The Fall of America: Winter Ops (14 page)

“Crossroad ahead of us and a machine-gun crew, along with a big ass tank. Do I go around or what?”  Silverwolf asked.

“Go around. We have one injured and the rest are too tired to fight.”

“Sure,” he said with a smile, “because I don't like tangling with tanks.  One mistake and they'll turn us into hamburger.”

“They'll not bother us, because Private Walsh is carrying a flamethrower and no one wants to burn to death.”

Grinning, he said, “I'd still bet on the tank. I'll take us to the left and then back about a half a mile to cross a macadam road. I don't think it would be smart to cross where they can see us.”

I glanced at the sun, saw it was almost dark and said, “Get a wiggle on and lets get this done before it's completely dark.”

“Will do, so follow me.”  Silverwolf began to move.

As we moved, I gave thought to the tank and machine-gun and decided that later tonight,
I'll return with the Russian speaking Corporal Scott and Private Walsh.  If I can get close enough, I need to take the gun and tank out of action.

Crossing the road was easy and we weren't seen.  I then moved into some trees, pulled out my binoculars and scanned the crossroads.  I counted three men with the machine-guns and three with the tank.  With a lot of luck we might be able to pull this off, especially if we attacked at night.  Since we were mostly dressed in Russian uniforms anyway, that might confuse them just long enough for us to

 get close enough to kill them.

I moved back to my people and said, “If you want to eat, eat it cold.  No fires and yes, I realize it's cold.  From what I saw earlier, snow is likely before dawn, so I suggest you crawl up under a tree to keep dry.”

No one grumbled much, so I walked to Scott and said, “Near midnight you, Walsh, and I will try to take out that machine-gun and tank.”  

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Not at all, why?”

“Hell, the machine-gun alone will shoot us to rag dolls.”

“Not if you call out to them in Russian first.  Once we get close, take the machine-gun out and then the tank.”

“I know you're in charge, but what if I don't want to do this?  Damn it, this is insane.”

“You'll follow orders,” I said and then pulled my pistol, “or I'll shoot you now.”

He glared into my eyes and something convinced him I was serious, and I was.  I thought we had a better than average chance of pulling this off.  Every time I found a tank, I attempted to take it out.

 “You would kill me, wouldn't you?”

“Oh, yeah, and not think much about it either.  See, I don't have much use for a coward and I've been watching you, Scott.  In every battle or fight I've seen you in lately, you hang back just enough to be a little safer.  Well, tonight my friend you'll lead us right to the Russian gun and if you don't, I will shoot you, if they don't.”  

I then moved to Sandra, squatted, and asked, “How are all of them?”

“Fine, except Joyce, who as you know was raped, so her mind is wasted. She's a strong woman, but it'll be years before she can put this behind her, if ever.”

“I don't understand, because she's doing all that's expected or asked of her, and I don't see her acting strange or depressed.”

“It really hasn't hit her yet, or I don't think it has.  Keep her busy and then she'll have a better than average chance of not losing her mind over this. Yes, it happens to some women.  Then, she may be pregnant, too.”

Standing I moved to Joyce and said, “Tonight near midnight, I'm going for the machine-gun nest and the tank.  I want you to come along to help protect us from a long distance. Are you up to doing the job?”

“You bet, and you can be sure if one of them makes sudden move, he's a dead man.”

“Good, I suspected I could count on you, now get some rest.”

“I will.” She pulled a sleeping bag from her pack.

It was a little before midnight when Scott yelled out something in Russian to the machine-gun crew.  At first the three men moved behind the stacked sandbags and made the gun ready.  Scott kept talking.  Finally, a tall thin Russian replied.

“What did he say?”  I asked.

“He said for us to come to them and not to make any sudden moves.”

“Agree with him and tell him there are only three of us.”

Scott called out and a few seconds later the Russian replied.

Standing, Scott said, “Come on, it's okay.”

I was apprehensive, but stood beside him, and then Walsh stood.  The Russian called out and Scott whispered, “He said come on, he has some vodka for us.”

We then moved slowly toward the machine-gun nest.  I relaxed a little when the gunner stood and leaned against the tank.  

The walk was short, barely 25 yards, but it felt as if it were miles. I started sweating, my palms itched, and I could hear my heart beating in my chest.

When we were close, Walsh raised the barrel of the flamethrower and sent a short spurt of flame toward the three men.  One man gave a loud scream, followed by a hideous cry, and moved around engulfed in flames. One man fell unmoving, but afire and the last man moved for the machine-gun, his left arm in flames.  I heard nothing, but suddenly his head snapped back and almost exploded as a high powered round from Joyce took him in the face.  Blood flew in all directions.   

As the last man fell, we ran forward and climbed onto the tank. I found the top hatch closed, but not locked and pulled it wide open. Walsh leaned over the sent a long string of flames into the tank and we could hear the crew screaming.

“Run for the woods!”  I yelled and then heard another shot.  Glancing down at the drivers hatch I found it open and the dead driver laying halfway out, his upper torso in flames.  Joyce had killed again. I jumped from the tank and took out running as fast as I could for the wood line.  Just as I reached the trees, the ammo and fuel started cooking off in the tank.  We continued moving once in the trees and I wanted some distance before the tank blew.  

