until we reach safety.”
Standing, the Lieutenant said, “I understand; I am just hurting and tired. My mind is not working well.”
Pulling his first aid kit open, the Senior Sergeant handed the officer a small white pill, placing it in the man's hand.
“Take the painkiller, so you can continue to move.”
Lieutenant Smirnov pulled his canteen, placed the pill in his mouth and washed it down with a swig of tepid water. He screwed the top back on the container and said, “Let us move now.”
In the darkness the officer tripped often, until Morozov realized he was moving too quickly for the man, so he slowed his rate down. Deep inside, the Senior Sergeant was afraid, because he'd seen what partisans did to captured Russians, and it filled him with apprehension.
All went well, until half way through the night, and the Sergeant smelled smoke. Moving forward carefully Morozov hoped to see the fire before he saw a guard. It was directly up wind and strong, which mean the men with the fire were to their west, or left side. The Senior Sergeant would move forward about ten feet, stop, listen and smell, only so far he'd seen nothing.
The Lieutenant said, “I —”
The Senior Sergeant slapped him hard and then whispered, “Damn, Lieutenant, keep your voice down, sir. Do you not smell the smoke? It is probably partisans and we do not need for them to catch us.”
“I was not thinking.” the Lieutenant whispered back.
“Sorry I hit you, but you endangered our lives. Now, we are going to slowly move forward and hopefully not see anyone.”
“Okay, I will keep quiet.”
You had better stay quiet or I will stick a knife in you. You, the big officer, will not get me killed. Morozov thought and then slowly moved forward.
Suddenly, on his left he spotted a light and guessed it was a couple hundred feet from the trail. There is always a chance they have mined the trail to give them advance warning, he thought, and then moved toward the trees to his right, hoping to circle the trail for about a hundred meters. His heart was pounding in his chest as he moved and hoped the Lieutenant wouldn't draw attention by falling or talking. He slipped the safety off his Bison as he moved.
Twenty minutes later, he was back on the trail and moving toward the Russian camp. The Lieutenant had remained quiet and other than having to hold onto the belt to lead the injured man, it was hard to believe the officer was injured. While still snowing lightly, the moon was out and it looked as if the bad weather would soon be gone. The moonlight made for faster travel, but the Sergeant knew it would allow his enemies to spot him faster too.
Near dawn, he stepped around a curve in the trail and came face-to-face with a partisan point man. The confrontation surprised both men and as the American brought his gun up, the Senior Sergeant fired from the hip. The slugs of his sub-machine gun stitched the man up the left side, barely grazing him, until a bullet struck his left shoulder. The round exited the man's back, blowing
bone, blood, and gore out behind him. The partisan fell unmoving, but Morozov knew he had seconds to escape. Either the wounded American would fire or his comrades would come to investigate the shooting.
Jerking the belt he said, “You must run now, Lieutenant, or we both will die.”
When the Senior Sergeant cut to the left and started running, he felt no resistance on the belt. Looking back the officer was keeping up, which was good, because Morozov would leave him in a second. Bullets knocked down leaves and small twigs as they moved, but the NCO knew hitting a running man in the woods was hard to do for most soldiers. It was then he felt a blow to his right leg and he fell, taking the officer down with him. Once he glanced down, he knew they were in trouble, because the round had struck bone; the front of his kneecap was missing.
“Sir, I cannot walk.”
“I will carry
Standing, the Lieutenant said, “I understand; I am just hurting and tired. My mind is not working well.”
Pulling his first aid kit open, the Senior Sergeant handed the officer a small white pill, placing it in the man's hand.
“Take the painkiller, so you can continue to move.”
Lieutenant Smirnov pulled his canteen, placed the pill in his mouth and washed it down with a swig of tepid water. He screwed the top back on the container and said, “Let us move now.”
In the darkness the officer tripped often, until Morozov realized he was moving too quickly for the man, so he slowed his rate down. Deep inside, the Senior Sergeant was afraid, because he'd seen what partisans did to captured Russians, and it filled him with apprehension.
All went well, until half way through the night, and the Sergeant smelled smoke. Moving forward carefully Morozov hoped to see the fire before he saw a guard. It was directly up wind and strong, which mean the men with the fire were to their west, or left side. The Senior Sergeant would move forward about ten feet, stop, listen and smell, only so far he'd seen nothing.
The Lieutenant said, “I —”
The Senior Sergeant slapped him hard and then whispered, “Damn, Lieutenant, keep your voice down, sir. Do you not smell the smoke? It is probably partisans and we do not need for them to catch us.”
“I was not thinking.” the Lieutenant whispered back.
“Sorry I hit you, but you endangered our lives. Now, we are going to slowly move forward and hopefully not see anyone.”
“Okay, I will keep quiet.”
You had better stay quiet or I will stick a knife in you. You, the big officer, will not get me killed. Morozov thought and then slowly moved forward.
Suddenly, on his left he spotted a light and guessed it was a couple hundred feet from the trail. There is always a chance they have mined the trail to give them advance warning, he thought, and then moved toward the trees to his right, hoping to circle the trail for about a hundred meters. His heart was pounding in his chest as he moved and hoped the Lieutenant wouldn't draw attention by falling or talking. He slipped the safety off his Bison as he moved.
Twenty minutes later, he was back on the trail and moving toward the Russian camp. The Lieutenant had remained quiet and other than having to hold onto the belt to lead the injured man, it was hard to believe the officer was injured. While still snowing lightly, the moon was out and it looked as if the bad weather would soon be gone. The moonlight made for faster travel, but the Sergeant knew it would allow his enemies to spot him faster too.
Near dawn, he stepped around a curve in the trail and came face-to-face with a partisan point man. The confrontation surprised both men and as the American brought his gun up, the Senior Sergeant fired from the hip. The slugs of his sub-machine gun stitched the man up the left side, barely grazing him, until a bullet struck his left shoulder. The round exited the man's back, blowing
bone, blood, and gore out behind him. The partisan fell unmoving, but Morozov knew he had seconds to escape. Either the wounded American would fire or his comrades would come to investigate the shooting.
Jerking the belt he said, “You must run now, Lieutenant, or we both will die.”
When the Senior Sergeant cut to the left and started running, he felt no resistance on the belt. Looking back the officer was keeping up, which was good, because Morozov would leave him in a second. Bullets knocked down leaves and small twigs as they moved, but the NCO knew hitting a running man in the woods was hard to do for most soldiers. It was then he felt a blow to his right leg and he fell, taking the officer down with him. Once he glanced down, he knew they were in trouble, because the round had struck bone; the front of his kneecap was missing.
“Sir, I cannot walk.”
“I will carry
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