The Fall of America: Enemy Within (Book 3) (27 page)

The cell all knelt or squatted as they waited. Finally, John said, “Take no chances when we near this group.  Keep in mind, we don't know if we killed all of them or even injured all of them. I suspect they had a man on drag and if so, he may be around or he may not.  A smart man would run for home.  If it moves, put a bullet in 'em again.”

As they moved toward the downed Russians, John paid close attention to Dolly, who would alert him to any danger.  A man tried to stand on the right, but a blast from Margie's twelve gauge shotgun blew the man off the trail. Then a pistol shot was heard and Bill said, “Playing possum, but he ain't now.”

Five minutes later, John said, “Skeeter, you and your men go over these Russians and take what gear you need.  Be sure to get their NVG's, spare ammo and weapons. Each of you should have a good pistol, sheath knife, and other gear you need. You'll also find Russian rations, which taste like shit, but they'll keep you alive.”

Bill said, “I need some new boots and a jacket, if I can find something that'll fit.”

“You'll find them, if you don't mind a little blood.”

Skeeter said, “The sleeping bags and mats will be good too, so take those as well.”

Bill asked, “What's that noise?”

“I don't hear anything.” John replied.

“I do.” Sandra said and then yelled, “Choppers!”

A long row of machine-gun fire stitched the center of the trail, killing Bill immediately and knocking Larry, Margie, and Skeeter from their feet. Bill's headless body was squirting blood high into the air as Skeeter screamed in pain.

“Sandra, Esom, drag a person into the woods and then cover both of you with a poncho!  
Hurry,
Because the chopper is coming back around!” John yelled.

The Ka-60 approached the trail again, hovered over the dead, about ten feet above, and sent bullets blindly into the trees, from both open side-doors. The aircraft banked sharply and a side-door gunner sent a row of bullets down the trail again. Bodies danced madly as the big slugs tore into them and at times a bloody limb was knocked high into the air.

Damned infrared detection gear on the chopper,
John thought, and then remembered he'd left without getting another LAW or two.

Margie, still packing the flamethrower stood, pointed it at the chopper and pulled the trigger, sending a long flowing stream of bright flames to the windshield of the hovering aircraft. John saw the flames splash on the glass, fly toward the engine cowling and watched, fascinated, as she sent two more squirts toward the big metal bird. The pilot, blinded by the flames, twisted the aircraft to the side and as he started to go up. The Mollies flames struck the left door-gunner, who fell from the aircraft, but remained attached by a wide nylon strap as he burned.  

With the fire still burning on his windshield the pilot, now flying by instruments alone, raised his chopper higher into the air. At about 500 feet the nylon strap holding the door-gunner must have burned through, because the man fell from the aircraft, landing someplace in the trees. The chopper then limped home, minus one gunner.

Once the sound of the chopper were gone, John stood and yelled, “Check our injured and do the job now. We need to move and do the job as soon as we can. Those Russian bastards will be back and I don't want to be near this place when they get here.”

“Larry is in sad shape, with his left leg needing amputation and his neck spurting blood.” Sandra said, as she neared covered in crimson.

“Any chance he'll live?”

“None.”

John walked to the unconscious man, pulled his pistol and a single shot echoed through the trees. “How about the others?” he asked.

“I'm fine, just lost my balance.” Margie replied.

“I had a bullet graze my thigh, but I have it bandaged and I can move.” Skeeter said and moved toward the group. Once there he asked, “What was the purpose of hiding under our ponchos?”

“For a few minutes it blocks our body heat from the infrared on the aircraft screens. After about five minutes, heat is released from the edges and it's no longer effective.”

“I see.” Skeeter replied and then looking at Margie he asked, “What in the hell made you shoot that thing at a helicopter?”

Margie gave a dry laugh and then said, “He pissed me off.”

“Damn,” Skeeter said.

“Actually, I wasn't sure it'd work or not, but we didn't have time to resupply at the garage, so I suspected John didn't have any Law's. My goal was to blind the pilot by brightness, but never dreamed the fuel would stick to the chopper so well.”

“Well,” John said, “you killed a door-gunner too, only we don't have time to look for his body.  Saddle up and let's move. Sandra take the point and Skeeter, you're on drag. I want to move fast, almost at a trot for a couple of hours.”

“Not a problem.” Sandra said and took off at a fast walk.  John gave her a minute or so and then started moving.

Esom moved to John and asked, “Why were those Russians out here?”

“Most likely they were placed in position once we scattered from the garage to trap us, only it didn't work out that way, not in our case anyway. I suspect the chopper was pulling infrared duty when it picked up the body heat from the men we'd just killed. From that point on, it was us against them.”

“Well, we won.” Esom said and then grinned.

“Yep, we surely did, but what about the next time?”

Esom's smile disappeared and he moved back into line.

At the Pearl River, slightly south and east of Jackson, the partisans met under an old overpass from the highway. A guard was positioned to view any traffic moving on the road, moving either east or west.

John had been assigned a second sniper, a young man named Curtis, and another woman named Amy. Both were veterans of years of struggle. As his group mingled and talked, meals were heated on an open fire, and all had their first hot meal in days.

Curtis explained he had over 200 confirmed kills as a sniper, but knew a man in Alabama with over 500. He said, “'Bama is full of Russians and the rednecks are giving those Russian sonsofbitches pure-Dee hell.”

“What you say may be true,” John said, “only it's not taken any pressure off of us.”

“It's hard to say really, because if 'Bama was pacified, we'd have more Russians on our asses over here, huh?”

“Well, that's true, I guess. Nonetheless, we've more of 'em in Mississippi than we need.”

“Gentlemen and ladies, I need all of your cell leaders and Sergeants to meet with me. We've a mission to plan.”

