Courage In The Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “As far as I know,” Ben said, “we are the largest standing army in the world whose sole reason for being is to restore democracy and law and order. We’ve done it on this continent, and south of us, in Mexico, an army much like ours, except much smaller, is clearing out the outlaws there. Canada is free, and, for all intents and purposes, a part of this nation. That was the decision of their leaders, not mine. But we welcome the Maple Leaf as part of us and we as part of them. Now it’s time for us to look toward new horizons; to travel to new lands and free those who have been enslaved and beaten and have had their God-given rights and liberties taken from them.”

  “Pour it on, Ben,” Therm said, as he looked at Emil Hite. The little con artist was standing with one hand over his heart, tears streaming down his cheeks. Therm rolled his eyes as Rosebud blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. “Jesus, the man would have made millions as a TV preacher.”

  “Shut up,” Rosebud said. “I don’t buy all that he says, but if you didn’t feel much the same way as Ben does we certainly wouldn’t be a part of this movement, now would we?”

  Thermopolis folded his arms across his chest and refused to answer except for a mumble.

  “What’d you say?”

  “Nothing, dear. Nothing.”

  “And you people can be a part of that,’’ Ben said. “You can give your time and your sweat and your blood to a movement that is unparalleled in modern times. Or you can die fighting us or in a ditch or a road or in someone’s living room with your guts blown out while attempting to rob some law-abiding citizen of possessions he or she gained through their own work. The choice is one only you can make. Thank you all.”

  Ben stepped off the flatbed and Dan took the mike. “We’ll leave you people alone for the rest of the day and the evening. You can talk it over and decide. Lunch will be served to you as will dinner. We expect your decision by 0700 tomorrow.”

  The outlaws broke up into groups, sat down, and began talking it over. Really, as one woman put it, “We don’t have much choice in the matter. But that sure was a pretty speech.”

  During the morning, probably two hundred and fifty outlaws pulled out. Another one hundred and fifty left that afternoon. During the night, another seventy-five quietly left the encampment. At 0700 hours the next morning, the rest stood in line for breakfast at the big mess tents.

  “There it is, Ben,” Ike said, looking at the long lines of men and women. “I’d guess close to three thousand. If we plan to sail by the middle of March, next year, we’ve got some work cut out for us.”

  “Six months,” Ben said. “We can do it. We’ll have to push them awfully hard; but it’s something that has to be done. I damn sure don’t want to leave them behind.”

  All the commanders knew that another reason Ben wanted the outlaws assembled under his command was to insure a minimum of trouble stateside when the bulk of the Rebels pulled out.

  “When are you pulling out to wrap it all up, Ike?” Ben asked.

  “Tomorrow morning. I figure a couple of weeks to get there and a couple of weeks to settle it once there. When I’m certain the Ninth Order is zero, I’ll take the battalions over to the east coast and help getting the ships seaworthy. And by the way, Emil does know what he’s talking about when it comes to ships.”

  “Incredible,” Ben muttered.

  Ike laughed at the expression on Ben’s face and whacked him on the back. “I got to start getting my people moving, Ben. I’ll see you before I pull out.”

  A head count was done just after breakfast and the outlaws—now ex-outlaws—numbered 2,775.

  “Physicals first,” Ben said to Chase.

  “We’re ready to start receiving,” the doctor said.

  “Tell Base Camp One to start humping it with uniforms and equipment,” Ben told Corrie. “Get it up here. Tell the engineers to get busy working on that little town up the road. We’ll house them there.” He turned to Dan. “Have them turn in all their weapons and issue them M-16’s and side-arms.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “You have instructors lined up, Dan?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Start them off slow. We don’t want to discourage them right off the bat.”

  “Right, sir. Easy does it for a couple of weeks.”

  “I’ve arranged for their kids to be transported to Base Camp One,” Tina said. “The medics say the kids are in good shape considering the life they’ve led. Some of the women, understandably, don’t want to leave their children. Those that want to stay with their kids will receive training down south and will be assigned to jobs with Cecil. He’s ready to take them.”

