The Fall of America: Fatal Encounters (Book 2) (28 page)

Joshua fired one 40 mm round and the machine-gun grew quiet.  

“Sixth car seems to be fuel, take it out!” John yelled.

Bloop
, went the PG-6 and a gigantic fireball rolled to the sky.  Burning fuel began to move into the other cars, forcing soldiers out into the open.  Taking his time, John killed as many as he could.  It was then he heard a jet fly over.

“Break contact and haul ass to the south and do it now!”  John screamed.

“What about Sally?”

“She's dead; move!”  John glanced at the brain of the woman and knew she was gone.

Joshua took two steps when something slammed into his back and fell to the ground.  John, stopped, looked back, but heard his friend yell, “Move, don't worry about me!  Go!”

John suddenly had a change of plans and moved west, toward Edwards.  He had just cleared a fence when he saw the jet diving to where he'd been a few minutes ago and something fell from both wings.  A few seconds later, the area straight south of the tracks was engulfed in flames.

“Napalm,” John said aloud and then thought,
damn me.  It's a good thing I wasn't still moving in that direction.  I don't like leaving Joshua like this.  If he's captured, he'll tell them where we're at.  Move, we'll have to relocate again.

The jet made another pass, guns firing and bullets zinging in all directions.  John kept running, until he'd covered about two miles and then turned south.  Part of him wanted Joshua to survive and yet  he really hoped the man had been killed.  He knew the Russians would be hard on any prisoner they took involved with the resistance.  It was more likely a slow death awaited him.

The highway was bare, not a thing seen, and John was wearing NVG's, so there could be no surprises.  The deaths or loss of both his friends ate at him hard, but he ignored his emotions and kept moving.  He crossed the road as quickly as he could, jumping at the last second to cover where he entered the woods.  He then scattered a few leaves around where he'd landed.  Slowly he moved toward the cabin.

Once at the cabin, he knocked once, then three times before he entered.  Tom was guarding in the trees and seeing John return, he entered the structure.

“Margie, go pull guard.  I have to talk with John about the mission.”  Tom said as he touched her left foot.

She yawned, sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes.  Five minutes later, she was gone.

“Where are the rest?”  Tom asked.

“Dead if they're lucky, captured if they're not.”  

“Tell me what happened.”

John told his story and left nothing out.  He paused at the end and said, “I don't know how badly Joshua was hit.  He yelled for me to run, so I did.  I suspected, obviously he did too, that the plane was going to drop napalm or use rockets.  The only reason I'm still alive is I ran west instead of south and it took the pilot a bit to determine where we were.  The whole south side of the tracks was in flames when I looked the last time.  I know Sally was dead, because chunks of her skull and brain were missing.”

“What now?”

“We move and we do the job within an hour.  If Joshua talks, this place will be swarming with Russians, and we don't want to be here.  He'll talk, so the only question is, when?  We're making one trip out of here, so what we can't pack, we leave.  Once everyone is out of the cabin, you and I will make some booby-traps.”

In a loud voice, Tom said, “Everyone up and get ready to leave!  We've got to move now.”

“Leave?”  Sandra asked.

“The Russians may be here soon.”  John replied.

All were soon putting on their boots, grabbing gear and ammunition.  John said, “Don't overload yourselves, because we have to move fast.  Load up on food, ammunition and medical supplies.  Take your chemical biological suits, masks and filters.  The rest we leave.”

Mollie asked, “Can we go with ya?”

“Uh-huh, as long as you can keep up with us.  Do you think you can carry Ruben five to ten miles?”

“Tom, I ain't got any idea, but we'll damned sure see, now won't we?”

John said, “Tom, go relieve Margie and have her gather up the gear she needs.  I want to be gone within twenty minutes.”

Placing a hand grenade with the pin pulled, John wedged it between two boxes of ammunition, tied some two pound fishing line they used for trip mines to a shotgun with a broken stock and ran the line to another grenade.  He pulled the pin and slid the grenade inside an empty bean can he'd found.  The can was taped to a support leg on the bed. The idea behind the trap was, someone would pick the shotgun up, the line would pull the grenade from the can, and it would explode.

