The Fall of America: Enemy Within (Book 3) (6 page)

It was near daylight but a couple of hours of darkness remained, when John said, “Four hours of rest, then we'll move again until dark. Keep the noise down and no talking.  I want three claymore mines put out and that should be enough. We're off the beaten trail and I think we're as safe as it gets here.”

Moving to some large oaks, the members of the small group began looking for food in their backpacks and hoped to eat before falling asleep. John sat under a huge oak and opened a Russian ration. He pulled out crackers, beef stew and a can of meat spread. He opened the cans and fed the meat spread to Dolly, dipping crackers in the meat. She wasn't crazy about it, but ate anyway. She was as tired as he was and sleep weighed heavy on her mind. John ate the beef stew without much thought and was eating to live, not for enjoyment.

“Tom,” John said as he gathered his emptied meal and placed it in his backpack, “You guard an hour, then me, Esom, and last Margie. At the next break, I'll rotate so Sandra and Mollie will start first.”

Not a word was spoken as folks stretched out in the grasses and fell asleep.  Less than an hour later, the mosquitoes were so bad that John awoke cursing under this breath. Finally, pulling a rag from his backpack, he opened it and then placed it over his face.  A few minutes later he was back asleep.  The shift John pulled was rough, not because of a light rain that fell, but because he was still tired.  He remembered the days before the fall, how he'd sleep in late on Saturdays, and now there was no rest, unless a person was seriously injured. His mind jumped from thought to thought and he spent a lot of time thinking of foolishness. He passed his shift and then woke Esom.

He had no idea how long he'd been asleep when Esom touched his ankle and whispered, “Movement.”

John sat up and listened, knowing his mind was still heavily drugged by sleep.  He heard metal striking metal, then a command in Russian. The noise stopped and a different Russian voice replied.

The earlier rain had moved on, but thick clouds still blocked most of the moonlight; at times, it'd peek from a clear space between the overcast. There came a splash of moonlight and John quickly counted the Russians.
Ten, so it's a squad of men, but are they the point for a much larger group?
he thought as he slipped the safety on his weapon to off.  
I hope they move by us.

Suddenly, a Russian officer said something and the squad stopped.  Men were seen sniffing the air and John realized they might be smelling them, because all of them had to stink.  His last washing had been a month earlier.  

He picked up a clacker to a Claymore and waited, anxious and worried that a larger group may be behind this one.

Russian words were exchanged by the group and they seemed to be discussing something.  Finally, in a tone that sounded like an order, the group grew quiet, and three men moved toward the alert Americans.  The Russians held their guns at the ready, obviously aware someone was in the area, but unsure exactly where.

A claymore was pointed right at the Russian squad and John was waiting for the first man to get just a little closer. While he had absolutely no fear of killing these men, something in the back of his mind warned him other Russians were around.  
Other Russians around or not, when this sonofabitch gets three steps closer, I'll send him and most of his squad to hell,
he thought. He felt the small animal gnawing at his belly again and knew fear was starting to eat at him.
We'll deal with the others when we have to do the job.

M
aster Sergeant Rusak was pissed. The Americans had his men pinned down, with heavy machine-gun fire and rifle fire, and they were unable to move.  Senior Sergeant Turchin was down, a bullet to his shoulder and right arm. He'd taken a number of killed and wounded.

His radio man crawled to him, drawing fire from the Americans and handed him the handset as he said, “Helicopter pilot of a Black Shark.”

“Do you need some help, comrade?” the pilot asked.

“We are pinned down and need a few rockets placed north of our position, say a hundred meters.”

“What of the tanks?” the pilot asked.

“I do not trust them, but I am out of safe range for using them anyway.”

The pilot quickly read off some map coordinates and asked, “Is that your position?”

“Yes, but hurry. We have a number of dead and wounded and their fire is continuing to kill us.”

The firing from the American's suddenly stopped, as if turned off by the mighty hand of God.  

A wounded Russian near the point yelled, “They are pulling back, and fast too.”

Lieutenant Markov said, “They are smart, these Americans.”

