The Fall of America: Winter Ops (21 page)

“What of the civilians in the gulag? We have many people who were breaking no laws, but were simply collected as bodies for executions or reprisals.  Do we keep them or let them go?” Major Sokolov asked.

“Screen each closely and if they are not a registered gun owner and have broken no laws, then let them go.  Do the same with those collected that we know are family members of partisans.”

Master Sergeant Fedorovo asked, “Have you coordinated the prisoner release with Moscow, sir?  They may have ordered the prisoners rounded up and if you release them, well, you know what will happen.”  He'd finally walked out of the hospital, but did little except drink vodka for his pain, and paperwork.

“I appreciate your concern, Sergeant, but I have given my orders, and I wish to see them carried out.  Major, you will also see the civilians are fed and present them with good food.  I want the prisoners in the gulag fed as well as our own men are.  Any other questions?” Vasiliev said.

Silence, but many thought the Lieutenant Colonel was committing professional suicide and it was only a matter of time before he disappeared or was recalled to Moscow to answer for his actions.  

“Now, this meeting is over and I want my orders carried out immediately.”  The man turned and walked into his office.

Master Sergeant Fedorovo stood beside the Junior Sergeant in the serving line at the old market place in Edwards. So far, only a handful of Americans had come to eat, but the old Sergeant suspected most distrusted the Russians.  It is too soon, he thought.  
Hell, just last week we were executing them and now we offer them free food.  They probably think it is poisoned.

A tank sat in the square, with a squad of infantry men, who were checking people by age and arresting anyone that might be old enough to be in the resistance, but they'd be released if nothing was found on the Russian computer systems.  One man started to run and a quick burst from the tanks machine-gun brought him down.  He now lay face down on the cobblestone street, a pool of blood under him, and his unseeing eyes open.

The Master Sergeant saw few military or fighting age people present.  He did see many slip food into their coat pockets, obviously to either eat later or to take home and feed someone else.  He knew it was likely some partisans were being fed with the Russian food, but that was not his concern.  He was here to provide security for the cooks and food servers, and he was doing his job well.

Feeling the urge to pee, the old Sergeant walked behind the tank, unbuttoned his trousers and a few seconds later, moaned with relief.  He was just about completed with his business, when he heard a loud yell to stop in Russian, followed by the
tak-tak-tak
of the machine-gun crew.  He quickly stepped around the tank and was moving for the food serving vehicle, when there came a loud explosion, and he was knocked off his feet.  Laying there for a bit, still in shock, he felt himself all over and other than his ears ringing, he felt nothing wrong or any blood.  He stood, and then turning to the serving area, he watched as flames and smoke rose to the sky.  It was then the screams of the injured were heard.  Bodies were all over the street, along with body parts.

About 20 meters away, a young blonde woman lay on her back, her eyes blinking, and blood pooling under her back. She suddenly screamed and when the Master Sergeant glanced in her direction, a young Warrant Officer was pointing his pistol at her. The man fired twice and each time a bullet hit home, her body jerked. Finally, she lay unmoving, as the light in her eyes went out slowly.

“Medic!”  someone yelled and two men ran for the flames.

Fedorovo moved to a senior cook and asked, “What happened?”

“The beautiful woman came for food and had a briefcase in her left hand.  She placed it on the ground as I served her.  I moved to the truck to get more beef, and it was then I heard the shooting.  I am not a combat troop, so I stayed behind the van until the explosion.  My wait was a short one, too.”

One medic, a private said, “We have four, one is a civilian, that need a helicopter if they are to live.  One man has lost both arms and legs.  The others will die if they are not cared for by the hospital soon.  We have ten dead, but only three are Russian.  Those in line for food were blown to pieces.”

“I will make the call, so relax.”  Master Sergeant Fedorovo said and then yelled, “Radioman?”

“We do not have one, Sergeant,” a young Lieutenant said, “but my tank crew has already contacted base, using our radio, and a helicopter is on the way.”

“Thank you, and how long did they say?”

“They said the aircraft was starting engines when my driver finished speaking with them.”

“Medic!”

“Master Sergeant?”  the man asked as he neared.

“Separate those who need to be airlifted out, from those who can be taken by truck to the hospital.”

“Just the Russians, right?”

Oh, that is a good question
, he thought and then said, “If we are to win the hearts of the Americans, we need to take all to see a doctor.”

“What of the dead?”

“Leave the Americans here, because I am sure someone will come for their bodies.  Place our dead in the truck.  I do not think it matters much to the men who were killed how soon they get to a base.  However, treat all the dead with dignity.”

“I will see to it, Sergeant.”

Hearing the chopper approaching, the Sergeant walked to the tank and the driver had his head out of his hatch. Seeing Fedorovo, he asked, “He wants smoke so he can see the wind, and where do you want him to land?”

“I will have smoke for him and have him land in the center of the town square.  It is big enough for two or three helicopters.  How far out is he?”

“Three minutes before he gets here, or that is his guess.”

“Corporal!” he yelled at a young man, “Stand by to use a smoke grenade and get in the center of the square.”

“Will do, Sergeant.”

A few minutes later, the helicopter flew overhead, circled and then hovered above the square as the Corporal popped the smoke grenade. Using his hands, the man then slowly worked the aircraft to the ground.  As the engines continued to run, the wounded were loaded through an open side door.  As the pilot watched the Corporal, he began to slowly rise into the air.

