Foreign Enemies and Traitors (68 page)

“Fucking civilians—”

“Fucking traitors!” Donelson snapped.  “Traitors, working with foreign enemies—in America!  I’ve put up with a hell of a lot over the last few years, I’ve swallowed some seriously bad shit, but not this.  This is too much.”

“We need to find out all about what’s going on in Building 1405.  But carefully.”

“Very carefully.  But we have to do it.  We have to.  We have no choice.  And we have to stop it.”

“Charlie, this is…
duty
,” whispered Rogan, almost reverently.

“Damn right.  If there ever was duty, this is it.”

“You know, I had an uncle killed on Okinawa.  Then my father was in the Korean War.  And you, you lost your own father!  That was duty, hard duty, but they always did it, no matter what.  My family, your family, all those guys.  Millions of them, going all the way back.  They did what they had to do.  They served.  Like we did, in Iraq and Afghanistan and everywhere else.  It was our duty.  We lost a lot of good men, and a lot more got torn up.  But we always did our duty, all of us.  We never backed down from a fight, and we never shirked our duty.  Never.”

“Yeah,” said Donelson, “but I think this is a lot worse, because it’s Americans who are our enemies too.”

“But it’s still duty.  Enemies foreign
and domestic
, right?  Isn’t that the oath we swore?  Sure, it’s a lot simpler when it’s foreigners, and we’re overseas.  But just because they’re Americans, American traitors, that doesn’t mean we can let this slide.  It’s still duty, and we swore the oath.”

****

“
Fortress, this is Tiger Leader.”

               
“Go ahead, Tiger Leader, this is Fortress.”  Fortress was the call sign among the Kazaks for Colonel Burgut’s command vehicle.  Burgut’s radioman took the call, but the colonel was able to hear both sides over his intercom.

               
“Fortress, Tiger Recon has found Gray Wolf 5.  All six crew from both vehicles are dead.  Gray Wolf 4 is not anywhere near Gray Wolf 5.  Gray Wolf 4 is gone.”

               
Colonel Burgut quickly cut in, pressing the button on his intercom wire that switched him to the radio.  “Repeat that, Tiger Leader.”

               
“Yes sir.  Armored scout vehicle Wolf 5 is at these grid coordinates.  Wolf 5 is trapped in a muddy bog.  All six crew from both vehicles have been shot and killed by small-arms fire.  Wolf 4 is not at that location.  That is all the information I have received from the Tiger Company reconnaissance platoon.  I have not yet seen it myself.”

               
Blast the American devils to hell and back!  Colonel Burgut rasped out, “Thank you, Tiger Leader.  What is your estimated arrival time at the rendezvous position?”

               
“Fortress, we are there now, except for our recon platoon.  Recon platoon is securing Gray Wolf 5 and searching for Gray Wolf 4.”

               
Colonel Burgut studied his glowing GPS screen, zooming in on the northern edge of Radford County.  “Tiger Leader, move one platoon each to intersections Red 15, Red 17 and Red 18, and set up blocking positions.  Tiger headquarters platoon, go to Red 17.  Fortress will rendezvous with you there.  Our estimated arrival time is ten minutes.”  After the company commander confirmed his orders, Burgut switched back to his intercom.  “Driver, make maximum speed.  Radioman: send this message to all motorized companies.  Order them to move immediately at maximum speed to intersection Red 17.  More instructions to follow en route.  Send that now.  After that message is sent, instruct Saber Company to remain in the south.  They should continue to harass and pursue the remaining rebels.  We’re going to catch these sons of whores, and make them beg for a quick death!”

               
The major leaned close and said, “Colonel, you will be leaving Saber Company without mechanized or armored support?”

               
“The fighting is over down there, except for chasing the last refugees out of the county.  The Sabers can handle that mission on their own for a few hours.  In any case, we’ll be moving too fast for them to stay with us.” 
            
The radioman finished in a few moments, and turned back to his colonel.  The first sergeant and the major also stared at him, awaiting his next orders.  Colonel Burgut was in a quandary.  What he now needed most was not under his control.  He needed aviation assets, helicopters and drones, eyes up in the sky to find the commandeered ASV.  But to admit to the Americans that one of his armored security vehicles had been stolen, stolen by rebels who were supposed to be crushed and defeated, would be highly embarrassing.  Humiliating.  He would lose face in an almost unimaginable way! 