“Helicopter is two kilometers out and starting their approach!” the radio man said.

“Tell him to hit 200 meters further from us, because the Americans are running.”

“He said he'll do that.”

“Everyone get down, now!” the lieutenant yelled.

The familiar “whop-whop” of the chopper blades were heard and when Rusak glanced at the aircraft, it seemed off course.  It suddenly dawned on him that the chopper was going to attack them and not the Americans.

“Give me headset and now!” the Master Sergeant yelled.

Just as he took the headset, he saw four puffs of smoke and knew rockets were heading for his position.  “Break, break, you are firing on Russian troops, break!” he yelled in the headset and then lowered his head, waiting for explosions.

The four explosions were so close together they almost sounded like one. Men and body parts were thrown high into the air and then fell to the swamp.  Screams were heard and one man walked back down the trail, his left arm off at the shoulder, and a trail of bright crimson marking his movements.

Picking up the headset, he spoke again, “I have an unknown number of dead and wounded.  Your intended target is approximately 400 yards north. I repeat, your intended target is approximately 400 yards north.” The radio man had his back to him as he spoke.

“I understand, 400 yard north of our last target.”

“Base, this is Badger, I have numerous casualties and dead at my current position, all due to friendly fire, do you copy?” As Rusak spoke he heard the chopper approaching again, but this time closer to their real target. Explosions and screams were heard, but they were American screams this time.

“Understand you have taken friendly fire and have dead and wounded. Can you continue your mission?”

“Unknown at this time. Let me get a count of dead and wounded.”

“We are sending four Ka-60 helicopters to assist.”

“I understand and we will be waiting. Out.”

“Corporal Elout, get me a count on our dead and wounded.”

“Yes, Master Sergeant.”

How in the hell did that dumb sonofabitch screw up and hit us,
he thought, and then asked the radio man, “Did you call in our position last night?”

Silence.

Reaching with his left hand, he rolled the soldier onto his back and saw a wide piece of metal stuck in the man's forehead. A puddle of blood was forming under his head.

“Damn, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant?”

“Do you know if our position was called in last night?”

“I had the radio man call in our position when we stopped last night for a break, but that was about 300 meters back. We finally stopped here to spend the night, why?”

“I do not think our radio man called our night position in and when the pilot read off the coordinates to me, well, they sounded correct.  As far as the two pilots knew, we were 300 meters further south. It was our mistake.”

“Discipline will be rough on the radio man. I want him arrested now and he can return by helicopter.”

Rusak gave a dry laugh and said, “Sir, he is dead, so we had best pray the commander does not come looking for a scapegoat, or we are both in trouble. It was, sir, both of our responsibilities to see it was done and we failed.”

Elout returned, his hands and clothing bloody, and said, “We have ten dead and fewer injured than I suspected, but fifteen out of a hundred. I have two men missing. From the fifteen injured only five will need medical care at a hospital. The other ten can still walk and fight.”

The smell of cordite filled the air, smoke was still rising from the impact points of the rockets, and the gators were chewing on bloody bodies in the water. The sweet coppery smell of blood was growing stronger.

The radio came alive with chatter, so Rusak raised the handset to his ear.  He listened and then replied, “We will be ready.”

“Helicopters?” Lieutenant Markov asked and the Master Sergeant nodded.

“Sergeant Bluska!” Rusak yelled.

“Yes?”

“Prepare our dead and wounded for removal. The helicopters will be here in about five minutes. Have Corporal Babin toss a smoke grenade when the helicopters arrive.”

“They will be ready to move, and Babin will wait for your order to toss the smoke.”

The radio came alive again and Rusak listened and then said, “The Colonel wants to speak with you, Lieutenant.” He handed the radio to the young officer, knowing a good ass chewing was about to be delivered.

“Yes, sir. No, sir. I can explain, sir.” the Lieutenant was heard to say. A minute later he handed the handset back to Rusak and said, “No charges will be filed this time, since I am just a stupid Lieutenant, but he warned me.”

“Pissed off, was he?”

