The Fall of America: Winter Ops (32 page)

“Damn me!  I am about ready to start shooting people!”

“Sir, we are to burn a thousand to death in two days.”

“You mean Americans, but I was thinking of Russians! This has to stop. Intelligence, Major Borisovich?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Request permission from Moscow to use tactical nuclear weapons.  I want to use two; one on the group in the woods that committed this crime and one on a city here.  I want to show these clowns that we are nothing to be taken lightly.”

“Sir, I suggest you reconsider.  Keep in mind, they have two of our weapons, sir.” a Colonel near the back said.

“They are useless to them without the codes or keys.  Besides, Major Borisovich thinks the weapons were destroyed in the napalm fires.”

“I know little of nuclear weapons, however, or how they are destroyed.  I do know that if you start using nuclear weapons, the fallout in the air may endanger all of us.”

“Weather, give me a forecast of when the winds will be out of one direction for a week or more, as well as the dates this should happen.  I have decided, I will bomb them back to the stone-age with nuclear weapons.  I will blow them away and then we will see how they react to the strength of the Russian Bear. I want the executions of the thousand moved up a day.  Can that be done, Borisovich?”

“Yes, we have an empty warehouse down by the Pearl River, on the other side of Jackson, and most are there now.  I started to use a school, but it was too small.  I think we have less than a hundred left to transport to the location.”

“Finish moving them and then kill them tomorrow, at first light. I have never, in all my years of service, seen a group of people as hard-headed as these Americans.  But, I, Colonel Pasha Vasiliev, will show them the power of the great Russian army!  Dismissed.”

An hour later, the red phone, indicating Moscow, lit up on Vasiliev's desk.  He picked it up and said, “Colonel Vasiliev, Base Commander at Edwards.”

“Colonel, this is Major General Bronislav Faddey, in Moscow, and I want to know what in the hell is going on at your station that is so terrible you need to use tactical nuclear weapons.”

“Yes sir, General.” he replied and then explained what was going on.  

Then silence.

“Are you still there, sir?”  The Colonel asked.

“Yes, you idiot, but I am thinking. The use of nuclear weapons is a serious decision and one that cannot be made instantly. The global repercussions must be considered.”

To hell with global repercussions
, thought Vasiliev, but he said, “Yes, of course and I fully understand, sir.”

“Okay, but just this once.  But I am warning you,
Colonel
, if so much as one Russian soldier gets radiation sickness, I will twist your balls off.  Do you understand me?”

“Oh, yes sir, and I have weather checking the winds for the next few weeks right now.”

Excited, the Colonel wrote on his pad, 'use of nuclear weapons, okay with General Faddey and the date and time.'

“Good. Handle this properly, Colonel, and you will leave there a General.  Screw it up and you will end up dead, understand me?  You will simply disappear one night.”

Vasiliev swallowed hard and his mouth grew dry, because he knew the warning was no idle threat, but a promise.  He said, “It will be good to be a General, sir.”

“Good, I love a man with a positive attitude. Good luck, Colonel and goodbye.”

The phone clicked in his ear and he pulled a bottle of vodka out of a desk drawer, poured a water glass about half full, and then chugged it all down.  
This must work out perfectly, for my sake
, he thought as he refilled the glass.

Later that evening, as a civilian janitor moved through the building, he saw the note on the Colonel's pad.  Right above the words, применения ядерного оружия, нормально с Faddey, was a crudely drawn mushroom cloud and a smiley face.  While not the smartest man with the partisans, he placed the note in his pocket and continued his rounds.  

Knowing he would be searched on the way out of the camp, he moved to the mens room and pulling a small metal container he packed his salt in, he dumped the salt in the toilet, and rolled the note up small.  He then placed the note in the container and inserted it deeply in his rectum.  
Not the cleanest way to get a note out, but they never check our rears
, he thought as he moved toward the front gate.

When he neared the gate, a Russian soldier with a clipboard came out and asked in roughly spoken English, “Name?”

“Mike Wilcox.”  

The Russians fingers moved down the list and then he asked, “Job?”

“Janitor.”

The Russian checked his name off on the list and then said, “Against wall.”

“Why?”

“Search.”  the guard said and then motioned with his Bison.

Minutes later, the search done, the guard said, “Go.”

Mike wanted to run through the raised gate, but fought the urge and walked at a normal rate.  He was quickly swallowed by the darkness.

Ten minutes later, a Russian vehicle pulled up at the gate, Major Borisovich jumped out before the car was stopped and asked, “Did a man just leave here?”

“Yes, sir.  He was a janitor.”

“Did you check him well?”

“Of course, sir, and he was clean. Why?”

“He was seen on a security camera taking a note from the base commanders desk.  I have reason to believe that note was either very important or classified.”

“Sir, he had nothing on him or in his pockets. I did notice his usual salt container was missing.”