But…but…if the Americans escaped from Radford County with a stolen ASV, armed with a 40mm automatic grenade launcher and a 12.7mm heavy machine gun, what terrible mischief they might cause, and that would be even worse!  After a minute, his temples throbbing, Burgut said, “Get the Americans on the radio.  Request a helicopter for casualty evacuation.”  Eagle Platoon had several wounded men, from the boobytrapped car.  He could use this as an excuse for a helicopter request, and not directly admit the fiasco of the stolen ASV.  Once the helicopter was in the air above him, he could modify his request for its use.  Anyway, it was a valid reason to initially contact Fort Campbell concerning helicopters.

The young radioman replied over his intercom headphones.  “Colonel, I have Fort Campbell air operations on this channel.  They request to speak to you directly.”

“Very well.”  He switched his intercom button to the radio position while straining to convert his thought processes into English.  At these times, he most needed an American liaison.  “This is Kilo Bravo Leader.  Who is on radio speaking with, over?”

“This is flight operations.  What do you need, Kilo Bravo Leader?”

Burgut spoke slowly and deliberately, aware that his English was sometimes difficult for Americans to understand, especially over the radio.  “We have wounded men.  We are needing helicopter medical casualty evacuation as soon as possible—over.”

There was a pause before the transmission was answered.  “Ah, I’m sorry, Kilo Bravo Leader, but due to adverse weather, no helicopters are available tonight.”

It took a few moments for Burgut to translate the words that he had heard.  “Not available?  Not available?!  Well, be making them available!  Weather is good, no problem weather by this location.  We have immediate need—men will die without quickly medical evacuation.”

“Ahh, copy that, Kilo Bravo Leader, but I repeat: helicopters are not available tonight.”

“Put General Blair.  I demand that you put General Blair on radio immediate!”

“General Blair?  Did you say
General
Blair
?  Uh, wait one, Kilo Leader.”

Colonel Burgut grimaced, swearing under his breath while he waited, his three subordinates in the confined space pretending to study various communication and navigational displays.  He slipped a stainless steel flask from the thigh pocket of his camouflage trousers and took a long swig of the local corn whisky, needing to feel its burning relief.  Never one to be rude or selfish, he passed the flask to Major Seribek, who took a quick drink and handed it to the first sergeant, who took the longest draft of all.  The radioman glanced at the flask, and then turned his attention back to his radio console.  The first sergeant handed the steel flask back to his colonel.  It would never be spoken of again.  If the colonel felt a slug of whisky was called for, that was entirely up to him.

A different American voice came over the radio, as clear as if it was on a telephone.  “Ah, Kilo Bravo Leader, this is Foxtrot Charlie Air Operations.  The person you requested is not available.  No one is available from his staff at this time.  No aviation assets are available at this time, due to inclement weather and low cloud ceiling.  I have been instructed to inform you to try again tomorrow morning.  Helicopter support may be available then.  This is Fox Charlie Air Ops—out.”  The channel went dead in his earphones.

Colonel Burgut understood only half of the American’s words, but he understood the entirety of the message, conveyed perfectly well.  General Blair was stabbing him in the back.  It was because of the affair of the American civilians killed in the ravine.  He was being punished, when the mass shooting had been done on the orders of the American liaison Major Zinovsky, the braggart fool who had subsequently died in the house fire.  Well, fornicate all their mothers with rusty bayonets!  We will have our own revenge for our murdered comrades when we catch the terrorists who have taken our ASV!  And I will personally deal with General Blair later…

****

The stolen ASV rolled northward
along the winding lane.  Patchy ground fog lay across the hollows in the lower elevations.  Isolated homes were burning down to embers.  Some were close enough to the road to be clearly visible, and others merely caused the mist to glow green in their night vision tubes.  Carson sped up to thirty when the terrain and visibility permitted.

               
Boone’s voice crackled over the intercom.  “Shit!  Watch out, Phil!” 
    
