The Fall of America: Enemy Within (Book 3) (16 page)

Exactly one minute passed and then John said, “Margie, push her from the cab, but watch the rims or they'll knock your ass off as well.”

“No!  You can't do this to me, no!  Please, please, I —”

Margie was smiling an evil smile as she pushed Mollie from the cab and then moved to the side as the three rims followed the doomed woman.

Mollie fell with a scream, reached the end of the rope, the noose tightened, the extra weight pulled on the body, and her head separated from her torso. The head, eyes blinking, fell to land near Tom, who took a step back. The body fell to the ground and began to quiver and jerk violently. Blood spurted high into the air from her severed neck and her hands were opening and closing into fists. Finally, the fingers stopped moving, except for a thumb that quivered.

“Sonofabitch,” Tom said, “too much weight.”

Margie was still on the cab, giggling at the horrific scene.

John turned his back to Mollie and said, “Once she's bled out, well hang her by her feet and place the sign on her chest. She was sentenced to hang and by God, we saw the job done.”

Margie said, “Did you see that bitches head fly off? I loved it!  She got
exactly
what she deserved!”

John's eyes narrowed and his voice was firm as he said, “That's enough of that bullshit. We just hanged one of our own and I don't care much for the job.  If you think it was cute or fun, that's fine, but by God, keep your mouth shut!”

Margie started to speak, but must have thought otherwise, because she closed her mouth. She then nodded and climbed from the cab. John moved to the head and placed the ace of spades card in her bloody mouth.

“Once back at the garage, Margie relieve Sandra as the guard.”

 Margie moved to the guard position and Sandra soon joined the others inside the garage. She could tell by John's face that something bad had happened.

“How'd it go?” Sandra asked.

“We added too much weight to her body and it pulled her head off.”

“My God, John, you didn't?”

“Yep,” Tom said and then added, “and I'm sorry to say the weight idea was all mine.”

“Look, she's dead and she died quickly. Our mission is complete, so let it go.” the Colonel said. He then pulled an old wooden chair from the wall and took it to the table. Sitting he continued, “We did the best we could, but I've never hanged anyone before. I've seen a few shot, so this was a first for all of us. The next time we catch a spy or traitor, and there
will
be a next time, we know how to do the job right.”

“The next time.” John said in a voice just above a whisper.

T
he Russian medivac helicopters made a straight in approach to the air base and landed beside the base hospital, where Master Sergeant Rusak and his men were attempting to recover from their injuries.  Medics were working hard to save the one badly burned Private that had lived long enough to be airlifted out, but the other had burned to death with a flaming helicopter on his back. Then, in another unit, a Corporal had stepped on a mine, which exploded a large container filled with oil and gasoline, and the explosion killed five and injured seven men.  As far as the medics on the choppers were concerned, it was just another day in America.

Master Sergeant Rusak was in a private room, by order of Colonel Dubow and his medical attention was superior. Thanks to the Sergeant, the Colonel had reported the largest number of Americans killed so far in the conflict. He'd been immediately added to the promotion list for General, Rusak was now a Major, and Bluska a Master Sergeant. The Private was a Senior Sergeant, but it was unlikely he'd live long enough to enjoy the pay. Rarely, if ever, did a man survive being burned as badly as he was, so it didn't look good.  All five would be awarded some medal or the other, only none of them cared and two were dead.  The cost was easily justified in Rusak's mind; two or three men for over two hundred Americans.

“I see you are awake, Major.” a doctor said as he entered, clipboard in hand.

“Major?” Rusak asked, unaware of his promotion into the officers ranks.

“Uh, yes sir, that is what your chart reads.”

“My name is Rusak, Captain, and I am a Master Sergeant.”

“Not any longer.” Colonel Dubow said and entered the room, “You have been promoted, as all of you have been. Our number of kills is a new record and all of Russia is talking about our unit, but since your mission was classified, all they know is we killed over two hundred Americans.”

“Sir, I cannot be an officer, I lack the education.”

“Seems Russia does not require an education in your case, Rusak. Once returned to Russia, you will be sent to a school where experts teach men to become officers. Our country needs men like you, and we have been assured you will graduate. You will learn language, protocol, customs, dining, and writing. I am sure you will do just fine.”

“I . . . I am not sure what to say.”

“Then be a good officer, and say nothing, Major. Now, once you are up and moving, you will take command of the infantry unit Lieutenant Markov is currently commanding. We were short of good officers, but your promotion will fix our shortage, in one unit anyway. We have line units being commanded by Lieutenants and Captains, when we should have Majors and Captains.”

Rusak was feeling sleepy and had no idea he'd been in the hospital for almost a week. He'd lost one toe, had a mangled foot, and his burns, while painful, were not life-threatening. He gazed into the Colonel's eyes and said, “Yes, sir.”

Dubow tossed a quart of vodka to the new Major and said, “Celebrate in moderation, since you are on medication.”

“Sir, what of my men?”

“So, you are thinking of your men already? See, you will make a fine officer. Of the three of you, you are the least injured. Bluska has some serious burns to his face and left side, which means he will be returning home for more advanced medical care. The burned Private is hanging to life by a thread, and the doctors tell me it is only a matter of time before he dies. He experienced over eighty percent of his body burned and has developed pneumonia, so forget about him.”

I cannot forget about him, he is one of my men.  I am not sure I can be an officer, if they write men off and forget about them so easily,
the new Major thought.

“Are you okay, Major, you look as if your mind is wandering?” Colonel Dubow asked.