  “Good enough.”

  “We’ve got quite a strange cross section, Ben,” Georgi said. “Some of those outlaws were skilled workers before the Great War. Everything from EMTs to computer technicians.” He consulted a clipboard, “We’ve got a dozen PhDs, four doctors, carpenters, truck drivers, two writers, one ex-editor from New York who knows you—he says your work was entirely too violent . . .”

  Ben, and all those gathered around him, got a good laugh out of that.

  “. . . two reporters,” Georgi continued, “a dozen salespeople, several cowboys. What is amazing to me is that very few of these people were criminals before the Great War.”

  “That shattered a lot of lives, Georgi. Many people just gave up and turned to lawlessness. Dan, what are your Scout patrols turning up?”

  “Nothing, General. The nation is clean. Once Sister Voleta and her Ninth Order is neutralized, order will have been restored in the country.”

  Once the meeting had broken up, Ben took Buddy aside. “Get with Ike, Buddy. Tell him I said to offer Voleta amnesty.”

  “A noble gesture on your part, Father,” Buddy replied. “But we both know she isn’t to be trusted.”

  Ben sighed. “She is a crazed, crippled woman, Buddy. Tell Ike what I said. If she surrenders, which she won’t, she can be institutionalized.”

  “Very well, Father. I request permission to accompany Ike to Michigan.”

  “Permission denied. I need you here.”

  Both knew that was a lie, but Buddy wasn’t going to argue with his father. “Yes, sir.”

  Linda had been listening to the exchange. After Buddy had left the room, she came to Ben and took his hand in hers. “I keep seeing new sides to you, Ben. Little pockets of compassion that few people know you possess.”

  “I don’t like to make war against the insane, Linda. And Voleta is about the nuttiest person I have ever encountered. She’s dangerous, but she’s insane. I’ve got to at least make this offer of amnesty.”

  “I understand.” She kissed him and left the building, heading over to assist the medics with the new recruits.

  Jersey walked through the new CP and into Ben’s quarters. The little bodyguard never knocked. “Kinda gives me a funny feeling, General,” she said. “We’ve been fighting here in the States for so long, and then suddenly, it’s over. Now we’re looking at another unknown. A whole ocean to cross, and then we face only God knows what.”

  “I know, Jersey. And you’re right when you call it the unknown. But we’ve got to hit them, over there, before they get it into their heads to strike at us, over here. They’re not organized—yet. But give those dozens, perhaps hundreds of armies and warlords and criminals in Europe enough time, and they will get organized. Then they’ll look toward the United States. That’s why we’ve got to stop them.”

  “No way to figure how long it will take us, either, is there, General?”

  “No. Because we don’t know what we’re facing. It will take years, Jersey. And many of us will never again set foot on U.S. soil. If you think about it very much, it gets to you, right in the belly.”

  “Damn sure does,” the little bodyguard said. “It’s a kind of an exciting-queasy-scared sensation.” She laughed. “Sort of like your first sexual experience. And the letdown that followed it.”

  Ben joined her in the laughter. “Jerse
y, I couldn’t have said it better!”

  The training cycles began the next morning for those ex-outlaws who had completed their physicals. And the dispensaries stayed busy with sprains and cuts and contusions. A dozen of the new trainees dropped out after the first day. Ben had expected the number to be much higher, and he was pleased. But he knew as the training got tougher, dropouts would increase. If he could end the training cycle with 2,000 out of the 2,775 who stayed, that would give the Rebels three more battalions. And where they were heading those battalions would be desperately needed.

  Ike had pulled out, taking Ben’s battalion and his own, with plenty of tanks to back up the ground troops. Ike had reluctantly agreed to offer amnesty to Sister Voleta and her pack of nuts and screwballs.

  Ben was sending out Scouts to the far corners of the lower forty-eight seeking out outlaw bands, They were reporting back that nothing even remotely resembling an outlaw could be found. But there sure were a lot of new farmers and chicken raisers and mighty friendly folks out in the country now.