Then going outside, he planted a few anti-personnel contact mines on the trail leading to the door, and finally walked about fifty feet down the trail and placed a Claymore with a trip wire, and inserted anti-personnel mine on the other side, just like he did in the swamp.  Then, moving down the trail another fifty feet, he lined the side of the trail with three contact mines, hoping when the claymore or one of the other mines exploded, the Russians would jump to the sides of the trail for safety.

Finishing, John called out, “Let's move, people, and head south.  I want Margie on point and Tom on drag.  Come, Dolly.”  Packs were quickly donned and the group began to move south in the darkness.

Over the course of the night and morning, they took turns packing little Ruben, since Mollie was packing her fair share of the supplies as well.  John was beginning to respect her, because she wasn't a complainer and he'd never liked a whiner.

Near noon they stopped for a quick bite to eat and were deep in the woods, but a small clearing was near.  The clearing was maybe a hundred feet long and half that in width.  After everyone had eaten, Ruben was walking around throwing rocks.

Suddenly, Dolly gave a low warning growl.  John looked around, but saw nothing out of place.  He scratched her ears, but she stood, watching the child.

Ruben moved to the clearing and bent over, picked up a small stone, and tossed it about six feet.  He was moving forward, as Tom watched, when suddenly there was a detonation, a scream, and Ruben was thrown to his back.  Dust filled the air around him and his loud shrieks were heard.

Mollie stood and screamed, “Ruben!” She started toward her son, but Tom grabbed her.

John yelled, “Stop!  He's in some kind of minefield or something.  Let me check it out.”  Then, turning to his dog, he said, “Stay.”

John moved toward the clearing and off to the left he saw a green PFM-1 Butterfly mine.  Glancing around he saw many of the mines scattered over the field, so they were likely dropped by a chopper as it flew over.  Using caution he made his way to boy, who'd stopped crying and was either unconscious or dead.  Looking closer, he determined the youngster was still breathing.  Ruben's right leg was missing from the knee down and he was bleeding heavily.  Pulling a cotton cord from his shirt pocket, John placed the line around the boys leg, just above his knee to slow bleeding.  He tightened the cord with an unopened pocketknife, by placing it under the line and then twisting it, finally tucking the loose end of the knife under the tourniquet.  He picked the boy up and stepping carefully, made his way back to the others.

“It was a PFM-1 Russian butterfly mine, and the field is full of them.”

“Oh, my baby!  Is he dead?  Is my baby dead?”  Mollie asked as she moved toward the child as John handed him to Sandra.

“Keep her ass away long enough for me to see what we have on our hands here.  I can't work if she's going to be in my face.”  Sandra said as she pulled her medical bag to her side.  

Margie placed a blanket on the ground beside Sandra and said, “Put him here, John.”

As Mollie neared, John said, “Come sit with me, because the boy will be fine.  He's lost a leg, but give Sandra some room to work on him.  I don't think he's in any serious danger of dying, because those mines are designed to maim and not kill.”

Mollie's eyes were darting all around as she attempted to see the extent of her son's injuries, but finally, after a few seconds, she did follow John and sat on a stump.  She placed her head in her hands and began to cry softly.

Sandra glanced at John and slowly shook her head.  Her hands were covered in blood and a spurting artery had sent a long line of blood from her hairline, across her cheeks and nose, to her chin.  She bent back over the boy and started working on his mangled leg.  A few minutes later, she stood and said, “He's gone, Mollie, I couldn't stop the bleeding.  I'm so sorry.”

A loud animal-like wail came from Mollie and she moved to her son.  She raised the little boy's head, smoothed his hair, and said, “Come back, Reuben, momma needs ya with me.  Do ya hear me, son?”

Tom looked at John and said, “Come with me, we have a shallow grave to dig.”

T
he Russians doctored Joshua to stop the bleeding and then threw him in the back of a large truck.  His feet and hands were tied, but he was unconscious and unaware he'd been captured.  Sally's body was thrown in the same truck with Joshua, but most of her brain had fallen out as the troops dragged her body to the vehicles.

The commander of the small relief force, Major Gagarin said, “Keep checking, because the pilot claimed he saw many American's burning in the napalm.”

“If so, the bodies may not exist now, sir.  What was the count he gave to the base?” Senior Sergeant Delov asked.

