The Fall of America: Winter Ops (9 page)

BOOK: The Fall of America: Winter Ops
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I glance in that direction, saw headlights, and then said, “Go, and now.  Let's move north some and then later, we'll move to the group.”

“If this snow sticks even a child will be able to track us.” Kerr said as he stood upright and adjusted this gear.

“Slow jog for a mile, then we'll drop to a walk.” I said, and then started north.

Dawn found us moving slowly over about an inch of new snow. It's still snowing and it's coming down hard. I glanced behind us and knew our tracks were being filled by snow almost as quickly as we made them.  The wind was gusting too, which aided in our escape.  Between the blowing and falling snow, we'd not be found. The temperature was dropping and I knew it was well below freezing.

“Move to the right and then back into the oaks. We need a small fire and something to eat.”  I said as I changed directions.

“Good, it's cold.”

Twenty minutes later a small fire was burning, Russian rations were being heated, and we both held our palms toward the fire to feel the heat.  It's surprising how little a person needs to feel human again, but warmth when it's cold, hot food and a little rest always works for me.

“What were those dog handlers doing out in the woods like that?”  Kerr asked as he pulled his ration from the fire.

“The Russians have patrols out randomly covering the area is my guess, and we just bumped into them.”

Kerr chewed a few minutes and then asked, “What now?  I mean, do we keep moving north?”

“I think we can safely move toward our group now. The snow is covering our tracks and I don't want to still be moving toward them when this stuff stops.  If we are, our tracks will even be visible from the air.”

Kerr nodded and then said, “That makes sense to me. What did you do before the fall?”

“I spent a few years in the army, got out, and went to college on the G.I. Bill.  I then owned a security company, was married and living well. How about you?”

The black man smiled and said, “I spent four years in the army, went to school at night, and after I got out I went to dental school. My parents were so proud of me the day my dental office opened.  Then a year later, I lost my ass in the fall, including both parents. I was married, had two young twin boys, but they were all murdered one day while I was out looking for food.  I returned home to a house spattered with blood.”

“My first wife was killed, too.”

“My parents were both in their late sixties, with my dad on blood pressure medication, and mom a diabetic. When the pharmacies closed, they were both dead within a few months, and my anger was so great, I started killing. I didn't just kill anyone, but when I found some worthless bastards, I took them out.”

“I think you missed a few.”

He gave a low chuckle and said, “Yep, I surely did. In Jackson, where I lived, some groups were eating people, but keeping them alive until needed. They'd pull the victim out, tie them up, and then decapitate them with a machete. I watched them a few nights and it was the sickest damned thing I'd ever seen. When they murdered a young girl, no more than ten years old, I did my best to wipe that whole bunch out. Then one day I ran into an old army friend and he told me about the resistance. Now, this was before the Russians were here, but they were coming, or so he claimed.  You pretty much know the rest of the story.”

“There are still some sick —”

“Do you hear that?”  Kerr asked.

CHAPTER 6

F
rom his bed in the hospital, the Senior Sergeant could look out the window and see men and women scurrying around like ants.  He'd been questioned so much by intelligence his patience was thin and temper mean.  They'd asked him a zillion questions about all sorts of things and made an attempt to make Lieutenant Smirnov look bad. Morozov had finally grown mad at the men questioning him and ran them from his room.
They're a bunch of damned paper pushers and not a one of them has ever been shot at.  Any combat soldier knows at times there is nothing you can do but die,
he thought as he moved and then winced from pain.

Suddenly he heard a loud voice, “Taras, you lazy bastard, what are you doing in bed?”

“I needed a short nap.”  he replied as he met the blue eyes of Master Sergeant Stas Fedorovo.

The Master Sergeant walked to the bed, pulled a pint of vodka from his coat and slipped it under the mattress. Smiling, he asked, “Are they treating you well?  And, what are the extent of your injuries? I heard you were the only survivor of your squad, but how can that be?”

Master Sergeant Fedorovo was short, just five feet and four inches, but every inch of him was a fighter. He weighed 120 pounds, or 54.55 kilos.  He'd joined the army at 17 and quickly found a home.  His brown hair was cropped almost to the skin and he looked mean most of the time, but he was a compassionate man inside.

“Ambushed us as we woke at dawn.  Lieutenant Smirnov and I were in the bushes doing our morning business when it happened.  The fight did not last more then two minutes and then we started walking back to base.  I then —”

The Master Sergeant patted Morozov on the shoulder and said, “I read the report, Taras, but did anyone screw up?”

“Not that I can remember. The Americans must have watched us bed down and then moved in close during the darkness. Then, at first light, they began killing.” Suddenly, Morozov began to cry silently as his body quivered.

Pulling the bottle out from under the mattress, Fedorovo broke the seal, unscrewed the top and handed the bottle to his Senior Sergeant. “Take a long deep drink of this; it will help you feel better. Men die in wars, my friend, and we are leaders of the men who will die.  At times it will be one of us, but most often it is those who follow us.  I like to think God selects who will live or die.”

Morozov took a long pull on the bottle, handed it back to the Master Sergeant and nodded.  After about a minute, he watched Fedorovo take a drink. Then he said, “All of them dead.  But I know I could not have saved them if I had been with them.”

