The Fall of America: Winter Ops (16 page)

This time there was no missile fired and the Master Sergeant thought it was because the aircraft had flown by too quickly.  A Russian machine-gun crew opened up and row after row of partisans were struck. The gunner was good, too, because his tat-tat-tat was limited to just a few seconds on the trigger.  Long bursts would soon heat a barrel to the point bullets would fly in all directions.

Glancing down the slight hill, the Master Sergeant saw a huge crowd of partisans moving toward him and his men.  
It does not look good
, he thought as he picked up the radio and asked, “Petov, are you still there?”

“I am here.”

“I need help, my friend, and now; if you have anything, send it to me. I estimate maybe a thousand partisans about fifty meters from the gulag fence line.”

“Let me check I what I have in the air.”

“For God's sake, hurry!”

A minute passed and then Petov said, “I have two Black Sharks that will be over your position shortly. They will make a number of passes from left to right using machine-guns and missiles. One has you visually right now, so get your heads down!”

“Down!”  Fedorovo screamed and few seconds later he heard the guns on the Black Shark firing, screams from the dying and injured, and the high pitched whine of the helicopters turbine engines. The helicopter made two more passes and then flew off to rearm and refuel.  The second aircraft arrived seconds later.

“Stay down!”  the Master Sergeant yelled once more as he watched the helicopter fly overhead and line up for a pass on the partisans.

Seconds later, four loud explosions were heard, along with distant screams, and when he peeked over the edge of his foxhole, he saw nothing but four clouds of dust.  The helicopter was seen lining up for another pass, when a rocket zoomed from ground level, struck the aircraft hard near the engine and it began to auto-rotate to the ground in flames from the cockpit back. The helicopter landed hard on its side, near the Russians forces, and a squad burst from the trenches in an effort to save the pilots. One man was pulled from the wreckage and another exited the co-pilots compartment in flames.  He stumbled a few feet and then fell to his knees. Seconds later he fell to his side, dead.  Of the ten who ran forward to rescue the pilots, six, including the injured pilot returned alive.

“Here they come!”  yelled someone off to the left of the Master Sergeant.

Glancing down the hill he saw partisans running toward them and they looked like ants, because the distance was great.

Picking up the phone he said, “ Petov, I need anything you have!”

“I have some artillery, if you want it.”

Fedorovo quickly read off the coordinates and said, “Now, read that back to me.”

Less than a minute later, he said, “Okay, fire for effect, and now!” Then looking around at his soldiers he shrieked, “Get down!”

He heard the scream of the first shell and buried his head in the dirt. At times the coordinates were off and when that happened, men and women died. The explosions were loud, and glancing up he saw more bodies now on the ground.  The screams of the injured and dying partisans were clearly heard on the hill.

“Petov, mix a little white phosphorous (WP) in with the shells!  It will be good if you can do this!”

Minutes later the white phosphorous shells landed and the hot shrapnel burned white zig-zags into the air.  As long as the WP had air, it would burn, which made it a terrible weapon to use on people. The injured could only stop the burning and lessen damage, by covering the wound with mud or removing the shrapnel.  The screaming partisans grew louder and then they began to withdraw.  

Petov changed the range as the resistance began to retreat. Finally, the partisans broke and ran for the distant trees, and the Russian NCO had the trees pounded by the big guns.

Finally, he called Petov and said, “Cease fire, I repeat, cease fire.”

Standing, he called out, “Who is the ranking man still alive?”

“That would be me, I think, Master Sergeant.”  a thin and lanky Senior Sergeant said.

“Get your ass over here with the radio.” He grabbed the dead radioman by his shirt collar and pulled him from the hole. He then rolled the dead Captain from the hole next and finally asked, “What is your name?”

“I am called, Alkaev. Adrian Alkaev, Master Sergeant.”

“ Alkaev, you are a senior NCO, so you need to start acting like one and be an example for your troops.”

