“How ingenious. Who . . . ah, is the Captain of this . . . vessel?”
Ike smiled.
“Oh, no!” Ben said “Don’t tell me that.”
“He’s good, Ben,” Ike said with a laugh. “The little con artist has already taken her out for sea trials. Therm is good at the helm, but Emil is better. And he doesn’t clown at work. Brother, that little man is all business.”
“What ship am I on?”
“Down here. Sorry we don’t have any luxury liners. But the one you’ll be on is a good solid ship that is just as seaworthy as anything afloat. Modern gyro. This one, Ben, is a LASH . . .”
“A what?”
“LASH: lighter aboard ship. A barge is called a lighter, Ben. The holds of these ships are specially designed to hold lighters. Less danger of cargo breaking loose. It’s a real mess when that happens.”
“These are warships, Ike,” Ben said, stopping.
“Right. Two British ships were in port when everything went down the toilet. These are British Type 21 frigates.”
“No activity on board.”
“No need. We’re not taking them. They won’t carry enough personnel to make it worthwhile checking them out. They carried a crew of less than two hundred. They’re warships, not transports.”
“What if we come under attack while we’re out there on the briny sailing merrily along?”
Ike glanced at him and smiled. “Oh, we’ve got that under control, Ben. You’ll see.”
“I just don’t like boats, Ike,” Ben said for the umpteenth time.
“Ships, Ben. Not boats.”
“Whatever. Ship or boat. Same thing. Goddamn things sink.”
“Not to worry, Ben. Thermopolis will be the captain on your ship.”
“Only if he promises not to play that horrible music they all seem to have an endless supply of.”
“Are you goin’ to be a grouch on this trip, Ben?”
“Probably. I told you, I don’t like boats!”
“Ships!”
“Boats, ships? What the hell’s the difference? They float on water, don’t they? And they sink into water.”
“Planes fall out of the sky, Ben. You came in by plane.”
“I had a parachute.”
“So you’ll have a life preserver on the ship.”
“There are no sharks in the sky, Ike.”
“Jesus, I’m glad I’m going to be on another ship for this run. Ben, we have the best lifeboats we could scrounge. Fully equipped Damnit, the ship is not going to sink.”
“That’s what they said about the Titanic,” Ben said sourly.
“We’re not taking the same route, Ben.”
“I don’t like boats!”
“Ships, goddamnit, ships!”
Ben bumped his head a dozen times before he decided to stay the hell above decks. And even that was no delight. But anything that went on below decks could just damn well go on without his being there. Thermopolis and Emil and the other captains all got a kick out of Ben’s antics. Being tactful, they kept their amusement to themselves.
On the third day, Ben waved Thermopolis over to him.
“Yes, Ben?” He discreetly avoided looking at the small bandage stuck on Ben’s forehead, covering where he’d smacked his noggin on a low bulkhead.
“Get the lines cast off and take this barge out.”
“Out . . . where?”
“In the damn ocean! Where else, on the freeway?”
“It’s, ah, not quite that simple, Ben.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, Ben, the harbor is filled with all sorts of sunken and half-submerged boats . . .”
“Ah, hah! You said boats. Why can’t I say boats?”
“Because there are no ships sunk out there. But lots of pleasure craft. It’s tricky maneuvering out there. We’ve taken all the ships out several times, checked them out, and when we sail again, the next stop will be Ireland.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“No. We’re loading cargo, Ben, and I don’t want to stop. We’re also low on fuel and I’m not going to top the tanks until we get ready to set sail. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Ike was standing close by. He smiled at Ben. “He’s the captain, Ben. On this ship, on matters pertaining to the ship, he doesn’t take orders from you. That’s the way it is, and you’d better get used to it.”
“Hell, all I wanted to do was go for a boat ride.”
“Ship, goddamnit!” Ike yelled. “Not boats, ships!”
TEN
“What happens if we run out of gas out . . . there?” Jersey asked, standing on the docks and pointing toward the Atlantic.
“I’m assured that we won’t. And they’re diesel engines, Jersey.”
“That sure is a big-assed boat, General.”
“Ship,” a Rebel said, walking by them.
“Stick it up your nose, pal,” Jersey said. “It’s a damn big boat to me.”
Two weeks before sailing date, and the docks were filled to capacity with equipment of every description and size. The outlaw battalions—Devil’s Battalions, they had elected to call themselves; Ten, Eleven, and Twelve Battalions were their official designation—had completed their training and were quartered nearby. Much of the equipment had been loaded, and much of the equipment still on the docks would be secured to the decks.