“People, I see them,” Carson answered, braking quickly to less than ten miles an hour.  “Civilians, it looks like.”  The pedestrians were scattering off both sides of the narrow road at the approach of the ASV.  Without night vision to see through the darkness, the people on the road were able to hear the muffled engine only moments before the Americans inside its armored hull saw them.  “They’re heading south, it looks like.”  Three stubby windshield wipers on each of the two narrow front windows cleared the wet mist from the thick armored glass.  Powerful blowers kept them from fogging on the inside.

“Heading for Mississippi,” answered Boone.  “This is when a thermal gun sight would really be nice.  We’d be able to see right through this pea soup.”  To be more ready to fight, he lowered the .50 caliber’s barrel back down to horizontal with his hand control.

Doug asked, “Why don’t these things have thermal night vision?”

“Most of the ASVs had them, but they’re a bitch to maintain and they cost a fortune.  Especially if you’re going to let foreign contract soldiers have them.  They’re worth so much, it’s pretty temping to take one with you if you’re planning to desert.  Sort of like taking your own severance package with you.  At least, that’s my best guess.”

“So the Army takes them out before the foreign soldiers can,” said Doug.

“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” replied Boone.  “Before they can steal them or break them.  They want the foreign mercenaries to be effective, but not
too
effective.  Not if it means giving them thermal night vision.”

“I’ve got to slow down some more,” said Phil.  “I don’t want to run over any civilians.”  Wraithlike walkers appeared at the edges of their visibility, shrouded in mist, all heading south with packs and bundles, pushing handcarts and pulling wagons.

“We’ll be coming to a crossroads in a few hundred meters,” said Boone.  “It’ll be more open, with fewer trees around, so the wind might be enough to blow off the fog.  Then it’s only half a mile to the bridge over to the Nigerian side.”

They continued creeping forward at five miles an hour, the ASV’s diesel almost inaudible at low RPMs.  Carson remembered how loud the old tracked M-113 APCs were in ’Nam.  There was no way a clanking and grinding tracked vehicle could sneak up on anybody on a quiet night like this.  Unseen enemies would be getting into ambush positions when you were a mile out.  He was impressed with the stealth of this four-wheeled ASV as they rolled smoothly up the single paved lane. 

Of course, the tracked vehicles always had the option of crashing off into the boonies and making their own path, unlike these wheelies.  Once surprise was lost and the shooting had started, the tracked 113s and the newer Bradleys were superior in almost every way, effortlessly running across most terrain at over forty miles an hour.  The reason they were able to steal this ASV in the first place was that its partner had become trapped in mud when trying to move cross-country.  Nothing came for free; there were always tradeoffs.  At least Boone knew all of these little backcountry roads. 

No more civilian refugees were seen.  Their road descended in a curve, leaving the cover of woods, and terminated in a T intersection at an angle.  The only trees were near a few scattered home sites, set well back from the new two-lane road and almost invisible in the mist.  Their burning embers looked like wide green campfires in Carson’s night eye.  He had to crane his neck side to side, trying to get the new lay of the land as he was suddenly presented with many possible directions of advance.  He slowed almost to a stop, waiting to hear Boone’s next instruction.  The fog was just as thick in this open area, with less than a hundred yards of visibility.

“Contact front!”  Boone shouted over the intercom.

A second later Carson saw the dim outline of a big troop truck, one of the new six-wheeled medium tactical vehicles with a boxy European-style cab.  A machine gun barrel extended from a mount on the roof of the cab.  He stepped on the brake, stopping.  Soldiers were spilling out the back of the canvas-covered cargo area, and the passenger-side cab door was open.  The truck was less than a hundred yards away.

Boone said, “Switch the ‘K’ strobe back on, and keep inching forward.”

“You got it,” answered Doug.

“Do they see us yet?” Carson wondered aloud over the intercom as he took his foot off the brake.  His question was quickly answered: a sudden electric shock seemed to run through the dozen or fifteen soldiers arrayed around the back of the truck.  More soldiers armed with rifles were climbing and jumping from the truck to the ground.  A soldier wearing night goggles stood in the center of the road and put both arms up, waving the ASV to a halt.  Confusion was marked by their body language, with some shouldering Kalashnikovs and others turning to one another in postures of doubt.  The big truck was parked at an angle across both paved lanes of the new road.  Carson said, “I don’t think I can just slide around these guys.”