“We are cooks, bakers, paper-pushers, and mechanics, not combat soldiers. We were rounded up and told to defend this area. This was the first time in my life, well, that I have fired a weapon in combat.”

Great, a bunch of people who have no idea how do defend themselves
, the Master Sergeant thought and then said, “The radio is set to talk with someone who will try to give you air support, only keep in mind, sometimes they cannot help you.  I am supposed to be looking at how the rest of the base is doing too.”

“I understand and think we can hold on to what we have. We will be fine.”

Master Sergeant Fedorovo nodded, climbed from the foxhole and made his was toward the fuel storage area, only he never got there.  There came a huge explosion that actually hurt his ears and then he saw the fuel storage tanks cooking off one after the other; he turned away.  He was too late and moved toward the flight line.

Tracers zipped through the air as helicopters were landing and taking off.  Refueling and arming were taking place at the same time, which was usually not done for safety reasons, but the partisans were making a big push, so safety went out the door.

Refueling trucks were moving all over the flight line and aircraft were all over the field. Some aircraft were in flames, some on their sides, but most were waiting for fuel and bullets. One truck of fuel had the cab stitched with a row of bullets and with the driver dead, it continued on until it struck a parked helicopter getting ready for take off. The crew ran from the aircraft just before the collision and wisely so, because when they collided, a big fire ball resulted, and the flames rolled and rolled as they moved for the sky.  Then ammo began going off and everyone ran for cover.

“RPG or LAW got the fuel truck,”  a Major who was behind the sandbags with Fedorovo said, and then pulled a flask from his coat pocket. He guzzled a bit and handed it to the Master Sergeant who downed a healthy amount.

“I have never seen this many of the resistance in one place at one time, sir.”  the Sergeant said.

“This is being done, I think, to make Ivanov pull his troops back to protect this base and to prevent him from using the nerve gas he has planned to spray.”

“I have no idea why it is being done, but there are one hell of a lot of them. In the last staff meeting, intelligence stated there were fewer than 3,000 resistance fighters in the whole state. If that is true, sir, every one of the bastards are attacking us right now.”

A bullet hit the concrete by his right leg, which made the Sergeant jerk his leg, as the projectile zinged off into space.  He could not see the attackers, but he knew they could easily blow the perimeter wire and overrun them, but hadn't for some reason.
They have a reason
, Fedorovo thought. He glanced around the base and saw many fires were burning and bodies, mostly Russian, covered the ground.  He shook his head at the senselessness of even being here, but he was a soldier and went when and where ordered.

A loud explosion was heard along the perimeter fence and then screaming partisans ran for the aircraft hangers. Russian machine-guns chattered, as rifles banged and pistols popped.  A helicopter flew over head, banked hard and lined up for an attack.

The Americans were crossing the open field between the runway and the taxiway when a stray round bounced off the concrete, struck Master Sergeant Fedorovo in the head, and down he went. His world was instantly black.

M
y squad held just outside of the airfield fence to cover the attacking forces with the new single man-fired surface to air missiles. I found them easy to use, and I'd been able to down two choppers early in the attack. I'd fired at a jet too, but it was just too fast, and by the time my rocket was airborne the jet was in a steep climb and moving double-quick. I think I missed because I'd been leading the bird and when he pulled the nose up to climb, I'd fired at that moment.

“Tanks! They've brought out the armor!” I heard Sandra yell to be heard over the noise of battle.  

I knew then we'd soon be withdrawn from this battle. Oh, we could fight the big beasts, but in the long run we'd have to run off like a scared dog, with our tails between our legs. We just didn't have anything effective against them.  The best we could hope for in most cases was to blow a track off and then the tank was still far from being helpless. I don't like the big brutes and never have, because unless you can hit one in the ass where the armor is the thinnest, they're hard to put out of action while moving.

“If we had enough flamethrowers, by God, we'd fight 'em!” Walsh said from beside me.

