Hatred in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “What?” Ben heard Corrie say. “You’re breaking up. Say again.”

  Ben twisted in his captain’s chair to look at her and to listen to the one-sided conversation.

  “Are you sure about that? Nothing here,” Corrie said. “It’s quiet.”

  “What in the hell’s going on?” Ben asked. “Talk to me, Corrie.”

  “Apparently, Federals have broken the cease-fire, Boss. They’ve begun a hard push against our people at several places. Our people are holding . . . so far.”

  “That damn bitch!” Ben said. “Well, it’s what I half suspected would happen.”

  “They violated the truce first,” Anna spoke. “So from now on it’s anything goes. No rules, right, Pop?”

  Ben hesitated, then said, “If that’s the way they want to play it. It’s a brand new ballgame now.”

  “Federal troops coming straight at us, Boss!” Corrie yelled. “Less than a thousand meters away to our north. A full company of them.”

  “Who the hell is reporting that?”

  “A spotter plane, Boss.” She held up a hand as Cooper looked to Ben for orders. “Federals pushing hard against our easternmost troops. They’re attempting to flank them.”

  “Tell our people we’re making a stand right here, Corrie. Pull over, Coop. Head for that ridge over there to our right. The war just started for real,” Ben said through clenched teeth.

  Thirty

  With Cooper leading the way, bouncing across the clearing toward the series of low brush and timber-covered hills, the platoon followed. The several pickup trucks that were always with Ben and his security platoon, filled with all manner of weapons and gear, were the last vehicles to cross the clearing and duck behind the hills.

  Ben did not have to order his people to spread out and get into position: his security platoon operated like a fine Swiss watch. Each person knew his job and got to it without being told.

  “Five hundred meters from the road,” Ben’s spotter called. He was using very high power long lenses with range finder. “Advancing slowly.”

  “Mortars ready to go,” Ben was informed.

  “Heavy machine gun ready,” a Rebel called.

  “Big thumpers ready,” another called.

  Ben’s security team carried two 60mm mortars, one .50 caliber machine gun, two M-60 machine guns, two SAW’s (not counting the Squad Automatic Weapon Cooper used), and two 40mm automatic grenade launchers, called Big Thumpers. All members carried regulation M-16’s with bloop tubes. Ben used either his CAR or his old faithful M-14, affectionately known as a Thunder Lizard.

  “Four hundred meters from the road,” the spotter said.

  “They’re sure to spot the tire tracks where we cut off and came over here,” Jersey said.

  “Good,” Ben said. “That suits me just fine. I’m ready for a fight.”

  The platoon waited on the crest of the low hills, hidden from view by brush and timber.

  “Approaching the road and stopping,” the spotter called. “Point man checking it out.”

  “Has he spotted our tire tracks?” Ben asked.

  “Doesn’t seem to have noticed them, General. They’re crossing the road.”

  “This is too easy,” Ben muttered. “I almost feel sorry for them.”

  “I don’t,” Anna spoke up. “It’s like you said, Pops—They started it.”

  Ben cut his eyes to her. She unwrapped a piece of gum, stuck it in her mouth, and began chomping nonchalantly. Anna certainly has the right attitude for this business, Ben thought. He looked at Jersey, lying beside Anna. The diminutive bodyguard yawned. Ben smiled and looked at Corrie. She was busy talking to someone back at their CP, probably giving our location and calling in for gunships. Beth looked as though she was thinking about taking a short nap. Cooper was lying behind his SAW, munching on a candy bar.

  “Approaching max range for M-16’s,” the spotter said.

  “Hold your fire,” Ben said to Corrie, and she passed the word down the line. “Set mortar elevation for three hundred meters.”

  All eyes close to him turned to him. “Three hundred meters, Boss?” Corrie asked.

  “Three hundred,” Ben repeated. “We’ll finish this within seconds after starting it.”

  “We sure will,” Beth muttered. “We’ll be checking to see how close they shaved this morning.”

  Ben smiled at that, and the Rebels on the ridge waited, silent and motionless.

