The Fall of America: Winter Ops Read Free Page A

“Saddle up and let's move.  Arwood, you drop from point for a while and let Kerr take it for the rest of the day.”
    “I'll be up front, so hold all my calls.” Kerr said, grinned, and then moved forward.
    Kerr was a tall black man from Jackson, Mississippi, about six feet and six inches; I have no idea what he did before the fall and have never asked him. He's usually a quiet man, causes no trouble, and all our talk has been about how he lost his parents after the pharmacies closed.  Seems they were unable to get their medication and eventually died, like so many others, of complications.  I feel, each time I speak with him, a deep anger and I think it's related to the death of his parents. If so, he was a loving and caring son, which was rare in the days prior to the fall. Nonetheless, he's a damned good point man, alert, quiet, and with good eyes.  More than once he's saved our collective asses by pointing out trip wires made of thin, almost invisible, monofilament fishing line. He had the eyes we needed.
    An hour later, just as we were crossing a large field I'd not wanted to cross, but we needed to cover some distance, I heard the high pitch scream of a jet fighter.
    “Down, and don't move!”  Sandra yelled as we all went to ground.
    I heard what sounded like the worlds largest zipper being yanked down and then the area right in front of me erupted into a ten foot high wall of dirt, rocks, and debris as a Gatling gun tore the place to hell and back.  I watched the bird pull up and then circle to come back around for another pass.  
    I called out, “Stay still, because he'll not know, even if he sees us, if he killed us or not.  If you pray, now would be a good time to ask the Lord to be merciful.”
    The jet did not line up for an attack, but flew down low, less than 300 feet, straight and level.  When near us, he banked slightly to view us and then pulled his nose up and began a step climb into the dark clouds.  In a matter of minutes he was out of sight and no doubt would call his home base and give some exaggerated number of partisans killed.
    “Is everyone okay?” I asked as I stood and knocked the sleet from my pants.
    “Walsh took a glancing blow from a rock and is bleeding, but he's okay. I'll bandage him up and he'll be good to go in a couple of minutes.”  Sandra replied.
    At that point, Kerr returned at a run and said, “Russians coming in, they're hot on my ass.  Y'all move back to the trees and I'll place a mine.  Move, I mean they're really close to me.”
    “Everyone to the trees and now !”  I said and took off at a hard run.
    A couple of minutes later, as we entered the trees, I said, “Spread out and watch Kerr.  Cover his ass in the event the Russians see him.”
    I watched the far treeline for the enemy, but saw nothing.  Then I saw Kerr stand in the tall grasses and run hard for our trees.  It was then I spotted the first Russian step from the woods.  The aircraft that attacked us must have radioed a squad on the ground to check our area out and get a good body count, because that's what I would have done.  
    Kerr entered the trees without a shot from the other side and I suspect they didn't see him.  Our man was almost to the trees before the first Russian was seen, their point man.  A few minutes later, a larger group of Russians walked from the woods, following.  I quickly estimated their size at a squad, almost the same as my force.  
    They were good, I noticed, as they spread out wide to cross the field.
    “Hold your fire,” I whispered and heard my order passes around to the others.
    The main group continued on Kerr's tracks and at a little less than the half way point, there came a loud explosion, screams, and then yelling in Russian. I saw where there were five men earlier, smoke and bodies littered the ground. One man, I suspected he was the medic, ran for the downed men and when he neared, I heard a toe-popper go off and watched as he fell screaming.