There suddenly came a bright light, followed a split second later by a loud explosion.  When I looked over my shoulder, I saw a red and yellow ball of flames rolling into each other.  I kept the men moving and a few minutes later, Joyce moved in beside me.

“I shot two.”  she said, her joy obvious.

“Two confirmed kills.”

“Good, only fifty more to go.”

“Fifty more to go?  What does that mean?”  I asked.  I tried to see her eyes, but it was too dark.

“After I was raped by the cannibals, I promised fifty-two men would die for my pain. I have no idea where the number fifty-two came from, it just entered my mind.”

 “Those men were Russians, not cannibals.”

I heard a low laugh and then she replied, “If it has a penis and is our enemy, he's a dead man, if I can get the cross-hairs lined up on him.  I want fifty-two men to die for my rape.”

“Enough talk, let's move a bit faster,” I said.  I could understand her rage and urge to kill all men, but let's hope that's all there was to it or trouble would come.  Some women want to kill all men after being raped, while others withdraw completely.  I didn't want or need any problems with her over something the cannibals did.  
I need to have Sandra talk with her and feel her out
, I thought and then glanced at her. She wore a determined grimace on her face and it worried me.

Two days later, we were lined up about a hundred feet from Interstate Highway 20, on the north side, just prior to the last Pearl exit.  Kerr was with us now and was healing nicely, but walked with a crude crutch made from a tree limb.  Dolly was at my side. I had word a small convoy of two trucks and a motorcycle would be along just before dark, coming from Alabama.  I had been instructed to stop the trucks and take all the supplies I could, or destroy what I couldn't take.

Arwood neared and said, “They'll be here in a bit.  I just caught a glimpse of them in the binoculars as they drove over an incline.”  I scratched my dogs ears absentmindedly, and for a second thought of my other dogs, killed years back.

“Wait for me to take the cyclist out before you all start firing.”  I reminded my troops.

A few seconds later, I heard, then saw the motorcycle nearing.  The driver was moving slowly, just a bit over 25MPH would be my guess, and I wanted him slightly past me before I killed him.  

When he was right in front of me, I raised Joyce's sniper rifle, and the cross-hairs were lined up in the center of his shoulders.  I fired.  He fell from the bike, but it kept moving for another twenty feet before it fell on it's side and sent a shower of bright sparks in the air as the foot pegs dug into the pavement.  I handed her rifle back to her and said, “Cover us, and if a man moves down there when we approach, take him out.”

“Will do.”  she said and then smiled.

Rifles barked and grenade launchers coughed, as automatic weapons zipped bullets into the cabs of the trucks. Screams were heard and a squad of men jumped from the second truck only to be cut to pieces by our machine-gun fire. The first truck, I suspected the driver was already dead, suddenly turned sharply on it's side and slid down the highway.

“To the trucks, now!”  I screamed as I stood.  

Moving toward the vehicles, I heard little resistance from the enemy, and at the first truck I found the men in the cab dead, with one fatally injured man soldier under the rear wheels.  I could see his lower body was broken and twisted and the wheels were on his chest.  I shot him in the head.  

Silverwolf soon approached and said, “Seventeen dead Russians, while we had two injuries.  Joyce took a slug to the thigh, except it just burned her, and Kelly took a round through his left arm.  Sandra is doctoring them up now.”

“What's in the trucks?”  I asked.

“Crates, but I can't read Russian.”

I yelled, “Scott!”

“Yo!”

“I need you to find out what's marked on the crates in both trucks, then let me know.”

“Will do, but it may take some time.”

“Sure, you have ten minutes.”

“I can't read all the cra—”

“Ten minutes, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”  He then moved to the first truck.

“Strip the dead of anything we can use.” I ordered as I looked at the damage my troops had done to the trucks.  A few stray rounds had struck the cargo areas, but a good 90% of the shots were in the cabs.  Silverwolf walked to me and said, “I have a couriers pouch from the dead motorcyclist and maybe Scott can make heads or tails out of this stuff.”

“Bring it with you and Scott can read it to the Colonel, because I'm sending him back later with some other intelligence paperwork.  I don't think he's cut out to be a field soldier and besides, his language skills are needed more at headquarters.  There is more to being a soldier than hating our enemy.”

Crates were being unloaded as Scott walked to me and said, “Most of these crates are shoulder fired missiles. There are cases and cases of the 9K32 Strela-2M missiles or as the Russians call them Arrows. All I know about them is; they are a portable, shoulder-fired, low-altitude surface-to-air missile system with a high explosive warhead. I think they have an infrared guidance system of some sort, but they should each come with information on them.  Most of the boxes are simply marked,
9K32 Strela-2M Arrow
.”

“I don't care about anything else now, but we must have the missiles. Can the truck that remained upright be driven?”

Walsh replied, “I was an auto mechanic for a few years, let me check it out and see.”

“Hurry, because I suspect if the Russians were notified by radio from one of these trucks, we'll soon have Black Shark Helicopters overhead.  I want to be a long way from here before choppers arrive.”

I heard the engine grinding, prayed it would start, because we could raise real hell with surface to air missiles.
Start, damn you, start
, I thought.

The engine gave a loud backfire and the engine started.

“Load all the crates into the truck and let's move, and now!” I yelled, happy the truck would at least take the heavy load part of the way.

“Better hurry too, the radiator is leaking a bit and I'm not sure how many miles I can get out of this thing before the engine quits!”  Walsh said.