Chapter eight: the hunted
"So what you're saying is, you're a Russian boy who was deployed to America because you're a secret government super soldier, and now you're separated from your squad?"
"Yes."
"Listen kid," the soldier said, "I don't know how you speak Russian so well, or how you got such a vivid imagination, but this is a military convoy, and if you don't leave I am authorized to shoot you."
Caleb couldn't believe it. The man before him was only a private according to his uniform, and was probably only about twenty four, but he refused to take Caleb seriously. Caleb was used to being understood as a Russian soldier, and was both annoyed and offended that this lowly grunt wouldn't radio his commanding officer as requested.
After he had ran from the town he had been staying at, he stumbled across the convoy of armored troop transports that had been transporting the soldiers he had seen earlier. There were about three vehicles parked there on the dusty abandoned road, and one or two men guarded each casually. Caleb was now talking to one of the guards, probably the driver of the vehicle he was standing in front of, while the other guards played a Russian card game in the back of another of the trucks.
"All I'm asking is that you take me back to your camp and find me a long range communication device. I know a few higher ups in the motherland who will vouch for me."
"I told you, I'd need clearance from my C.O. even if you were a secret government project. Sorry to hurt your feelings little boy, but you're not worth his time; go home and play in your sandbox with all of your little American friends."
Caleb was now getting past the line of things he could tolerate. Knowing that he was superior to this man in combat, nothing angered him more than being called a child. Now livid, Caleb began to yell at the man.
"Who the hell do you think you are? You have no right to deny me anything! I don't have to take this shit from an idiot like you!"
The man laughed audibly at his outburst, so Caleb kneed him in the face and slammed his head against the armor plated troop transport. Ignoring the fact that the knee of his pant leg was now red, Caleb grabbed the keys from the now unconscious man, and opened the door that now donned a bloody smear. He hadn't planned to steal the truck, be he realized now that as soon as they found the body of the man he had assaulted they would kill him. He needed to escape.
As he got into the vehicle and put the keys in the ignition, he realized that he didn't know how to drive a car. After a few tries, he managed to start the truck, and now had the task of putting it into drive. Caleb realized that the last time he had seen this done was when he was eight, but his brief memories of a forgotten father were sent into disarray by the sound of Russian shouting as the guards from the other truck now realized what was going on.
Finally getting the truck in gear, after many times of hitting the gas pedal and only hearing a grinding sound, Caleb accelerated down the road as fast as the transport would take him. The sound of bullets ricocheting off of the back of the truck was surreal, and he was hundreds of yards down the road before he came to his senses fully. What am I doing? asked Caleb to himself as he sped along at seventy miles per hour. Deciding to try and lose his pursuers, he veered the transport off of the road and into a snow filled clearing, and was caught off guard at the amount the vehicle bounced. Shock wave after shock wave bombarded Caleb's body, as he zipped through the snow, now traveling at eighty.
Seeing a lake approaching at exponential speeds, the boy panicked and jammed his foot on the brake pedal. Having neglected to put on his seat belt when he began driving, Caleb's frame slammed full on into the steering wheel. As Caleb struggled to breath, the truck decelerated to a halt.
The young boy sat there, with his vision reeling , and looked back for a moment to make sure that he had not been chased. It soon became evident that he had lost the men after him, and he relaxed. What did I just do? I just hijacked a Russian vehicle and now I've got both sides against me, thought Caleb as he sat there, breathing heavily. Whose side am I even on? He wondered, and began to consider his options. His first thought was to go to a Russian military camp and try to regroup with his squad. It didn't take him long however, to realize that that was what got him into this whole situation in the first place. No one anywhere would believe him. He had no allies at this point.
Finally, he made a decision. After finding a map of his area, he located where he thought he was, and found what he assumed was the direction of his squad. As a serendipitous side effect of his reckless action, he now had a vehicle with which to find his team. While he hoped that the news of his crime would never get back to his commanding officers, Caleb reassured himself in saying that he would probably just get a slap on the wrist. After all, he was too valuable to the war effort to imprison or execute, and he had no money, so he could not be fined. With a new confidence, Caleb navigated his way through snow filled fields, groups of trees, and expansive lakes, as he made his way back to the closest major road.
Once there, Caleb cruised down the path for another hour or so. He continued to check the map every now and again, and it seemed he knew where he was going, on he went. When he arrived at a small town, with only six or seven buildings, he braked in confusion. This town was not on the map, meaning that Caleb was lost. He stared at the map again in frustration, and after several minutes, he gave up. it doesn't matter where I am, this is a town where I can get supplies, thought Caleb. Trying to be optimistic, he opened the glove compartment. Doing a double take, Caleb let out a quiet laugh. Inside the compartment was a nine millimeter pistol with a few extra magazines.
Caleb got out of the car, released the safety on his new weapon, and walked towards the largest building of the town, the trading post.
"Everybody on the ground! Hands where I can see them!" shouted the boy, alternating between pointing his gun at the clerk and at the three other people in the building.
"we'll give you whatever you need just don't shoot!"
"I need a roadmap of this area, food, water, a radio, and directions to the nearest gas station," said Caleb, turning to the clerk. The man rifled through his shelves, and finally came up with the supplies he had requested.
"here, just take it."
"Thank you," he said, finding the need to be polite, despite the fact that he was robbing these people. The truth was, Caleb didn't like doing it. It gave him no pleasure to strike fear into innocent people, and if he had had any money, he would have used that instead. Caleb was beginning to think that war was not all it was cracked up to be.