“Well, I have come to tell you the bodies have been recovered.  From what I read, the ambush was completed by a squad size unit and they were well equipped and trained, or their leader was prior military. That is the problem here that Moscow does not understand. They think we are battling a bunch of ignorant peasants and we are not. There are more guns here than in all the armies of the world combined, and most of the men here are hunters, hobby shooters, or prior military.  Hell, we were insane to come here to start with.”

Sitting up, the vodka meeting his pain pills, the Senior Sergeant said, “So, what can we do?”

“We are soldiers and we will follow orders. Many more men will have to die before Moscow realizes the cost is too great.  By that time, you and I will either be dead and buried, killed here, or retired to mother Russia.  We are a hard-headed people, but this time the American eagle has a good solid bite on our arses and won't let go.  Just like Afghanistan years back, we will have to learn the hard way, and how many men and women will be sent home to momma in a box?”

“I should have been a farmer like my father wanted me to be.”  

“Perhaps, but this way you have seen much of the world, have a chest full of cheap tin and ribbon, along with a small pension. No, you are right for the job, but every professional has bad days and you, my friend, had one. Now, I am going to leave, but I will be back later to talk. Sleep now.”

By the time the Master Sergeant mentioned sleep, Morozov was already gone. The combination of the alcohol and pills had put him out.  

Seeing his good friend sleeping, Fedorovo smiled, wiped his eyes and said, “God, protect this brave man, he is like a brother to me.  Keep him safe in the coming battles.”  He then left the room.

“So, Lieutenant Colonel Vasiliev, if I understand you correctly, over four hundred Russian troops have died this month, while the Americans have lost less than one hundred!  Explain to me how this has happened!” Colonel Ivanov screamed as usual during his staff meeting. He then continued, “How can these damned peasants murder Russian troops when they choose?  You are the chief of Anti-terrorist Operations and I want answers!”

“Sir, I hav —”

“You
stand
at attention when speaking to me, Vasiliev, or I will have you
shot
for disrespect!  Now, tell me what
you
are doing to stop this killing.”

The Lieutenant Colonel shot to his feet and stood ramrod stiff as he replied, “We are using state maps and plan to eventually drop poison nerve agent on the whole state. We will do this county by county. We will then follow up with specially trained units, who will be dropped by helicopter or parachute to check suspected safe houses or areas we think have partisans.”

“Why think or suspect?  You really do not know much, do you?  If not, then why not?  I want answers, or I will send you packing back to Moscow in shame, for a courts-martial!”

“Sir, these Americans are not talking.  Most die before they give us information or they hold out long enough the information is no longer any good.”

“Then, by God, use reprisals on them.”

“We tried that, sir, and over 150 of this month's dead were killed in reprisals to our killings. On the ground at each site of the murders was a poster that claimed for every American murdered, six Russians would also die. So far, they have lived up to their promises.”

“I want a thousand Americans dead by morning. There is no way they can kill six thousand Russians soldiers in retaliation.”

“Sir, I would like to sug —”  

“Do not push me on this, and I want it done! By morning, I want to drive through the streets of Edwards and see body after body of dead lining the streets. Do you
fully
understand your orders?”

“Yes, sir, and it will be done.”

“Good.  Now weather, tell me what to expect this week.”

As the weather man stood, Vasiliev thought,
My commander is a damned fool!  He has no idea what this order will do to the American resistance. They will come for us and him, because they will be filled with such anger.  Oh, I should have taken the job at Jackson, but this one offered me a promotion.  I have made a terrible mistake.

“Did you not hear me, Vasiliev?” the commander asked a second time.

Standing, the Lieutenant Colonel snapped to attention and said, “I am sorry, sir, I was organizing your orders in my mind. I do not know if I have that many captured partisans in the camps to execute.”

Looking at Colonel Kuznetsov, the gulag commander, Ivanov asked, “How many do you have, Colonel?”

“At last count this morning, a little over 900 are suspected partisans.”

“See, Vasiliev, that was not hard and make up the difference with civilians, male or female, and any age is fine. The Americans do not like to see their citizens killed and it is time they learn we Russians will kill any American we wish. Now go back to your office and see my orders are carried out.  Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir!”  the Lieutenant Colonel said, saluted, did an about face, and left the conference room.  As he walked to his car, he thought,
things in this American War are about to heat up.  We have never killed this many people
at one time.  I think the war is suddenly going to swing against us and we will have partisans coming out of the walls like cockroaches, all looking for Russian blood.

Nearing his driver and car, Vasiliev yelled, “Get your arse in the car and take me back to my office.”

His driver, a Private, tossed his cigarette to the soil, stepped on it with his boot and pulled the keys out of his pocket.  As he started the car, a glance in the mirror showed the Lieutenant Colonel drinking from a silver flask.  
Must have had his ass chewed hard this morning
, he thought as he slipped the car into gear.

The drive to his office was uneventful but stressful for the Commander of Anti-terrorist Operations. Once in his office he called a meeting with his junior officers and senior NCO's. When all were seated around the table, he explained his orders and waited for questions.

“Sir, do you have any idea how long it takes to execute a hundred people?”  Senior Sergeant Silin asked.

BOOK: The Fall of America: Winter Ops
3.2Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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