“What if it breaks loose?” Corrie asked.
“I have been assured that it will not,” Ben said.
“Who assured you?” Cooper asked.
“Emil and Thermopolis.”
“We’re dead. Crushed by loose equipment in a friggin’ hurricane and eaten by sharks,” Jersey said mournfully.
“There will be no hurricanes on this voyage,” Ben said.
“You’ve been assured of that, too, huh, sir?” Beth asked.
“That is correct.”
“Who assured you?” Jersey asked.
“Those brainy people at meteorology.”
“The same ones who said it wasn’t going to rain today?”
“That’s the ones.”
They stood on the docks in foul weather gear, under an overhang which offered them some protection from the cold, driving rain.
“Then what is this stuff falling from the skies?” Jersey asked. “Greetings from friendly birds?”
“Everybody makes mistakes, Jersey,” Ben said.
“That sure is a big-assed boat,” Jersey said.
“It’s a ship!” a Rebel said, walking by them carrying a coil of rope.
“And a toilet is a head, steps are ladders, the floor is a deck,” Cooper said. “Tell you the truth, I’ll be glad to get back into combat.”
Ben fingered the new knot on his head. “I think we are,” he muttered.
A runner found them under the overhang and handed Ben a message. Ben tore open the envelope and read it. He smiled and tucked the note into a pocket. “This is from Cecil down at Base Camp One.” The Rebels now had two dozen Base Camps scattered around the nation. “The last Rebel patrol just wound it up, gang. They’re coming back in from Maine. Not a single outlaw gang to be found. But plenty of thriving outposts. We can sail with a good feeling about America.”
“I don’t think I’ll have a good feeling until I step off that tub in Ireland,” Cooper said. “I’m seasick already.”
“It’s all in your mind, Coop,” Ben told him.
“Beggin’ the General’s pardon,” Cooper said. “But my mind ain’t what’s sick.”
It was too good for Jersey to pass up. “You wanna put that to a vote, Coop?”
One week before sailing, everybody and everything that was going was ready.
The fuel tankers had sailed out of their ports in Louisiana heading for an eventual rendezvous at sea with the ships soon to sail from their docks in South Carolina. Once at sea, the tankers, loaded with millions of gallons of fuel, would maintain a five-mile distance from the troop and equipment transports.
A steady flow of communications between Ireland and the United States filled the airwaves. The outlaws, warlords, and Night People who had virtually taken over the island had learned that the Rebels were coming, and were fortifying their positions and intensifying their reign of terror against the law-abiding people. The emerald-green nation was torn and scarred by more than a decade of war.
“General Jack Hunt is the man we’ve got to put out of business,” Ben said. “He’s got an army that’s damn near as large as ours and almost as well-equipped.”
“I know him,” West said. “And he’s a professional. He was a soldier-for-hire back when the world was whole—more or less. It must really be rough in Africa for him to leave.”
“What are we getting out of Africa?” Ben asked.
“Southern Africa—from Zimbabwe south—has been in a blood bath for years,” Beth said, reading from the very latest reports compiled from intelligence. “Very little is known about events north of Zimbabwe. We haven’t picked up a radio transmission from any country in that area in months.”
“This Jack Hunt,” Ike said, directing the question at West, “is he open to negotiation?”
“I doubt it,” the former mercenary replied. “He’s one of the most bloodthirsty bastards I’ve ever met. Totally ruthless. And his men will be highly trained and professional. It’s going to be a slugfest for us, believe that.”
“The latest communiqué says the people are desperate over there,” Beth said. “They don’t know how much longer they can hold out.”
“Tell them to hold out for a few more weeks,” Ben instructed. “We’ll be there.”
“We damn well better get there in a few weeks,” Thermopolis said. “I just spoke with the leader of the group in Galway. That’s the only port still open to us. He said Jack Hunt’s people are knocking on the door and we’d better get there quickly. If Galway falls, we’ll have to try for a landing in Londonderry and hope for the best.”
“With external tanks, the Apache is capable of flying across the Atlantic,” Striganov pointed out. “But I think that would be an exercise in futility, since once they discharge their weapons there would be no place for the birds to be resupplied.”
Ben shook his head “No. We can’t risk losing a single one of them. This Jack Hunt, will he have SAMs?”