From a side street, behind the helicopter, a partisan stepped out, aimed his Strela missile and fired.  

“Missile!”  Fedorovo screamed to the tank driver, but he was too late. The missile struck the aircraft in the engine and then exploded, throwing helicopter parts, dead bodies, flaming fuel and debris of various sizes in all directions. The aircraft rolled to it's side and then struck the ground hard, where it exploded, killing the Corporal and all inside the helicopter.  

The tank started almost immediately and the commander yelled to be heard over the engines, “Gather men behind me and let us see what is down that street the missile came from.”

The tank driver went around the huge fire from the helicopter and then moved to the narrow street the partisan had used. Fedorovo didn't like the situation, because the houses were too close to the street, and a few were two stories and dangerous in his view.  The tank commander was up and partially out of his hatch, manning a machine-gun, and while the rest were closed, just one grenade dropped down the hatch and all would be killed.

Moving to the rear of the tank, he pulled a telephone from a box and started speaking to the man.  It was then he heard shots and saw two Molotov cocktails and a grenade fly out of the hands of partisans.  The outside of the tank immediately burst into flames and the grenade went right down the hatch.  The driver's hatch flew open and the driver madly crawled out but was afire, as the grenade exploded.  The tank commander, who was half way out of his hatch was blown into the air.  Fedorovo realized the weapons operator never had a chance.

 As soon as the Russians kicked the door to the building open, the Master Sergeant moved forward and wrapped the burning driver with his coat to put the flames out.  He heard gunshots, an explosion, and then more shots.

The tank was in flames now and the Master Sergeant yelled, “Everyone away from the tank before the ammunition and fuel explodes.  Move, people!” He stood, placed the wounded driver over his shoulder, and ran for the market place.  

The Soldiers, three fewer now, ran behind him. When a Sergeant neared, the Master Sergeant asked, “What happened?”

“The stairs were booby-trapped and there were only two of them. They were hard men to kill.”

Nearing the market place, he lowered the injured man to the grasses, ignoring his screams and looked toward the street.  A few minutes later, he heard an explosion and saw flames and smoke rolling toward the gray sky.
The tank has just blown up
, he thought and shivered at the thought of being trapped in a tank with a fire.  Minutes later there came a series of horrific explosions as the fuel and ammunition exploded as well.  Smoke, dust, and debris flew through the air in all directions over the buildings.

Vasiliev was mad, but not overly so, with the disaster of the food serving. He'd lost well over a dozen men and since he'd filed his report with Moscow, threats were already coming in by emails and phone calls. He was in his office, feet propped up on the edge of his desk, as he sipped a small glass of vodka.  He should have known the food idea wouldn't work, not the way he'd planned it.  The civilians needed to come to the gate to get foodstuff and from now on, he'd keep his people away from civil projects.  Food and clothing would be issued, after the civilians were searched, and then allowed in a warehouse near the gate. He'd place a tank by the door and a company of men to protect the place. He saw no reason the Americans would not flock to get the free food and clothing, thus improving relations with both countries.
 If
he could only keep Moscow off his ass long enough to complete his ideas.

“Colonel, we just got a call that a squad of our men have located a large number of partisans in a group of trees and his estimates are over 400 of them.”  Major Borisovich said as he stuck his head in the door.

“Where are these trees?  Did you find them on the map?”

“No need for a map, sir, it is in the trees on the south end of the camp. One of the infrared equipped helicopters picked up the body heat. There were so many, he returned to base and reported a gear malfunction. Testing proved there was nothing wrong with his equipment.”

“Right now?  How in the hell did that many resistance members get so close to us without being spotted?”

“Intelligence thinks they entered the trees last night and spent the day there, planning to attack us tonight.”

“What is the weather forecast for tonight?”

“Uh, cloudy, overcast, cold with snow.  The snow is to hit shortly after 2000 hours, sir.  Why?”

Glancing out the window, the Lieutenant Colonel asked, “What time is it?”

“1900 hours, sir.  Why did you want the weather forecast?”

“The worst the weather is, the better the conditions are for an attack. I want the whole base on alert, and do it
now
!  But quietly, because I want no sirens or lights all over the place.  Get the men into position and quietly, too.  Alert Base Operations and tell them I want all aircrew on immediate alert for base air defense.  Now move, Major!”

As the Major scurried from the room, Vasiliev grew concerned.  He was a well trained officer and this was not his first combat command, but partisans didn't fight by the book.  They reminded him of the American Indians he used to read about as a kid.  The Natives were experts at hit and run and they very rarely attacked in mass to overwhelm their enemies, but slowly wore their enemies down by killing a few here and a few there.  Or, they'd meet a small group of their foes and battle until a couple were dead and then end the fight.  Like partisans, they didn't have unlimited manpower, but the Lieutenant Colonel did and he would use it, if attacked.  The man stood, moved to the tea pot and poured a cup of tea and then added a little vodka.  This night, or so it looked likely, he'd get little sleep.

He contacted all the members of his staff and placed them on alert and recall.  Recall assured him the men would be in position when the attack happened. He took a sip of his vodka and tea, and thought,
But, when and where will they strike?