was in a fairly open area, with the only shelter being some old buildings to the north of the highway.”

Vetrov placed his hands behind his back and walked around the room thinking,
I must do something to show the Americans I will not allow attacks on my men and supplies. I need something that will shock them and make them quiver at the mere mention of my name. Fear will make them docile and more controllable. Of course, the ambush may be in retaliation of my recent poison gas attack on the small village of Newton.

He walked to the room's only window, his hands still behind his back, and looked out. After a few minutes he said, “Lieutenant Colonel Pankov, order the lieutenant that was ambushed last night to gather up one hundred Americans. Once they are collected, I want the lieutenant to personally see that all are executed in front of the state capital building. From this day forward, for every Russian soldier that dies by the hands of an American, ten of them will be executed.”

Major Abdulov said, “Sir, think about what this will do for the cause of the resistance. I think it will hurt us in the long run, because we want to win their hearts and minds. This will—”

Vetrov laughed and said, “Major, I find it funny you bring up the American motto for winning the Vietnam War, which they lost by the way, 'Win their hearts and minds.'  It is all bullshit. All these people, all any people fully understand is pure terror. My order was not a question and I expect it to be carried out without comment. We must smash all armed resistance and force the people to do our will.  If you cannot do your duty for mother Russia, then I will find a major that will, but only after I personally shoot you.  Do you understand me, Abdulov?”

“My apologies, sir.  I meant no disrespect and will faithfully carry out your orders. However, as a member of your staff, I felt it my duty to express concern.”

“Your duty, as you called it, has been noted. I want no one, not a man in this room, to ever question my motives again—ever. Remember your place, Major, or you will soon discover my warning about relieving you of duty and shooting you is no idle threat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lieutenant Colonel Pankov, remain after the meeting so we may talk of another subject.   The rest of you, return to your units and straighten the men up. Tell the men I want no drinking while on duty, all guards alert and awake, and any mistakes and I will have the man shot. Now, dismissed.”

The men stood at attention, Vetrov waved them off, and then moved to a chair beside his intelligence officer. The colonel still stood at attention, so the commander said, “Be seated, Vlad, and let us speak about the American resistance movement a little more.”

“I will answer any questions you may have, sir.”  Pankov said as he thought,
Watch out, he is using your first name, so the sonofabitch is going to screw you over.
 He then sat in his chair.

“What do you think happened to all the men and woman who fought us at the prisoner exchange?  I mean, all of the Americans have disappeared.”

“No, they have not disappeared, sir, they have broken into small cells and are scattered all over the state, or returned to their home states. It's a basic tactic used by guerrillas in this type of war.”

“I am well aware of the tactics used by guerrillas.  At your last estimate, how many do you think belong to the resistance?”  Vetrov scratched his cheek.

“The number of members in their resistance varies from a few thousand, say four or so, to most of the state population. It seems those that are not active members support them, except for a few we have bought with money or supplies. I do not trust those working for us either, because they may be gathering intelligence for the other side.”

“So, they have broken into small groups, have most of the population behind them, and are creating a nightmare for my troops. What do you think would be the best method of hurting them the most?  I must get control of this sector immediately.”

“Do you wish an honest answer, sir?”

“But of course I do.”  He said, and then smiled.

No, you want the book answer, so that is what you will get from me.  Killing innocent men, women and children will not stop the resistance.  Unnecessary killing will only strengthen the determination of the people
, he thought. Then, returning the colonel's smile, Pankov said, “The executions may work, but if it does, it will be the first time. However, we have to try something and what are a few more deaths in this hell hole of a place? Perhaps reducing the amount of food we provide the general population will help, because, how much of it goes to the men and women fighting us? Placing stricter control on all food and water may be the real answer.  A hungry people are easier to control, sir.”  

“Perhaps by executing the people you think me cold and cruel. The executions are required, if for nothing more than to show our enemies we will make them pay dearly for every small victory they achieve.”

“Fully understood, Colonel.”

“Now, get Lieutenant Ivanov to start gathering up hostages. By no later than the day after tomorrow, I want them, all one hundred of them, dead. I want the front of their capital building littered with bodies and blood to run like rivers down the hill.”

Knowing the conversation with his commander was finished, Pankov stood and snapped to attention.

“Dismissed Colonel; now carry out my orders.”  

Master Sergeant Dmitry Belonev jumped from the back of the big truck and landed on the wet pavement with a grunt. His back was hurting him again and he thought,
I will be a happy man when I retire next year and move back to the country.  I grow tired of moving around the world and living out of my backpack.  I miss my Alena, and a man should have a good woman at his side as he grows older.

“Senior Sergeant, have the men break down into squads and start gathering people.  If we get all one hundred here, we can return to camp quickly. But, be warned, if all are not gathered here, we will go elsewhere to look for more.” The Master Sergeant ordered.  He found gathering hostages distasteful, but his job was to follow orders.

“Why are we collecting people in the middle of the night?” A private asked the Senior Sergeant.