“It is the drugs, sir.  The medication makes it hard for me to concentrate or keep my thoughts lined up properly. I apologize for my lack of attentiveness, Colonel.”

Patting Rusak's shoulder, Dubow said, “After your combat injury, I have no problem understanding how the drugs can affect you. You are on painkillers, medicines to make you relax, and medication to help you sleep. I want you to rest until the doctors say you are fit for release, and worry about nothing. Once you are released, you will need to move to our officers quarters and start eating at the officers mess. Your promotion was a big one, Rusak, and now your thinking will have to change.  You need to consider the big picture of combat and not just the small window you were looking out in the past. Men will die, but it is your job to make sure we kill more of them than they do of us. Attrition will end this war, as it has all wars in the past. Mother Russia will be victorious in the end, as we always have been.”

What of Afghanistan and our mess there, Colonel? We damned sure did not win there,
 Rusak thought as he opened the vodka and took a short snort.

Over the next month, few Americans were killed, but mines, booby-traps and ambushes racked up the number of Russian maimed and dead to the point Moscow was wanting answers. Colonel Sokol was under a great deal of pressure and was drinking far more than usual. More than one staff meeting was canceled because the man was unable to function due to strong drink. He was terrified of failure and knew anything other than complete success would be frowned upon. He walked around his office now, hair uncombed, breath reeking of alcohol, and his nerves shot. He needed a shave desperately, except his hands were shaking so badly it wouldn't happen today.

“Falin, I want you to select fifty prisoners and take them into Edwards and hang them.”

“Oh, and why fifty, sir?” the Major asked, knowing full well the Colonel's mind was not working as it should.

Suddenly grinning, Sokol said, “Because I just ordered it done. I may be drinking a bit more than usual, Major, but I am still the boss here and what I order, you will do.”

“Yes, sir. I will see them killed within the hour.” Major Falin replied, suspecting he would do like the last time and simply forget the order. Sokol no longer followed up on his orders and usually forgot them anyway. The constant consumption of alcohol had deadened his mind to the point that other officers joked about him now. He no longer attended interrogations or watched executions as he once did.  All he did these days was stay in his quarters and drink.

“I cannot figure out,” Sokol took a long swig of vodka and then continued, “why the Americans are so damned, uh, —”

“Determined to beat us?” Falin asked. It was typical of Sokol to forget words these days and others often finished his sentences for him.

“Exactly.”

“Sir, these people have a history of being determined. I would like to remind you that these are the same people who carved a once great nation out of woods and wilderness. There is very little quit in Americans over all, especially when it comes to fighting for their country. My guess is we are no closer to conquering this country today than we were when we first arrived.”

“They must have a weakness we can use to bring them under our control.”

“Death usually works, but not always. The last bunch we hanged were still praying for their country when the truck they were standing on drove out from under them. Colonel, they died praying for America and not themselves.”

“I believe in no God!” Sokol screamed and then guzzled more vodka.

“What you and I believe is not important. It is something most Americans believe and that is what we are battling.”

“You stand there and expect me to believe the Americans are all Christians and we are fighting a holy war of some sort? Bullshit.”

“No, sir, this is not about religion, as you know.  Americans are complex people, sir, and while they might come to blows over politics with each other, they will not tolerate being invaded by anyone.  They see America as blessed by God and a special country. Most are willing to die to regain their country and that spirit is the very essence of what we are fighting.”

Cocking his head to one side and glaring at Falin, Sokol said, “With their country torn to hell and back, do you mean patriotism is the reason for their fighting us?  Hell, they have no country!”

Knowing arguing with a drunk was a waste of time, Falin said, “I must leave, sir, and see to the executions you ordered.”

“Executions? Who is to be killed now, Falin?”

“You requested fifty American's be hanged, sir.”

“Yes, yes, I guess I did at that. Major, if you had my job, what would you do to bring the partisans under control?”

“So, do you want my honest opinion, sir?”

“Yes, uh, please.” Sokol moved to his bed, sat on a corner and met the Major's eyes.

“I would break our troops down to squad size groups, train them better on mines and booby-traps, and then send them out. I would keep them out a month at a time, resupplying them with helicopters, and evacuating their dead and wounded. I would fly in replacements for those killed and hospitalized and keep them in the field.”

“Surely there must be more to your plan.” The Colonel took a long swig of his drink and then pushed the cork deep into the neck of the bottle.

“I would have everything that flies working with the troops on the ground. They would allow the men to stay out in the field a long time, provide assistance in fights, feed the troops and keep them supplied. The infrared aircraft I would have out every night the weather would allow. The key, or so I see it, is to work smarter with what we have, sir.”

“What else, Major?”

“Sir, this is none of my business, but I have heard rumor that Colonel Dubow is considering relieving you of duty if your drinking does not slow down or stop. I cannot validate the information and am only telling you what I have heard.”

“You are right, Major, it is none of your damned business. Now, I want what you suggested implemented immediately and want you to present our new tactics at the staff meeting this week.”

“Sir, the staff meeting was yesterday and you missed it. I covered it for you. I am sure you were so busy it had slipped your mind.”

“Well, by God, prepare another meeting, and I want you to explain what you just told me to everyone. I want all forces to work closely together and help end this damned war, understood?”

“Yes, sir, I will call for a meeting later this afternoon.”

“Good, good, and let me know how it goes.” Sokol stood, with the bottle in his hand and raised it to his lips. Instead of taking a drink, he tossed the half empty bottle to his bed.

The Major saluted, turned and left the Colonel's quarters.