“He threatened to either shoot me or send me to a gulag in Siberia if this ever happened again.”

“Listen well to the man, because he meant every word, sir.”

“Oh, I will never make this mistake again, never. Prepare the men to move after the Americans,  which we will do just as soon as the helicopters leave.”

The wounded and dead were soon gone and the group started down the narrow trail again. The point man was nervous, having already marked a number of booby-traps and mines. When they neared the spot where the rockets had struck, they only found two bodies.

Rusak counted over fifteen bloody spots in the grasses so he suspected at least that many were injured, but he knew from experience, it was likely many more.  

He reported his finding to the Lieutenant and watched as the man called the base. “This is Badger, and we have seventeen confirmed dead Americans. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The young Lieutenant handed the handset to the new radio man.

It was then a loud explosion filled the air and those not knocked down by the blast fell seeking cover. Men immediately began to scream and yell.

Elout ran to the bunch and looking over his shoulder said, “A grenade was left under a body that was face down. When a man rolled the body over to see the dead man's face, the grenade went off.”

Master Sergeant Rusak counted five men bleeding hard and two stunned. Hearing a noise in the water near him, he glanced to see gators fighting over the remains of another man.
Damn me, one grenade took out eight men,
he thought and shook his head.

“Three of the five will not make it, massive injuries. The remaining two will lose their arms.  Hell, one already has, it is just hanging on by some thin flesh.” the Medic reported.

The Lieutenant was already on the radio explaining what had happened.  He shook his head and argued for a moment and then said, “Yes, sir.” He tossed the handset back to the radio man.

“The base wants us to continue moving, and due to a weather front moving in, our wounded will not be picked up until in the morning, weather permitting. We are in for some rough rains.”

Private Elout gazed into the eyes of the Master Sergeant, saw the older man nod, and fully understood what had to be done. He pulled his syringes and prepared morphine for the three most seriously injured. He doubled the morphine doses, so the men would not die in pain, and said a silent prayer as he killed each man.

“Th. . . the three most seriously wounded just died, Lieutenant.”

“Leave the bodies. According to Base, they'll send out a graves and registration team in the morning, after the weather breaks.” Lieutenant Markov said as he pulled a map from his pocket.

“That will be a waste of time, sir.”

“What is that Master Sergeant?” the young officer looked up from the map he had in the hands.

“The bodies will be gone within ten minutes of us leaving, or did you forget about the alligators, sir?  Once we leave, we can forget about burying these men.”

“They are dead anyway, so it matters little.” the Lieutenant replied, and then went back to studying his map.

It matters a hell of a lot to their families,
Rusak thought, but kept his mouth shut. As the senior enlisted man, it was his job to help see that orders were carried out smoothly and the enlisted men were cared for, as well as keeping the Commander aware of any problems with the men. He always performed his tasks well, but it was times like this that pissed him off.  

“What of the wounded that cannot walk?” Elout asked.

“Rig some stretchers using shirts and bring them with us.” Rusak said and then glanced overhead, out of habit, to check the weather. He saw dark, almost black, clouds turning into each other.  
Rain will visit us shortly,
he thought.  

Once the stretchers were complete, Rusak stood and said, “We will all take a turn carrying stretchers, so I don't want to hear any bitching about the job. Senior Sergeant Turchin, get your point man to moving and let us move men. We have a date with some Yankees in a bit.”

Four hours later, the rains came.  At first they were gentle and soft, but minutes later, just as the point man stepped from the swamp, the winds picked up and thumbnail size hail began to fall.

“Get the men into the trees and do it now!” Markov yelled to be heard.

Men were heard cursing as they broke and ran for the relative safety the trees offered. Shelter halves came out of packs and men quickly tried to get a shelter up. Master Sergeant Rusak didn't even bother, because with the wind gusting to 70 KPH, it was a wasted effort.  He sat in the mud, leaned against a large Pine, and closed his eyes. His helmet would keep him from being knocked senseless and his pack went on his lap to protect his balls. Other than that, he'd wait the storm out.