Deadfall by L. Douglas Hogan

Author:L. Douglas Hogan [Hogan, L. Douglas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781099611384
Published: 2019-06-15T22:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

OPPORTUNITY & INTEL

Russian Garrison

East of Pontybridge

South Carolina

Sergeant Tolstobrov Pavlovich was sitting at a desk in the office space of what used to be a manufacturing warehouse. The walls were bare and the whole place looked as if it had been shut down before it was ever used. Several maps were spread out over the length of his desk. They outlined the locations of every FEMA camp on the east coast. He was studying them diligently and outlining routes from location to location. Just outside his office, several rooms were filled with food, water, blankets, and other necessities, each stamped Property of Federal Emergency Management Agency.

“Sergeant,” Todorov interrupted, cracking the door and sticking his head into his sergeant’s office.

“Come in, comrade,” Pavlovich replied. “Tell me, have you secured our latest acquisitions?”

“Yes, Sergeant, but I come with more urgent news.”

“Let me guess – you acquired more than previously expected?”

“I’m afraid my report is just the opposite.”

Pavlovich stood up. “What has happened?”

“Sergeant, a unit of US soldiers have attacked a small troop of our comrades just north of us.”

“Tell me, Junior Sergeant, did we take the day?”

“It didn’t sound good, Sergeant. The reports were that they were overrun and losing the fight. The communications stopped and we haven’t heard anything since.”

Pavlovich’s face turned beat red.

“Should I send a scout to ascertain the loss?”

Anger boiled up from deep within Pavlovich’s heart. Todorov knew he was about to erupt. “Give me a moment, Junior Sergeant.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

Todorov stepped just outside Pavlovich’s office. Once the door was closed, Pavlovich let out a yell and very aggressively swiped his arm over his desk, cleansing it of all the maps, pencils, and markers. When that was done, his anger yet to be abated, he grabbed the front edge of his desk and toppled it over. “Argh,” he yelled again, this time pulling his pistol out of its holster. Looking around for something to shoot, he saw nothing. His ears and face were red with hatred. He bowed his head to regain his composure. He holstered his pistol and opened the door of his office, yelling, “Junior sergeant up!”

Todorov came a-running. “Yes, Sergeant Pavlovich?”

“Form the troop and leave two sentries with our spoils. We’re going to fall upon the Americans responsible for the blood of our comrades – and when we’re done, we’ll overcompensate them, in kind.”

Todorov had seen this side of Pavlovich before. Most recently in North Carolina, when he took the FEMA camp in Waynesville. Those Americans didn’t surrender, and that enraged Pavlovich. His overzealous Russian patriotism cried for more than a win. His hunger for control over the Americans cried for decimation. He wanted them to be utterly and hopelessly submissive and dependent upon him. If not, then eradication was the only alternative.

His junior sergeant nodded to him, and he left to call the men together.

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