  “They finally noticed the tire tracks,” the spotter said. “They’re looking at them.”

  “Green troops with green commanders,” Ben heard a Rebel sergeant mutter in disgust.

  “Knock it off,” Ben said.

  There was no more talk from the line of Rebels.

  “Approaching range,” the spotter said. After a few seconds, he added, “In range.”

  “Fire,” Ben said.

  Several dozen weapons of various calibers and millimeters opened up from the ridge. The Rebels turned the clearing below them into a solid killing field. The flower-sprinkled meadow became slashed with crimson and noisy with the screaming of the panic-stricken and frightened, with the moaning of the wounded. The suddenly dead seemed loud in their final and permanent silence.

  Probably sixty percent of the Federal force were killed or severely wounded during the first minute of the Rebels’ opening up from the hills. Many of the rest of the green troops panicked and tried to run back toward the road. The Rebels cut them down with 40mm grenades, high explosive mortar rounds, and machine gun fire.

  After only a few minutes Ben called for a cease-fire up and down the line. “Can you transmit on their frequency?” he asked Corrie.

  “Affirmative, Boss.”

  “Tell them to gather up their wounded and get the hell back to their own lines. Do it right now. We’ll take care of any wounded they can’t carry or their aid people don’t think can be moved. This is the only chance to leave I’ll give them. If they try to make a fight of it, I’ll kill them all.”

  Corrie spoke for a few seconds. She cut her eyes to Ben. “They’ll leave as soon as they can gather up all their wounded.”

  “Tell them to leave all their weapons and ammo and grenades. That will lighten their load considerably,” he added drily.

  “Will do.”

  The Rebels on the ridge waited and watched as the Federals gathered up their wounded and prepared to move out back to their lines.

  “The officer down there wishes to speak to the ranking officer up here,” Corrie told Ben.

  “Tell him to meet me at the base of this hill. Alone.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Ben made his way down the hill and sat down on a log. He rolled a cigarette and waited. A few minutes passed before a young lieutenant walked up to Ben. The young officer paled when he recognized who he was about to address.

  “Sir . . .” he stammered.

  “Be quiet,” Ben told him. “And listen to me. First of all, you’re very lucky to be alive. Secondly, your self-appointed president is a nut . . .”

  The young officer’s eyes narrowed at that, but he remained silent.

  “If you have any sense at all, you’ll quietly take some sort of emergency leave and disappear. Move to the mountains and keep your head down until this civil war is over. And we’ll win it, boy, don’t have any illusions about that.”

  “You can’t win it, General. We have the might of the United States government behind us. A nation divided cannot stand.”

  “How original,” Ben said.

  Ben stared at the young man for a moment, realizing the officer had been so thoroughly indoctrinated, probably beginning at a very early age—brainwashed might be a better term—nothing he said to him was going to get through.

  Ben shrugged his shoulders. “All right, son. Have it your way. Leave your weapons, take your wounded, and get back to your lines. We’ll radio our gunships not to attack you, and we’ll see to those too badly wounded to move. Get out of here.”

&n
bsp; The young officer saluted and Ben returned the salute. . . sort of. The lieutenant wheeled about and marched off. Ben retreated a few yards back into the brush for cover, just in case.

  He heard a slight rustling behind him and turned to look. Anna and Jersey were standing there, weapons at the ready.

  “Never hurts to be cautious,” Jersey said.

  “Besides,” Anna said after spitting out her well-chewed gum, “I don’t trust those damn Federals.”

  Corrie checked up and down the Rebel lines and discovered that all areas had held against the attempted Federal push. The Federals had suffered a great many casualities for nothing. The Rebels loaded up the severely wounded Federals and headed back.

  “We’ll send a burial crew to see to the dead,” Ben said. “I won’t leave these boys and girls to rot in the sun or be eaten by animals.”

  Back at his temporary CP, Corrie gave Cecil a bump and Ben brought the President of the SUSA up to date about the Federals breaking the truce. “Of course they were ordered to,” Ben said. “No field commander issued those orders. It was Madame President Osterman.”