“Over fifty.”

“I would never call an officer in the Air Force a liar, sir, but I have been here since we first arrived and never encountered over ten Americans in any attacking partisan group.  Perhaps he is mistaken with his estimate.”

“It matters little, because I will report fifty dead, we have one for proof and one captured.”  Gagarin replied, knowing he'd reap the benefits of his report.  “How many dead and injured do we have?  Additionally, determine how much we lost in supplies, gear, and material.”

“The petrol tank is completely gone,  we have thirty-five dead and forty wounded.  Most of the wounded are suffering from burns that came from the exploding fuel car.  Of the contents of the cars, I would estimate we've lost forty to forty-five percent, mostly due to fire.  However, we recovered an RG-6 and an old AK-47 from the two we have in custody.”

“Good work, Delov, and when we return come by my quarters, it seems I have a bottle of vodka I no longer want.”

“I will be there for sure, sir.  We should be done searching within thirty minutes or so.”

Two hours later, Joshua awoke startled and then realized his hands and feet were secured to something.  His chest hurt and he was sitting in a large metal chair, with a single bulb burning overhead.  Glancing around the dimly lighted room, he saw an IV bag and the line ran into his arm, and little else, except a wooden box near the door.  He was completely naked, chilled, and saw a bloodstained bandage on his chest.  The bullet had struck him about an inch below his collarbone, so he knew his injury wasn't fatal.

Two Russians entered and in perfect English the smallest man said, “I am Lieutenant Dyomin, your interrogator.  This big monster beside me is Private Vasnev, and he is the muscle behind our little talks.  Let us begin by you telling me your name, shall we?”

Joshua looked at the big man and quivered because he was closer to seven feet than six, and he must have weighed three hundred pounds, all of it muscle.  The big private was wearing a dull smile, like someone who has, at best, borderline functioning.  
Lawdy, I hate to piss this big bastard off, but here goes
, he thought and then replied, “I'm not telling you shit, asshole.”

The lieutenant said, “Now, think about what I have asked, which is not much.  I only want your name.  If you refuse me once more, the private will eventually convince you to answer.  Why not avoid unnecessary pain?”

Joshua spat a glob of bloody mucus toward the Russian, but missed.  The Private raised his huge fist and didn't miss as he struck Joshua hard on his injury.

Screaming and hoping he'd pass out, he saw the world turn gray and then black.

How long he was out, he had no idea, but when he open his eyes, Dyomin asked, “Your name, please.”

“Bubba, Bubba Lee Claremore.”  He manage to get out.  He then glanced down and his injury was bleeding again.  
These jokers will kill me anyway, so I'll lie to them
, he thought.

“Why are you, a black man, fighting for white men?  Do you not see they are using you so they can return you to bondage?”

“You're wrong, peckerwood,” he replied, “because the only white men that are my enemies speak Russian.  May God bless the United States.”

Vasnev moved to the wooden box and removed a steel pipe.  He slapped his hand a few times with it, testing his grip.  He moved to Joshua's side and waited.

“Now, Bubba, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, and it does not matter much to me how we do it, because you will talk when I'm done with you.” Dyomin said with a false grin.

“Go to hell, you vodka slurping piece of—”

Dyomin nodded and the Private struck Joshua hard on the left leg and the bone snapped.  With his fists clinched tightly, Joshua screamed and twisted in the chair.  Reaching down, Vasnev began to slowly rotate the foot, which brought excruciating pain.  Screaming louder, as tears formed in his eyes, he wasn't sure he could take much more.  Then he began to pray aloud.  First, he prayed for God to save him and then he prayed for Him to end his life.  Once again, he blacked out.

When he next awoke he was wet and looking down he saw wires leading to his balls.  He met Dyomin's eyes and asked, “W . . . what are the wires?”

“Well, my friend, the wires are connected to a hand cranked generator and while the pain, from what I understand, can be severe, it will not kill you.  Shall we start this conversation once more?”

“Y . . . yes.”  Joshua saw the wires were connected to a box with a rotating handle, so he knew Private Bad-ass would love to turn the crank.

“Who is your leader?”

“Willy is the name we know him by and nothing else.  I was told in case we got captured we couldn't tell what we didn't know.”