Chapter 1

Music. Russian Music, was the first thing, I experienced in that week. We were in an occupied town, Biloxi Missouri, or Mississippi; I’m not sure, because all these damned southern states were the same. Hot moisture, mosquitoes the size of alligators and vice versa, and the women are bloodsuckers too. All tramps, all pigs, not like our ‘pure’ mothers of Russia, these have no class. 

Anyway, I was just finished basic training and was now assigned to my new unit. I entered a bar, the Mason Dixie Line, to meet my new commander... I entered the squall with my red star Stetson, and my leather snake skin boots. Two souvenirs I’ve picked up in this country, and was greeted by half sober, stubble shaven men and one crazed-looking commander. 

"Groznyy, Yuri Groznyy, welcome comrade, I am captain Sevastopol, and these are my men, who have respect for me and my command. Welcome to the 55th Heavy Bombardment Squadron", he slurred. "It is an honor and a privilege to serve under your command sir", I hesitantly saluted. "Oh really, I’m not sure it is, but here is a token of friendship", he regaled. Sevastopol handed, or rather lobbed, a patch to my palm. "It’s the mark of the proud air force, the 55th Kirov Brigade. As you know, we are legendary unit, no comrade", he emulated. "Yes legendary for recklessness, I responded. 

"Do not disrespect the unit, boy, we may not be the best, but we always get the job done, and our boys always come back alive, remember that", scolded an unknown stranger. "Ah yes, comrade Illushyan, our chief engineer, he is right you know, we’ve never lost a Kirov, ever and we’ve been through some shit", interjected the captain. "Learn your place comrade and you will do fine. Besides, put that patch on and join us comrade", he added. 

I took a gander at my patch. It was a beautiful mark, a red berkut (Golden Eagle) whose talon is holding an electrically charged 1 kiloton conventional bomb. The very same our bomb our Kirovs use. Strangely enough that patch irradiated a sense of pride to that otherwise average unit. So I put the patch on, and joined the 20 man crew in drinks and song and soon like all good Russians, I had one too many and passed out.......

An aching head, eyes wide shut, and the familiar smell of puke alerted me to the presence of my hangover. But there was an alert of something else as well. 

"Hurry comrade, the allies are coming", sounded the captain. "We must board the flack tracks and get to our base", he ordered. As far as the eye could see, trench coats and red sleeves were moving. Everything was in a state of panic. As ordered I boarded the vehicle and so did the rest of the unit. We quickly fled the city into the swamped country side. "We are 2 miles out from the base, friend", Illushyan foretold. Suddenly, gun fire crackled, as if all hell broke loose. The first escorting Rhino tank in front of us, exploded. The second met a similar, turret-less fate. 

"Tank destroyers", the captain warned, go off, all units, split up and head towards the base on your own, don’t make this convoy and easy target", he bellowed. Soon, all the other vehicles in the convoy faded into the swampland, like a ghost into the fog. The AA gunner of our particular flack track was paranoid much like a squirrel. He was looking everywhere. A crackle of 5.56mm here, and crackle of M-60 there, and the occasional tank shell, anywhere, plagued our perilous journey. "Stop, there’s trouble up ahead", the gunner alarmed. The whole base is under siege. Grizzlies, Gi’s and IFVs- A pretty basic attack unit. "What are your orders commander?" the gunner asked.

"Damn the siege, full speed ahead", Sevastopol proclaimed. Soon our steel chariot collided with uncertainty. Suddenly the vehicle’s radio chattered. "Kirov commander, all of the men are in the base, and we are boarding the ships. But you must hurry, our perimeter defenses can’t hold on, any much longer!" the radio informed. "Well get airborne, we’ll make it in time and we will repulse the invasion", the captain defiantly replied. "Grab your AK’s men, this will be bloody, the captain", warned us. Soon the AA gunner began to strafe some entrenched GI’s. In return they fired their M-60s with their armor piercing shells. 

Bullets began to bounce around, Illusian took one in the arm and the vehicle caught on fire. "Everybody out", captain squawked, as the rest of the crew, including myself eagerly followed. The burning vehicle, rolled into the GI’s and then exploded. "Well, that solves our America problem", the captain gloated as we ran past the dead enemies and boarded our Kirov. "Everybody to their battle stations", he ordered, and soon, our copper, thirty ton behemoth took off, into the sky. 

But this was only the beginning...

to be continued...

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