  Beth walked in the CP with a clipboard. She poured a cup of coffee, honeyed it, and pulled up a chair, laying the clipboard on the desk. “The final stats are in from Base Camp One, General. In the more than a decade the Rebels have been fighting to restore law, order, and democracy to North America—Ben Raines’ interpretation of it, that is,” she said with a smile, “the Rebel army has killed just under 750,000 punks, crud, crap, and human trash.” Beth said it with about as much emotion in her voice as if requesting someone to pass the salt.

  The numbers startled everyone in the room, including Ben. He stared at Beth. “Three quarters of a million people?”

  “Yes, sir. And these figures are accurate to within five thousand, either way.”

  “Jesus!” Ben said. “I knew we’d knocked off a lot of crud, but three quarters of a million people?”

  Even Dan was visibly shaken. Stout-hearted fellow that he was, stiff upper lip and all that, he quickly regained his composure and said, “That explains the Scouts not finding any outlaw bands, Ben. There just aren’t anymore to be found in America. We’ve done it, Ben. The nation is as crime-free as it has ever been in its entire history.”

  Chase walked in. “I just heard, Ben. Cecil bumped me from Base Camp One.” He poured coffee and sat down, a smile on his face. “And it wasn’t just force that accomplished it, Ben. We’ve had a decade of teaching morals and values in our outpost schools. Kids that were seven and eight when you started that controversial program are now young adults, and the lessons took, Ben. It stayed with them. You were right and your critics were wrong!”

  Ben leaned back in the old swivel chair a Rebel had scrounged up for him—the Rebels were the most skilled scroungers in the world. “Maybe,” he finally said. “But we’re not taking into account those who live apart from the outposts. They’re raising children, too.”

  “Sure, we raised kids, Ben,” Linda said. “You’re forgetting that I lived in that peaceful little valley where we were not a part of any Rebel outpost. But we still raised our kids to never violate any Rebel law. Not because we agreed with you—at the time—but because we were scared of you and your followers. So your doctrine is working even in the communities who don’t agree with your philosophy.”

  “And from these reports I’ve just read,” Ben said, thumping the papers on his desk, “I was wrong about the caliber of outlaws still left in the States. Most of those who packed it in and came to us are in their twenties. At least sixty-five percent of them. We killed off the older, more hardened criminal—or they finally wised up and quit the business, which is what I think happened to a lot of them—and what was left were the young men and women who probably knew all along that what they were doing was wrong and were just looking for a reason to stop their lawlessness and put some purpose back into their lives.”

  “And you gave it to them,” Dan said.

  “We gave it to them, Dan. All of us,” Ben corrected.

  The Englishman shook his head. “No, General. We had nothing to do with it. It was your idea right down the line. Don’t be modest about it.”

  “Well, it looks like it’s going to work—so far—and that’s what we all want.”

  “Emil Hite to see you, General,” Jersey stepped into the room, unable to hide the big grin on her face.

  “Why are you smiling, Jersey?” Ben asked.

  She busted out laughing. She was laughing as she left the room.

  Emil stepped in. He was wearing Navy whites, sparkling white, with an Admiral’s braid and stripes. He had enough fruit salad on his chest for five admirals. Ben stared at the little man. Therm was right behind him, a don’t-blame-me-I-didn’t-have-anything-to-do-with-it look on his face.

  “Do I salute, or what?” Chase, a former Navy Captain, asked.

  “That won’t be necessary, Captain” Emil said.

  Chase muttered darkly under his breath.

  “And we were just talking about things working out so well,” Ben said, propping his elbows on the desk and putting his face in his hands.

  EIGHT

  Ben sent Emil to the east coast. But before he left, Emil gave a speech, assuring them all that when they arrived on the docks, the ships would be seaworthy and the forthcoming trip uneventful as they traveled over the bounding main toward their date with destiny in faraway savage lands, fighting Godless hordes of savages, crushing them under the boots of righteousness, and once more lighting the lamp of freedom for the oppressed of the world. And so forth and so on.

  One Rebel grew so bored he fell asleep and when he hit the ground his M-16 went off. The slug hit the amplifier, bringing the speech to a halt.

