The Fall of America: Winter Ops (2 page)

The Fall of America, Book 3:
Things are turning
as t
he partisans
get more organized
and with this organization comes larger attacks on Russian targets,
resulting
in more
civilians
killed in reprisals.
The
partis
ans become better organized as the Russians become
even
more sadistic
in their tactics
. The Americans are now attacking gulags and air bases when the opportunity arises and Russian casualties mount, but there is a
t least one
traitor or more within.  Can
the patriots
discover the enemy within?

The Fall of America, Book 4: Winter Ops
. The partisans turn mean after ambushing a Russian convoy and discovering cases of the 9K32 Strela-2M missiles, or as the Russians call them, arrows.  The missiles soon change how the partisans operate; they are a portable, shoulder-fired, low-altitude surface-to-air missile system with a highly explosive warhead. They have an infrared guidance system.  Soon the partisans are attacking Air Bases and shooting down random helicopters using the missiles and Moscow is not pleased.  However, it is the discovery of two nuclear weapons, called “suitcase nukes” by the Russians, that is about to change this war in ways that have never been considered.  Which side will use the nuclear weapons first?

BOOK 4

Winter Ops

A
s the man lay dying, I went through his pockets. He was a Russian, and since we had no prisoner of war camp for captives, we took no prisoners.  I'd heard we had some special prisoners held in the swamps, but I'd never seen one. I stuck the long sharp blade of my skinning knife deep under his ribs and then twisted the blade as I moved it quickly from side-to-side.  While you may think me cruel, he'd suffered a severe head injury and a large chunk of his skull was missing along with a fair portion of his brain.  I felt I was doing him a favor.  Since I'm a partisan and bullets are hard to come by, I used my knife. Because he was near death, he'd not even screamed when my long blade entered him. Blood, with a strong scent of copper, quickly pooled under the mans lower back.

“Let's move, and do it now.”  my wife Sandra said. Once a stunning beauty, the Russians had captured her and while being tortured, her face was disfigured, her ears and lips now missing.  

“Are the others ready?”  

“Oh, yeah, and they're worried about the helicopters we've heard all morning.  Did you find anything of value on this man?”

“A map, Bison and pistol, as well as a canvas couriers pouch, and some letters from home.  He's a Junior Sergeant, so being mounted on a motorcycle, I suspect he was carrying orders and such.  I've not looked in his pouch. I'll do that once back at camp.”

“Let's move, and do it now.”  she suggested, since I really outranked her, but we all know who is the boss in a marriage.

I smiled and said, “Alright, let's move —”

There came a sudden noise and someone yelled, “Chopper!”

We were in a wooded area, with a gravel road running down the middle. The Russian dispatch rider had been moving along the road at a fair clip, when Joyce, my sniper, took him out with one shot.  The bullet had struck his head and while he was already dead, his body was taking it's sweet time to shut down.  So, I'd killed him.  

“Into the trees!” I yelled, hoping we could down a chopper.  Once in position, the sound of the aircraft grew louder, which meant it was getting closer.  I pulled a LAW from my backpack, extended it and was ready. I place it on my shoulder, glanced around, cleared the area behind me, and listened closely for the aircraft.

The chopper came flying slowly down the middle of the road, hovered over the crashed motorcycle, and then two men came out the aircraft doors using ropes. When the men were about halfway to the ground, I fired the LAW and the bird took a direct hit on the nose. A fireball resulted and the chopper fell hard to the ground where the fuel tanks exploded, sending up a huge fireball of red and black greasy looking smoke.  A man ran from the fire, fully engulfed in flames, and after a few feet, he fell to his knees. Seconds later he fell to his side, still burning, but no longer moving.

“Arwood, plant some pressure detonating mines around the crash site and have a couple of others help you.  Near the mines, add some toe-poppers as surprises.”

He replied, “I hear ya. Walsh, Kerr, and Silverwolf, help me plant some surprises. Quickly now, we don't have much time.”

It was then the ammo began to cook off from the heat and other explosives exploded as well, which caused a large black cloud to rise above the crash site.