  “That lying bitch!” Cecil fumed over the miles. “She gave me her word.”

  “Well, we know how much her word is worth,” Ben told him. “She’s a pit viper, Cece. And that’s really giving the snake a bad name. She cannot be trusted. I never thought she could, but I decided to give her one try. So much for that.”

  “And now, Ben?”

  “Do we have a choice? I think not. Osterman and her cohorts want a war. All right, we’ll give them one. It’s what they want. God knows I don’t want a civil war. After the fight, or because of the fight, maybe, just maybe, there will be a slim chance we can settle this. Personally, I don’t think so, but it’s worth keeping in mind and giving some thought to. What do you think, Cece?”

  “I think, Ben, you may be right. But I also have to remind you of your own words—‘The nation will never again be the same no matter who wins.’ ”

  “Oh, I haven’t forgotten it won’t be the same, Cece. Certainly not in our lifetime, anyway, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Are you set with everything you need, Ben?”

  “We have supplies to last us for a sustained campaign, Cece. The last of my brigades is in place and ready to rock and roll. Armor is here. Artillery is here. Just wish us luck and a very short war.”

  “I don’t know about the short, Ben.”

  “I don’t either, ole’ buddy. This thing may drag on for years. In some form or another.”

  “From one side or the other.”

  “That’s very true, Cece. I think we’ll win, but the gods of war are fickle, as you well know.” Ben laughed. “Stop trying to shove all the outcome on me, you old fart. You spent years in the field.”

  “I’m trying to forget all that, Ben. I’ll have you know I have put my sordid past behind me and never think about those dreadful days filled with bad food and cold showers. . . when we had time to take one, that is. I now enjoy my hand tailored, double-breasted suits and made to order cuff link shirts. A cold martini before dinner is always nice, and then some intelligent conversation with very worldwise diplomats. I’ll have you know I am a highly respected politician now.”

  Ben burst out laughing. When he could talk again, he managed to say, “A respected politician? Hell, Cece, I didn’t know there was such a thing!”

  Cecil gave Ben a very loud and wet-sounding raspberry and hung up, laughing.

  “What’s so funny, Pops?” Anna asked.

  “Cecil. He’s a riot.”

  “Very handsome man, I think. I also think it’s time for you to start thinking about upgrading your wardrobe. I’d like to see you buy some nice, pin-stripe suits.”

  “Oh? You’ll have me looking like Gregory Peck, I suppose.”

  Anna blinked. “Who the hell is Gregory Peck?”

  Thirty-one

  After their last, rather humiliating defeat at the hands of the Rebels the Federals withdrew, backing up to their own territory. For a few days all was quiet on all fronts. Rebels and Federals faced each other in spotty locations across a wide expanse of land, running for several thousand miles from the Atlantic coast in Virginia to El Paso, Texas.

  The politicians in the USA and the SUSA talked on the phone for hours.

  The field commanders on both sides of the line waited and studied maps and planned.

  The line troops just waited and sweated it out.

  “Nothing, General,” a Scout just back from a venture into Federal territory reported to Ben. “The line troops are doing the same thing we’re doing—waiting.”

  “The politicians are still yakking back and forth,” Ben said. “Wasting time, settling nothing.”

  “From what I’ve read,” the Scout replied, “that’s about the way it’s always been, sir.”

  Ben smiled. “That does just about sum up both houses of the United States Congress, for a fact.”

  “Nothing like ours.”

  “Thank God,” Ben said.

  After the Scout had left Ben sat in the office of his HQ and stared at a wall map. The SUSA looked small, almost helpless, against the rest of North America.

  Ben shook his head, removing those thoughts from his mind. The SUSA was anything but helpless, and the USA was about to discover that, the hard way.

  Ben’s team came wandering in through the open door to his office and took seats—with the exception of Anna, who sprawled on the carpeted floor.

  “By all means, make yourself as comfortable as possible, Anna,” Ben said.