“Mission?” Skeeter asked, “What kind of mission?”

“I plan to hit the gulag at Edwards.”

John felt the little critter that lived in his stomach come alive, gnawing at his insides. Certain missions scared him and this one did.  
How are we going to rescue more than get killed?
he thought.

Colonel Tate said, “Previously we've discussed hitting the camp and what I am about to propose includes the gulag in that attack. We've lost many people over the last month, so we have to slow the Russians down a bit.”

“We still hitting the fuel tanks as you once suggested?” John asked, and Dolly lowered her head to his lap.

“That is the key to our overall success. We must reach the fuel tanks, open the petcocks and release the fuel. Once the area is saturated good, we do our damage using grenades.”

“When?” John asked.

“Tomorrow night. I know it's soon, but the Russians are now screening people for job skills and putting them to work, much like the Nazi's did in World War Two. Most are returned to the gulag each night, but they have folks with computer skills that we need, and they're to be sent to Jackson next Monday. If we can hack a Russian website and gain access to the classified documents, we can play hell with their plans.”

“You'd have to pass up some known items, just to keep them from knowing you have compromised their computer security system.”

“What you say is true, but we're putting the cart before the horse.  First, we have to attack the gulag and base, rescue some programmers and hackers, and then gain access to a computer with electrical power.”

“Then why attack?  We don't have electricity and never will.” Skeeter asked.

“My civil engineers and others claim we can use batteries, and the computer folks we have assure me a working computer is not only possible, but available. It seems the commander before Willy, I don't remember his name, had computers and electrical power for a period of time.”

“The commander was Colonel Parker, sir.” John said.

“Yes, that's the man's name.”

“What time do we attack?” Skeeter asked.

“Tomorrow night at 0200 hours.”

T
he next evening, at the Russian hospital on Edwards, Major Rusak was arguing with a doctor over his condition. Finally, the angry doctor threw his clipboard on a table and said, “Go on, get the hell out of here, Major, but do not come back crying to us when your pain gets severe.”

“I have vodka for pain, doctor, so I will be fine, and what of my flying friend, Paley?  He too wishes to return to his unit.”

“Captain Paley is to be released back to flying tomorrow and as far as I am concerned, you can take his big mouth with you tonight when you leave.”

“Great and thank you, sir.”

“Just leave, Major, and let me get back to my work.” the doctor replied, picked up his clipboard and left the room.

Gathering what little he had, but making sure he had the quart of vodka, Rusak made his way to Paley's room.

Seeing the newly promoted Captain Paley sitting on the edge of his bed, Rusak said, “Captain, grab your belongings, we are leaving, and now! Both of our charts have been closed by Doctor Pajari and we are free to go, unless you want to stay here.”

“Hell no, I will go, but give me a few minutes to gather what little I have. Let us go back to my quarters and have a few drinks.”

“Sure, that sounds good to me.”

At 2200 hours, they were both in Paley's new quarters and drinking vodka. Paley, loud as usual, asked, “How does it feel to be a Major?”

“I am treated better, but I do not see another promotion in my future. I am too outspoken and I do not play officer politics at all.”

“Then I am screwed, because I do not know about the politics and have no urge to play the game. I just want to fly.”

Rusak laughed and then said, “You mean fly and steal.”

“I am guilty of trading, but I have never stolen anything.”

“What about the pallet of plywood that was being lifted into the air when a full Colonel caught you?”

“How was I to know someone owned the wood?  It was sitting out in the middle of nowhere and unguarded.” the pilot said with a straight face.

“From what I heard, it was inside the supply units fenced in area and you were helping yourself.”

“Major, I take care of my troops and I saw plywood sitting there that my people needed.  I do not take for personal gain, but to help my men and women. Our unit had wood on order for over nine months and when it came in, a Colonel decided he needed to fix his personal quarters up better. That was our wood I was taking.”

“Any legal action taken against you?”

Paley grinned and replied, “No and there will not be. Colonel Dubow told me he wiped my slate clean the day he pinned the rank of Captain on me. The Colonel, a man named Popoff, is dead now anyway and cannot press charges.”

“Keep your nose clean, fly like you should, and I see no reason you will not make Major.”

Glancing at his watch, Paley said, “I hate to break up the party, but I need to get some rest. I have to report to the unit in the morning and I am sure they will have some busy work for me to do.”

As the two shook hands, Rusak said, “Get some rest. I am still confined to my bed, so I can sleep in, but we both know that will not happen.” Breaking his grip with the newest officer in the unit, the Major made his way out the door, more than a little drunk. He heard Paley yell a late goodbye.

At ten minutes after 0200 hours, the world around Rusak and Paley turned bright, which awoke the Major, and then came the screams. Climbing from his bed, his vision messed up by the alcohol he'd had, he picked up the vodka bottle and took another big swig to kill his aches. Bottle still in hand, he made his way to his door and opened it.

A small stream of burning fuel ran by the wooden steps leading to his quarters and when he looked uphill, the whole area was in flames. A big siren mounted on a blazing telephone pole, was blaring an attack warning.
That loud sonofabitch is a bit late,
Rusak thought and he turned, tossed the bottle on his bunk and picked up his weapons. He'd just placed his helmet on, when a loud explosion sounded, followed by more screams.

Paley, who was only three buildings down, arrived and yelled, “What in the hell is going on?”

“The siren indicates we are under attack, but I see no one.”

“We need to move quickly away from this flowing fuel. It is only a matter of time before it reaches our quarters.”

Picking up the vodka and stuffing it inside his shirt, Rusak asked, “Any ideas where to go?”

“Angle off away from the flames and move up hill, maybe. Down this hill is where all the fuel will gather and a good number of aircraft are located there.”