Operation Tombstone (Ghost Cavalry Battalion Book 3) by J.L. Salter & William Alan Webb

Author:J.L. Salter & William Alan Webb [Salter, J.L. & Webb, William Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dingbat Publishing
Published: 2024-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Temporary Russian staging area code-named Site Irkutsk

Inside the storage area of the abandoned Fred’s Department Store

Saturday, Sept. 13, 1986, 1700 hours

Chekhov had made his limited rounds — remaining primarily at the rear of the shopping center and along the north end where the Russians’ movement would be nearly impossible for anyone in the parking lot to observe. As each of the kill-squad’s vehicles rotated from guarding the parking lot exits, Chekhov debriefed the men who’d just driven back and repeated standing instructions to those who were about to assume their shifts at the monitoring positions.

When Chekhov returned to the northernmost end of the department store’s spacious storage area and stockroom — to Borovsky’s temporary command center — he brought with him Plotnik, as instructed. Borovsky had wanted to speak personally with the driver of the American pickup truck. Perhaps it was about the upcoming errand for 16 early evening meals; they had not added a meal for the badly beaten American trucker.

Plotnik was one of several men who wore the Arabic numeral 40 on his upper arm — it represented, of course, the 40th Combined Arms Army which had served in the Soviet-Afghan War since 1979.

With head closely shorn, he was medium height and still had a youthful, athletic body. It was rumored by the other men in the squad that Plotnik had once been affiliated with the famous soccer team Spartak Moscow, but no one had verified whether Plotnik ever left the bench.

As they entered, Borovsky appeared to be studying one of his maps and did not even glance their direction. After making them wait several moments, he finally looked up and casually waved his hand toward the two mis-matched chairs in front of the small table he’d been using as a desk.

Addressing Plotnik, he said, “You have been away from this capitalist shopping center more than any of us. What are the conditions north of here? This map tells me very little.”

Evidently unsure of what Borovsky wanted to hear, Plotnik began hesitantly. “Highway 225 meets Interstate-65 which goes northeast toward the large city of Montgomery. But if one were to stay on the smaller 225 highway, it later becomes a different numbered road and just basically disappears into the interior. Timberland or farm land, it would seem. Why?”

Borovsky lit a Laika and leaned back in his own chair, stretching his legs and crossing his ankles. “I was just contemplating how we might travel if, for some reason, we needed to move north.”

“Why would we need to go to the north?” asked Chekhov.

Borovsky seemed to rehearse his wording before responding. “If the Americans were to… interfere… with our evacuation.”

“Is that even a possibility now?” asked Chekhov. “Our men all agree that the Americans must have lost our scent.”

“Forget that I mentioned it,” said Borovsky after exhaling a quantity of smoke. “It is the responsibility of a unit leader to look in all directions and know what opportunities or obstacles exist.”

Chekhov said nothing more, especially since Borovsky had scowled in his direction.

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