After receiving directions, Caleb returned to his vehicle and drove away. He was now supplied with food and water enough for several days, and had a means of communicating with his squad, so with these new advantages, Caleb radioed the major.
"Sir, it's Caleb. I've been separated from my squad, and I'm now driving an armored personnel carrier down route forty seven."
"Caleb? Did you say route forty seven? Listen soldier, this is very important. You are very deep in enemy territory, so I'll need to call in a helicopter to extract you. Find where you are on the map and tell me your exact coordinates," responded the major. After ten or fifteen minutes more of discussion, Caleb found a nearby abandoned town on the map, and revived orders to be evacuated at that town. Finally, thought Caleb, I'm going home.
When Caleb arrived at the ghost town, which consisted of six run down houses surrounding a large barn, he killed the engine and exited the truck. All he took with him as he got out was a bag of trail mix and the nine millimeter handgun from the glove compartment. Remarking to himself at how much he enjoyed trail mix, for this was his first time eating it, Caleb was surprised to hear the sound of several apples hitting the snow. Wait, this is Alaska, apples don't grow here[/i], he thought to himself.
Mid thought, Caleb was knocked face first into the snow by the force of three deafening explosions. For five seconds afterwards, which seemed like hours to Caleb, the young boy lost his hearing and laid disoriented in the icy slush. As he got up groggily, function of his ears returned to him gradually, and he began to make out what the men around him were yelling.
"Drop your weapon! Get on the ground!"
Why haven't they shot me yet? Wondered Caleb, who was still assessing his surroundings. The truck he had stolen was fifteen meters behind him, and it now rested on its side, flaming. Caleb could see men with assault rifles approaching him slowly from almost all sides and his training kicked in over his survival instinct to surrender. The boy ran as fast as he could to the barn, popping off almost nine shots from his gun on the way. He was not aiming, which was fine, considering his purpose for firing was to give himself enough cover to survive the sprint to the barn. He did, and after diving through the door and landing painfully on his stomach, which was still in pain from the earlier explosion, Caleb found a hiding spot.
This is just like that time I played hide and go seek back home with all of my friends, thought Caleb, who was referring to his home in Alaska. No! he told himself silently. Russia is my home. I must not think of my time in America. As hard as he tried however, Caleb continued to think about memories from his earlier life, and how much the rusty tractor behind which he was now hiding looked reminiscent of one he had seen in his own town.
"Lee, Baker, come with me. Everyone else stay here. If he runs out the back shoot him," ordered McClellan, still breathing heavily from having just nearly avoided a few handgun bullets. He and his company had just ambushed the young super soldier, and were now surrounding the barn inside of which he was taking cover. McClellan had hoped he would simply surrender, but had been sorely disappointed when the boy sprinted off.
Taking point, the sergeant motioned for his backup to follow him, and charged into the barn, weapon at the ready. Finding nothing but bales of hay, and some old farm equipment, McClellan scanned the interior of the building for potential hiding places. Unfortunately, they were everywhere. The sergeant saw this as a fitting time to attempt negotiation.
"you're completely surrounded with no way out. Surrender and come out slowly with your hands in the air."
Caleb had no intention of surrendering. He would either win this fight, or die trying. Diving out from behind his cover, Caleb fired two shots, taking down the man on McClellan's left and right with a bullet to each of their chests. Looking each other dead in the eyes, Caleb and the sergeant pointed their respective guns at each other. McClellan shot first. Letting out only a dull click, his M16 rifle fired absolutely nothing at Caleb. It was jammed.
Now it was Caleb's turn. The boy pulled the trigger of his gun, expecting to hear a shot from either it, or the other gun, but hearing nothing. His blood turned to ice as he realized that his handgun was out of ammo. He had fired his last two shots just before, and had no spare magazines, as he had left them in the now smoldering truck. McClellan acted quickly, knowing he would not get another chance like this. Pulling his knife, the sergeant body slammed Caleb, and landed on top of him with the knife at his throat.
Caleb felt the icy hand of fear grip his heart, and for a moment he thought he might be killed right then and there. Instead of meeting his demise, Caleb managed to roll over so that he was on top of McClellan. The sergeant was strong, But Caleb was stronger, and soon had the knife only centimeters away from McClellan's exposed neck.
"you should have killed me when you had the chance. Why didn't you?" Caleb asked, as he struggled to maintain the upper hand.
"you're not one of them," the man responded, pushing as hard as he could to keep himself alive.
"Shut up! It's not true! I belong in mother Russia!" he screamed, pushing so hard the knife hovered millimeters over the sergeant's neck. They rolled again, and McClellan managed to get the upper hand.
"You belong with us, and you're fighting for the wrong side. Communism is corrupt. You've been brainwashed."
"I'll never fight for you bastards! I can't let America win. If you win... your people will kill Eva..."
"who is Yeyva?" McClellan asked as he pushed even harder down on the knife. Caleb may have been speaking English, but he still pronounced names as he did in Russian.
Suddenly, the scream of a thousand bullets pierced the air. The boy and the sergeant stopped fighting, frozen in confusion. A minigun firing at ridiculous speeds could be heard from outside the barn, firing on McClellan's men, and it took Caleb a few seconds to realized what it was. His helicopter had arrived.
As he ran, McClellan could only watch him go, wishing that there had been a way to save him. He had chosen Russia, and ultimately death. The sergeant sighed quietly as the helicopter sped away.
"Francis, this is John," he said over his radio after patching through to the pentagon.
"what is it old friend?"
"I need a favor."
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