He was correct, but only to a point. A man with a flamethrower had to get in close, saturate the tank with burning fuel, and that was hard to do.  Then, the crew of the tank didn't burn to death, but suffocated as the flames consumed the oxygen within the heavy vehicle. Besides, I think the whole Mississippi resistance only had three or four flamethrowers, so we'd be withdrawn.

Dolly began to bark loudly and when I glanced at her, her eyes were on the sky.  I looked up, saw a Black Shark lined up to attack, and yelled, “Everyone down, now!”

The bird came in hot, spitting bullets by the hundreds as the barrels on his Gatling gun rotated speedily and sent hot empty brass flying out behind him. Smoke covered the nose of the aircraft as people on the ground began to die.  Sandra suddenly jerked, screamed, and then began to flop around on the ground next to the wire. Dolly ran to her side.

I pulled a 9K32 Strela-2M missile launcher and as soon as the aircraft passed, I stood, aimed and waited for the chopper to nose up.  Bullets zinged past me and one tugged hard at my shirt sleeve.  I tracked the aircraft and gave the trigger a half-squeeze, which brought an Infrared engaged light on and I heard a slight buzzing sound.  I was now locked onto my target, but still had to apply lead and elevation. I then squeezed the trigger.

As soon as the missile left the launcher, I fell to the ground and looked toward the Black Shark.  The pilot took evasive action and even dispensed chaff, but to no avail. The missile flew into the engine exhaust and an immense explosion resulted instantly, sending parts of the aircraft in all directions.  The largest piece I spotted was the almost intact cockpit and it fell to the ground still burning.  

Remembering Sandra, I gained my feet and ran to her side. She'd taken something in her side and was in terrible pain. When I held her still, I saw a long sliver of metal stuck deep and wasn't really sure how to treat it. I pulled a syringe of morphine from her medical bag, gave her a shot and waited for the drug to work.

“B . . . baby,” she said in almost a whisper and when I leaned closer she continued, “I'll not make it. I'm bleeding internally . . . and there is nothing we can . . . can do.  G . . . give me more morphine, please.”

“I can't give you more or it will kill you.”

She reached up with her right hand, rubbed my cheek and said, “I . . . I know it . . . will kill . . . me.  I c . . . cannot survive.”  I noticed bright carmine blood bubbles on her sweet lips.

With tears in my eyes and pain tearing at my heart, I pulled more morphine from her bag and gave her a second shot. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and my lips quivered in anguish as I waited for my wife to die.  

Sandra, no longer able to speak, met my eyes, gave me a faint smile and then mouthed, “I love you.”

My heart broke into a thousand pieces as I raised her head, and I cried uncontrollably. I loved this woman so much, and now I was being forced to kill her.  She and I both knew the Russians would torture her if taken captive, and she'd been their guest once before. I felt her quiver violently once and she squeezed my hand hard, and then went limp. She was dead.  I reached over, pulled the metal from her side and discovered a good twelve inches had been buried deep within her. She knew she'd not survive, and I knew it too at that second. I slowly lowered her head to the ground and stripped her of all gear.  My last act was to place a grenade, with the pin pulled, under her, to hopefully kill those who tried to recover her body.  The Russians were big on body count and I hoped in death, my baby would send a few of the sonsofbitches straight to hell.

“John, we have orders to fall back and do it now.”  Silverwolf said as he ran to me. He glanced at Sandra, put a hand on my shoulder and added, “Come, there's nothing we can do for her now.”

 I stood, adjusted my gear and noticed most of the firing had stopped.  

“Let's move, folks, we're going to have some pissed off Russians in a day or two.” I yelled and then fell in with the rest of the group leaving.  

Hours later, my heart still heavy from Sandra's death, we stopped in a forest of dense pines and oaks.  The trees were huge, well over a hundred feet tall and it was full daylight.  I was a mental mess and called Silverwolf to my side.  He neared, squatted and said, “Are you okay?”