“Salt container?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Wilcox always brings his supper and a small metal container of salt.  It's almost always in his right coat pocket, except for tonight.”

“How big is this container, Private?”

“About the size of my little finger, sir, why?”

“You damned fool! Oh, I hope I am wrong.”  Borisovich said as he ran to his car.

Once inside, he said, “To the base commander's quarters and now.”

“Sir, it is almost 2200 hours.”

“Do as I asked and do it now.”

“Yes, sir.”  the driver said and started the engine.  As he slipped the transmission into drive he thought,
Oh well, it is not my arse that will be chewed this night for a change.

At the commanders quarters, Borisovich knocked and waited impatiently.

A few minutes later, a Senior Sergeant opened the door and said, “Colonel Vasiliev's quarters, but I am afraid he is in bed.”

“Get him up, and now, you damned fool. I will take full responsibility for your actions.”

“Yes sir.  Please wait.”

Ten minutes later, Vasiliev appeared, looked at his intelligence commander, and asked, “What has happened now?”

“A janitor was seen on one of the security cameras in your office taking the top page off your note pad.  Do you remember what was on it, sir?”

The Colonel chuckled and replied, “I wrote General Faddey's name on it and that's all, as far as I can remember. I am sure it was nothing important.”

“I hope you are correct, sir, or I think the partisans will know what you are planning to do with the nuclear weapons.”

“No, I would never write something like that down.”

“Sorry to have disturbed you, sir and enjoy your evening.”  Borisovich saluted, did an about face and returned to his car.

Once inside he said, “Take me by the Colonel's office and now.”

“Yes, sir.”

At headquarters the guard let him enter and he rushed to the pad.  At the desk he spotted it, and opened the Colonel's middle drawer to pull out a pencil. He then moved the pencil lead over the paper as he held it on it's side.  Almost immediately the message was clear to him.

He placed the paper in his pocket, sat in the Colonels chair, and opened the top right drawer.  He removed a bottle of vodka, pulled the cork with a loud pop, and then took a long drink.  
Damn, it is almost certain Mr. Bill Wilcox is a member of, or involved with, the partisans.  They now know we will use nuclear weapons, the General's name that approved the use, and the date.  Shit!  Oh, this is not good
, he thought.  He took another long pull on the bottle and then put it back.

He returned to the car and said, “Take me to my quarters.”

“Yes sir.”  the driver said and wished his shift was over.  He had a bottle of vodka in his room calling his name.

The next morning, just as the sun came up, the Russians arrived at the warehouse near the Pearl River.  A large fuel truck circled the building, as a man stood on the back with the petcock open, allowing petrol to flow freely to the ground. The truck circled twice, then left.

Major Borisovich got out of his car, nodded to a Master Sergeant and then four men with flamethrowers walked around the building spitting flames.  Screams were heard inside the building and as the flames began to lick at their flesh, shrieks were heard.  

One mother, obviously attempting to save her child threw him through a window, only to have him fall in the burning petrol around the facility. The child quickly burst into flames and then fell.  People began to try to get out and that's when the Master Sergeant yelled, “Fire!”

Four machine-guns mounted on flatbed trucks opened fire and thousands of rounds entered the building and went through the victims.  Some stood defiantly in the window, wanting to be shot rather than burned to death.  Arms, some smoking and some burning, reached from the windows, hoping to grab something to help them stay alive.  Finally the screams died and the smell of burning flesh grew so strong, the Russians loaded their trucks and left.

Three members of the resistance had taken photos and one now opened a door as the other two stood guard.  Three people walked from the building, all burned, and coughing. One, a little girl of about five kept trying to go back, calling out, “Mommie!”

They scooped up the injured and made their way to the woods.  

When Colonel Vasiliev entered his office, Major Borisovich was waiting and stood when he entered.  The Colonel nodded and said, “Please sit down, Major.”

“Sir, we have a serious problem.”  the Major said.

“Oh, I take it you had difficulties with the executions then.”

“No sir, they have been exterminated, but it is about last night and the janitor.”

“Oh, for God's sake, Borisovich, he got nothing of any importance.”

Pulling the penciled over paper from his pocket, he handed it to the Colonel and said, “I disagree, sir.”

Clearly on the pad was the mushroom cloud, the smiley face and the words, 'use of nuclear weapons okay with General Faddey with yesterdays date and time.'  Colonel Vasiliev's face paled and he said, “How did you get this?  I do not remember the doodling on the pad.”

“Sir, first that information is Top Secret and second it is now in the hands of our enemies, I think.  I do know Mike Wilcox did not come to work, and when I visited his home listed on our records here, no one was there.  Someone had been living there, but things were thrown around like he had left in a hurry.”

“Damn me!” the Colonel exploded.  

“Me as well, sir.  Now, knowing we are planning to use nuclear weapons and the fact we just executed one thousand women and children, the Americans will come for us.  You had better pray, sir, they have not found a way to arm the weapons they have —or we are all dead men.”