“Let's move, people, and do it now!” I yelled ten minutes later and then added, “Arwood on point and Kelly, you bring up the rear.  Move at a fast clip, but watch for mines.”

“Yo!”  Arwood said and moved forward.  He was a smallish man with a good sense of humor, meek, and had been a music teacher before the fall. There was little about him that was unusual, except his small size and bald head, which sported a little brown hair on the sides.  He was thin, but all of us were. However, with that said, he was an excellent scout when deep in Injun country.

Kelly was a tall man, closer to seven feet than six, serious, red hair and beard, and officially my medic. Unlike in previous wars or conflicts, he wore no identifying red cross on a white arm band, and would kill as quickly as most of us. I think he said he'd been a paramedic before the fall and had simply picked up a gun and joined the fight.

We moved cross country quickly and not on any beaten paths. Both sides frequently mined trails and I avoided them, especially when in Russian controlled areas. My primary concern now was avoiding searching aircraft and ambushes. The Russian bear would be pissed, but he'd been pissed before, and at us.  My only secret to staying alive was to move faster than they expected me to move so I'd be out of their search circle.  The sky was gray with light winds, and the temperature was near freezing. The clouds looked like snow, but we rarely got snow in Mississippi, so I expected an ice storm or rain.

Less than ten minutes later, my questions on the weather were answered, when it began spitting sleet.  We continued to move and would move at all costs until I felt safe again. If the weather turned to rain we'd hole up, because in wet weather the infrared imaging equipment on the Russian helicopters failed to work properly most of the time. That meant we could have a fire and warm food for a change.

Arwood suddenly stopped and raised his right hand in a fist; he'd seen danger of some sort.  He squatted in the grasses, scanned the area around us and then moved toward me. I moved forward to meet him. Once at my side, he cupped his hands around my ear and whispered, “Smoke; do you smell it?”

I sniffed the air but smelled nothing. He took my arm and moved forward to his old position.  I then picked up the faint smell of a cigarette. I motioned for everyone to stay in place, as he and I moved toward the source.  If there were other partisans in the area, I had to warn them of the danger since we'd downed a chopper.  If they were Russians, we'd kill them if possible.

  Less than 100 yards later, I peeked through some brush and watched a squad of Russian soldiers preparing a meal. They were dirty, and looked tired and sleepy. I turned and made my way back to my group. Once there, I moved them forward a couple hundred yards and explained what I'd seen.

“Do we attack or keep moving?”  Walsh asked.

“We attack, and at every opportunity.” I replied, but since he was a fairly new man, I let his question slide. I then added, “This is what we'll do.”

Twenty minutes later, with a Claymore mine positioned toward the group of Russians, I waited until the men moved to look over a map, all but two anyway.  At that point I squeezed the clacker and sent them straight to hell in loud explosion.  The other two stood, which was the worst thing they could have done and were shot down.  I heard screams for many long minutes after the explosion, but still we waited.  
Damn
, I finally thought,
I don't need this with the weather bad and maybe choppers looking for us.  I'm tired, hungry and need some sleep.

“Move into them, but if one even twitches, put a bullet in 'em.  Let's move!”

We moved forward as a group, but we were well spread out.  One man was still alive, with some injuries to his left arm and his side. The rest were dead.  

“Kelly, cover Walsh as he checks the man for weapons.”

No sooner had the two men moved into position than Kelly yelled, “Pistol!”

I was looking right into the Russian's eyes as Kelly pulled the trigger on his Bison and stitched the man right up the middle. The man's eyes grew huge, he bucked violently as bullets struck him, and then he fell back, dead.  Blood, gore, and bone covered the ground around the dead man as his body quivered and jerked as his central nervous system shut down.  

 “Damn me, that was close.”  Walsh said as he looked around.

“Too close, but that's why if it's possible, we always check the injured in pairs.  Alright, look for any ammo, gear, or food we can take.  Let's hurry, folks, the Russians will be on our asses twice as hard once they know we killed some of their men, too.” I glanced at the falling sleet and then the sky.  It looked to me as if we were in for a spell of bad weather and I prayed it turned barnyard bitch dog ugly.  The worse the weather, the more likely we'd make a clean get away.  

