The Fall of America: Enemy Within (Book 3) (22 page)

Raising his head, which brought a shot from the sniper that clipped his left ear lobe, Shubin screamed, “Everyone down now! The Black Shark is attacking the woods!”

The chopper used Gatling guns on the first pass and on the second four rockets were released.  The pilot then asked, “Let me speak to Camp One.”

“Uh, Black Shark One, both Camp One and Two are down. They are assumed dead at this time.”

“Copy, assumed dead. Confirm the status of both and contact Colonel Dubow immediately. He wants a status report. I will remain overhead to assist if you still have problems.”

“Copy, Black Shark One. Wait a minute and let me check the condition of both.”

Slowly Sergeant Shubin stood and after a few minutes, other men stood.  He made his way to the downed form of Colonel Popoff and saw he was dead. The men were all joking and clowning around now, knowing the sniper was dead, but Shubin was not so sure.

“You men get behind some cover and do it now. We have no idea if the snip—”

Esom's shot struck the Sergeant low and in the gut, the force of impact knocking him from his feet. Landing on the hard concrete of the highway, Shubin began screaming as the pain hit him.

A medic moved to him, grabbed his feet, intending to drag him behind a truck, which offered some safety. The Medic's throat exploded, with blood and gore spattering the road and men near him.  As the medic bled out, the radio operator said, “Black Shark, that damned sniper has just killed two more of us. Uh, the Sergeant might still be alive, only I am not going out to get him.”

Suddenly, Shubin gave a great warbling scream as his feet kicked at the concrete and his back arched in pain.

“Unidentified voice, this is Black Shark One, get your heads down, I have two fast movers with napalm that will light up the woods for you.”

“Copy.” the radio man replied and then yelled, “Get down, napalm attack on the trees!”

Out of the clear skies came a pair of shiny jet aircraft diving for the woods. Just before the Private thought they would dive into the ground they pulled up and released two oblong containers each. The containers tumbled end over end until they entered the trees and were lost from view.  A split second later, a giant wave of flames came from the trees and extended almost to the clearing before falling.  Black dense smoke rose to the sky, as a fireball rolled inside itself.

The radio man, impressed by the fire, stood and said, “Thanks for the fire, I think it has cleared the sniper.”

“Do you have a condition for the other officer that is down?”

The radio man moved to Major Falin, checked him and said, “Dead. Both officers are dead and the Sergeant will be too, if we do not get a helicopter to remove him and soon.”

“Copy you need a medical evacuation for the Sergeant.”

Dubow was pissed as he stood beneath the four crosses with the remains of his men. He'd just lost two senior officers and a medic coming to look at the bodies, so his mood was sour.  Sergeant Shubin was stabilized and was in an intensive care unit, his future unknown.  The Sergeant might live, but the doctors claimed it was too early to know yet. He'd rounded up Sokol, drunk as usual, and made him come to see what his reprisals were doing to the Russian Army.

“Sokol, you will immediately stop killing Americans by any means except a gun.  Shoot all the sonsofbitches you want, but no more burnings or crucifixions. Does your drunken mind understand me?”

“Yes, sir, I fully, uh, understand.” Sokol replied, his voice slurred.

“Why in the hell did the sniper kill Popoff, when it is you that needs shot?  I am ordering you right now, no more drinking on duty at all, none. If I catch you drinking one more time on duty, you will either join the Americans in the gulag or you will simply disappear. Am I making myself clear to you?”

Snapping to attention, Sokol replied, “Clear, sir.”

Turning to Master Sergeant Turchin, Dubow yelled, “Move the men forward to recover the bodies of our comrades. Tell the men to watch for mines or booby-traps as they move, Sergeant!”

“Yes, sir. Okay men, you heard the Colonel, move toward the bod—”

At the word move, the men moved and there came a short scream, a wall of fire erupted, and one man fell to the ground. As his body jerked and danced wildly on the ground, Turchin yelled, “Keep your eyes open for mines, men, or you will end up like this man.” He pointed at the squirming soldier on the grasses.

A medic quickly looked the injured soldier over and said, “He is still alive, but not for long. His body is mangled to hell and back.”

“Kill his pain.” Turchin said, which everyone knew meant to put the man to death by injecting morphine.

“Sonofabitch!” Dubow yelled in anger, “How many more will the Americans kill!  I grow tired of this damned cat and mouse game they play with me! They need to feel the might of Mother Russia!  Sokol, get in my car and we will return to the base.” The Colonel turned and then moved toward his car.

Seeing Sokol hesitate, Dubow said, “Get in the damned car and do it
now
, Sokol!”

Sokol staggered forward, his benumbed mind already focusing on his next drink of vodka.