  The applause was thunderous. Of course, Emil thought it was for him. No one had the heart to correct the little con artist.

  Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Therm went with him. He knew he had to check out the ships; but he really, really, really, didn’t want to go with Emil, even though he genuinely liked the man.

  Even the patient Thermopolis had his limits.

  As the training continued, picking up in pace as each week rolled by, the number of dropouts continued to be low. By the end of the third week, the training was getting rough and the ex-outlaws were staying with it. And Ike reported that he was within striking distance of Sister Voleta.

  “This is Ike McGowan,” Ike radioed, once his communications people had found Voleta’s radio frequency. “I have been empowered by General Ben Raines to offer you amnesty. What is your reply?”

  “Tell him to go straight to hell!” Voleta screamed, the spit flying from her lips. Her eyes were wild with rage and hatred, and her burned face was mottled.

  The message was sent, but it was not sent with much enthusiasm. The followers of Sister Voleta had seen the reports their patrols had sent from the field. They knew about the helicopter gunships, the massive tanks, long range artillery, and the two thousand Rebels poised to strike.

  “Sister,” a follower said. “I think that we . . .”

  “Don’t argue with me!” Voleta screamed. “Don’t you know by now that we can’t trust Ben Raines? He is not a man of his word. He has no honor.”

  Her personal team of bodyguards and subjects stared at the woman they had worshipped and served for years. But now there was doubt in their eyes. The world of fear and torture and perversion they had made was crumbling around them. They knew from radio transmissions that theirs was the last major holdout of enemies against Ben Raines and his Rebels. They also knew that they could not win this fight. They were surrounded.

  “He is offering me amnesty,” Voleta said, her voice calmer and her mind working frantically to save her little kingdom. “Me. Not any of you. You will all have to stand trial in a Rebel court and those of you who are not hanged or shot will spend the rest of your lives in prison. Think about that before you so willingly surrender to them.”

  “She is right,” a man said. “I would rather die fighting than be led like a frightened lamb to th
e gallows.”

  The others in the darkened room nodded their heads in agreement. They were the leaders; the soldiers outside would do as they ordered.

  “Are we in agreement?” Voleta asked.

  “We are,” the others said.

  Voleta pressed a button on the arm of her wheelchair and moved to the communications center. She and the leaders were in a well-fortified basement of a mansion. Outside, on the hundreds of sprawling acres surrounding the mansion, were several thousand of the soldiers of the Ninth Order. Voleta pressed the mike button.

  “We reject your offer of surrender, McGowan,” she said.

  “Voleta,” Ike replied in his soft Mississippi drawl. “Listen to me. You and your people don’t have a snowball’s chance in a volcano of surviving this. And I’m not gonna lose a person takin’ you out. I’ll blow you all straight to hell. Tell your people to lay down their guns and walk out of there.”

  “Never!” the woman screamed over the air.

  Ike’s communications officer had patched the transmissions through to Ben. Hundreds of miles away, Ben sat in his office, along with other commanders, and listened to the exchange. Ben’s face was impassive.

  “Go to loudspeakers,” Ike ordered. “Try to talk her soldiers into surrendering.”

  But the men and women of the Ninth Order would have no part of it. The words fell on unreceptive ears.

  Ben sat behind his desk and listened.

  “No go,” Ben heard the reports come back in from the field. “They’re not coming out, General Ike.”

  “Shit,” Ike said. “Keep trying for a few more minutes. Maybe we can wear them down.”

  The minutes ticked into a half an hour with no results. Not one soldier of Voleta’s chose to give it up.

  “Corrie,” Ben broke his silence, “tell Communications to order Ike to open fire.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  That part of the peninsula of Michigan erupted in flame and smoke as Ike ordered his artillery to open fire. The gunners worked in preset patterns, laying the HE rounds in with the precision of a skilled surgeon. When the gunners had finished with their assigned sectors, nothing was left except pocked and scarred landscape, huge smoking craters, buildings on fire, and sprawled death. The gunners changed elevation and moved on to another sector.