Ten minutes later, we were back on the trail and moving north.  As we moved, the wind picked up and rain was mixed with the sleet. I noticed more rain than sleet and suspected that if the rain froze, the Russians would hunt a hole. I smiled, knowing right now they'd have to see us to find us and that made my day.  We were now cutting across a large forest filled with large pine and oak trees, and some looked to be hundreds of years old.  It was almost dry where we walked because the limbs on the big trees kept most of the moisture off us.  I considered stopping, but knew we needed to cover some ground as long as we could move.  The skies were dark, almost black, and the winds were growing stronger.

Arwood, who was walking point, waited until I neared him and then asked, “When do you plan to hunt a hole?”

“Not until we have to do the job. I want us to cover as much distance as we can before we stop.  Right now, distance and bad weather is all that is keeping us alive.  I think if we can cover 20 miles we can slow down and hunt a place to rest.”

“We need someone to scout ahead of me, then. This sleet on the ground and the crackling noise it makes as it hits the ground confuses me and makes it hard for me to check for mines. I don't really expect any, not moving cross country, but they're always a consideration.”

“Silverwolf, I need to talk with you.”  I said and glanced down the line of partisans to see him smile.  John Silverwolf was a good looking man of mixed Indian blood, his momma Lakota Sioux and his daddy Pawnee.  His hair was black, his skin the color of bronze, and his teeth even and almost too white.  His cheek bones were high and his eyes a deep brown, almost black.  He was a no nonsense kind of man, but did have his humorous side; it just didn't come out often.  Prior to the fall he'd been a cowboy and making good money with rodeos, but now he was about the best tracker we had in Mississippi.  

When he neared, I said, “John, I need to have you roaming out in front of Arwood, say three miles, and see if you can spot any potential threats to us.”

“Sure, I can do that.  Will you be maintaining this heading?”

“For the rest of the day I will, but near dusk I'll swing due west.”  I said and gave a sigh. I  suddenly felt tired and worn out.  Years of constant battle, no real deep rest, and absolutely no escaping the constant threat of a violent death, was hard on me emotionally.
Pull it together
, I thought,
you can think about being tired after all of this is over, or you die, whichever comes first.

John nodded and said, “I'll be out there someplace.  If I don't come back at some point before dark, it's not likely I'll ever be back.”

Our eyes met and I said, “I hear you. Now go.”  Then turning to my people I said, “Saddle up and let's move.  Arwood, you drop from point for a while and let Kerr take it for the rest of the day.”

“I'll be up front, so hold all my calls.” Kerr said, grinned, and then moved forward.

Kerr was a tall black man from Jackson, Mississippi, about six feet and six inches; I have no idea what he did before the fall and have never asked him. He's usually a quiet man, causes no trouble, and all our talk has been about how he lost his parents after the pharmacies closed.  Seems they were unable to get their medication and eventually died, like so many others, of complications.  I feel, each time I speak with him, a deep anger and I think it's related to the death of his parents. If so, he was a loving and caring son, which was rare in the days prior to the fall. Nonetheless, he's a damned good point man, alert, quiet, and with good eyes.  More than once he's saved our collective asses by pointing out trip wires made of thin, almost invisible, monofilament fishing line. He had the eyes we needed.

An hour later, just as we were crossing a large field I'd not wanted to cross, but we needed to cover some distance, I heard the high pitch scream of a jet fighter.

“Down, and don't move!”  Sandra yelled as we all went to ground.

I heard what sounded like the worlds largest zipper being yanked down and then the area right in front of me erupted into a ten foot high wall of dirt, rocks, and debris as a Gatling gun tore the place to hell and back.  I watched the bird pull up and then circle to come back around for another pass.  

I called out, “Stay still, because he'll not know, even if he sees us, if he killed us or not.  If you pray, now would be a good time to ask the Lord to be merciful.”