Esom had fired the shot at the Medic and then climbed down the tall oak he'd been shooting from. He picked up his pack and started running toward the clearing. The guns and rockets had missed him and in a typical sniper setup, he'd shot the Sergeant and then waited for others to come to his aid. There had been times in the past, when he'd killed five or six trying to rescue a wounded man. Usually, he ended up killing the wounded man too, but the aircraft were getting too close, so it was time to move.

He was within ten feet of the clearing when he heard high pitched whine of jet engines, looked over his shoulder and saw two jets release Napalm. The two oblong aluminum containers were flipping end over end and he knew he had to cover some distance. Knowing the Russian soldiers would have their heads down, Esom ran as fast as he could over the open field, praying he'd reach the other side before all oxygen close to the fire was sucked into the flames. He made it, but just barely. His heart was beating loud and hard, because it was the closest to death he'd been in a long time, as he entered another patch of woods and made his way toward the garage. The dense black smoke was seen over his shoulders for miles.

As he moved, he thought,
Not a bad day of shooting. I bagged a Full Colonel, a Major, a Sergeant, and a medic. I think the Russians have learned to respect our snipers.
He then broke into a slow trot he could keep up most of the day and smiled.

Back at Camp Edwards, Dubow called an emergency staff meeting with all his senior men, officers and Sergeants.  As with all staff meetings, each commander gave a short talk of how his particular unit was doing.  

The hospital commander, a Lieutenant Colonel, stood, moved to the front of the room and said, “Since my last briefing, the Private that was horribly burned in the helicopter crash has died.  Additionally, Major Rusak was discovered early yesterday morning by one of our ground patrols and recovered with some of his men. All are hospitalized at this moment, with the Major suffering from extreme exhaustion, Senior Sergeant Koslov has a deep cut to his left thigh, and Private Orlov has a shattered shoulder wound as a result of a bullet. Privates Arent, Baskov, Alkaev, are dead, bodies not recovered.”

Master Sergeant Turchin asked, “How did Koslov make Senior Sergeant?  The last I heard and saw he was a Corporal, sir.”

“While working on the Major, he stated Koslov deserved a medal and a promotion for his actions during the initial ground attack and in the events that followed. Rusak said he could not guarantee a medal, but he could promote the man and did. He was—”

Colonel Dubow interrupted and said, “I want my chief of personnel to see if he is worthy of the
Hero of the Russian Federation Medal and if so, prepare t
he paperwork for submission. If not, see he is awarded the medal right below it in importance. While we are losing our
asses in this country, we need to show
our people that we still have brave men.”

“I will see to it as soon as this meeting is over, sir.” a thin lanky Captain replied.

“Now, take your seat, doctor, and let me explain the real reason for this meeting. As of today, actually a couple of hours ago, we no longer have Colonel Popoff or Major Falin with us. Both were killed by a sniper less than five miles from this room. Both died almost instantly, but it leaves me with no gulag commander and no executive officer. I want Lieutenant Colonel Bunin to take over as the camp commander until Moscow either approves my recommendation for his promotion to Full Colonel, or sends me a replacement. Captain Taras, you will step up into the executive officers position and I have the authority to make your promotion effective immediately. As of right now, you are promoted to the rank of Major. Are there any questions?”

There were no questions, so Dubow waited a few minutes, took a sip of water from his glass and then said, “Okay, let me switch subjects on all of you and discuss our current problems with the resistance. They are starting to embarrass us greatly and this morning we found some of our men crucified, mocking the crucifixions that were done to 100 prisoners by Colonel Sokol and his men a while back. I will not put up with the resistance any longer. I want my special units to prepare for an active part in our struggle.  

Tomorrow morning, if the weather is favorable, I want some type of toxic chemical agent dropped in all unpopulated areas. I do not care how many civilians we kill, but the partisans must be hurt badly by this. Now, we have used gas before, but I now want patrols out, before we drop the gas, but with the gear necessary for them to safely do their jobs. This war is about to turn mean, gentlemen, and ugly.”

Looking at his aircraft maintenance commander, Dubow asked, “How many broken aircraft do you have, Colonel?”

Pulling a clipboard open, the man quickly replied, “Sir, as of right now, I have eighteen flyable aircraft, including helicopters and fixed wing, three down for routine maintenance, and two with serious problems, both being engines.”

“Sir, just a quick question, if I may?” Colonel Walsky, chief of special units, asked.

“Ask your question, Colonel, and let us get back to aircraft status.”

“My troops, as you know, are made up of both men and women. I guess I do not really have a question, so much as wanting to point out, this will be the first possible combat for my female troops.  I would like to suggest we milk these missions for all the propaganda we can, sir.”

“Fine, Colonel, send a damned cameraman out with them. Is that all?”

Suddenly flushed, Walsky replied, “Uh, yes, sir.”

Turning back to his aircraft maintenance officer, Dubow said, “Now, continue with what you are going to do to get as many aircraft into the air tomorrow to deliver our chemical attack.”