  “Thanks, Pops. I will.” She unwrapped several sticks of bubble gum, stuck the whole wad in her mouth, and began chomping.

  Ben sighed and looked at his team. “What’s up, Gang?”

  Before anyone could reply Buddy Raines, commander of the Special Ops unit and the 508 Brigade, strolled in.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Boy?” Ben asked.

  “Ike decided to make my command a floater. Rapid response, he called it. I like it.”

  “I’m sure you do. And you just decided to, ah, float up here?”

  Buddy, a very proper young man, was looking disapprovingly at Anna, sprawled on the floor. He sighed at the pose of his adopted sister, shook his head, and lifted his eyes to his father. “Oh, of course, Father.”

  “Right,” Ben said drily. “Of course you did. And Ike and Cecil had absolutely nothing to do with it?”

  “Quite right, absolutely. Nothing at all, Father,” Buddy said innocently.

  Ben lifted a hand. “All right, all right. Skip it, Boy. You’re here and we can use you. But isn’t this going to cut Ike short?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Those Texans surprised us all. They took the wraps off a well-equipped and trained Home Guard two brigades strong. If the Federals cross over into Texas, they’re going to pay a very heavy price . . . in blood.”

  “I knew they had a hell of a Home Guard.”

  “That’s putting it mildly, Father. Anyway, Intel thinks the main push will be centered here, or near here. Our operatives in the north are almost certain of that.”

  “Are you planning to bring your entire brigade?”

  “Half of them. But all of my Spec Op people.”

  “All right. I’ll put you to work right now. Tell your boys and girls to get across into enemy territory and bring me back some prisoners . . . officers, preferably. And notice I didn’t say you go, Boy. You understand that?”

  “Perfectly, Father.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Ben turned his head to one side and muttered, “Not that you’ll pay the slightest bit of attention to my orders.”

  “Beg pardon, Father?” Buddy questioned.

  “Nothing, Boy. Nothing. Nice to see you. Get settled in and get your people going.”

  Buddy grinned. “Roger that, Father. See you.” He tossed a jaunty salute and left the room.

  “I have one kid who’s about half smart-ass, and the other one is a bubble g
um factory,” Ben said, sitting down in the chair behind his desk.

  Just then Anna blew a large bubble and it exploded all over her face. “Well . . . shit!” she said.

  The entire team burst out laughing, and Ben couldn’t help joining in as Anna began the process of peeling the gum from her face.

  “It isn’t funny!” she managed to mumble through the thick layer of goo.

  “The hell it isn’t, Kid!” Ben said, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief.

  “It’s in my hair!” Anna griped.

  “Come on, I’ll help you get it out,” Beth said, standing up and holding out a hand to Anna.

  Anna rose to her feet and the two of them left the room, Beth still smiling at the younger woman’s antics.

  Ben stilled the ringing of the phone and listened for a moment. “All right,” he said, “we knew it was coming. Thanks.” Ben hung up the phone and sighed. “It’s back to work time, Gang. Federals appear to be massing for a big push in half a dozen locations.” He looked at Cooper. “Get the wagon ready to go and make sure everybody is geared up.”

  “Right, Boss.”

  He looked at Corrie and smiled—rather sadly, Corrie thought. “Show time.”

  She nodded her head and stood up. “Looks that way, Boss.” She turned to leave the room, then paused and looked back at Ben. “I guess it’s never going to stop, is it?”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t think so, Corrie. I think we’ll be fighting for the rest of our lives to keep the SUSA a separate nation.”

  Jersey rose from her chair and stretched her diminutive frame. “Well, hell, it was getting boring around here, anyway. I’ll go kick Cooper in the butt and make sure he packs his toothbrush.”

  “Alert my security platoon, Little Bit,” Ben said.

  “Will do, Boss.”

  Alone in the office, Ben picked up the phone and spent the next fifteen minutes being brought up to date on the situation. He then called Cecil on a security line and chatted for a few minutes.

  “There will be no more delays, Cece. No more cease-fires. This time we go for the gusto.”