“I’m sure of it,” West said.
“All the birds equipped with AAWWS?” Ben asked.
“All except the converted Hueys,” Ike said. “All the rest are equipped with Longbow.”
The Airborne Adverse Weather Weapon System—called Longbow—is a complex millimeter-wave radar that enables the chopper crew to detect and kill tanks, missiles, and aircraft, day or night, in smoke, fog, or adverse weather.
“What is the earliest we can sail?” Ben asked Ike.
“One week, Ben. We can’t push any harder. Everything has got to be right. Got to be checked and checked and checked again. Once we’re out there, we’re alone.”
“Jack Hunt,” Ben said to Beth. “Does he have a Navy?”
“No. Not if you’re talking about destroyers and battleships and things like that. He does have gunboats.”
“We can deal with them,” Ike said. “Don’t sweat that. The recoilless rifles alone that we’ve set up on the decks have a range of seven thousand yards. And we have much heavier guns than that ready to bark. Even if Hunt has missile capability to use against us at sea—and we have received nothing that would indicate he does—we could still deal with it. It’s docking that has me worried.”
“Jack knows nothing about Naval warfare,” West said. “He’s strictly a ground-pounder. But a damned good one.”
“Then he and I have something in common,” Ben said with a small smile.
“It ends there,” West said, unusually grim-faced. “Jack Hunt is called ‘the Beast,’ Ben. And he makes Sam Hartline and Lan Villar look like angels.”
Dan Gray arched an eyebrow. “I have never heard of this man. So I must deduce that Jack Hunt is not his real name.”
“That’s right. I don’t know what his real name is, but he went under Bob French for years.”
“Ahhh!” Dan said. “Now I know who you’re talking about. Yes. A butcher.”
“That’s correct.”
“He would have artillery,” Ben said, bending over a map of Ireland.
“Yes. What are you thinking?”
“Galway Bay is twenty three miles wide at the entrance. It narrows down considerably. If he’s got 155’s, he’ll be able to drop in on us. So the bay has to be secured before the ships enter. Dan, that will be a job for you and your Scouts.” He thumped the map. “Damnit, I wish we had some aerial photographs of that bay. I hate going in blind like this.”
“We tried all the local libraries, Father,” Buddy said. “But they had all been looted years ago.”
“Looted or vandalized?” Ben asked.
“Vandalized.”
“Bastards,” Ben muttered. “Goddamned illiterate punks.”
Ben cussed for a moment, verbally sending anyone who would vandalize a library to the fires of hell and beyond.
“We’ll have two gunships ready to fly on the decks of each ship, Father,” Buddy said. “They could knock the guns out.”
Ben shook his head. He met West’s eyes, and the former mercenary smiled faintly and arched an eyebrow. Both men knew that Buddy was not nearly ready to step into Ben’s boots yet. Not and make statements like that. “No, son. This Jack Hunt will know that we have the capability to attack from the air. So, considering how vicious the man is, he’ll probably have men, women, and children he’s taken prisoner scattered all around the gun emplacements. He knows me well by now. Believe that, son. He’s studied me from every angle, knowing that someday he’d have to face the Rebels. And he knows that it would take something extreme for me to harm an innocent.”
“You’re right, Father,” the young man said. “I apologize for being so stupid.”
“You’re anything but stupid,” West told him, stepping in to get Ben off the hook. “You’re the finest headhunter I have ever seen. And believe me, I spent years in Africa; I’ve seen the genuine article. You’re just young, Buddy, and that is not a crime or a sin. You’re turning into a fine battalion commander. Just give yourself some time, Buddy. And don’t be so critical of yourself.”
“Thank you, sir,” Buddy said with a smile.
“All right.” Ben tapped the table with his fist. “Dan, you and your teams will probably have to go in by Huey and be dropped in the ocean. You’ll be in wet suits . . .”
Ike cleared his throat. Ben looked at him.
“That’s my field, Ben,” the ex-SEAL said.
“Oh, damnit, Ike, you’re a middle-aged man, just like me. You . . .”
“That’s my field, Ben,” Ike stood his ground, staring at Ben. “That’s what I was trained for and did for years. You’re forgetting the number of ex-SEALs in this army. They’d be awfully pissed off if they couldn’t do this mission. No offense to you, Dan, or your ability to pull it off; I know you’d do a bang-up job of it. But I lead this one.”
“Hard-headed, fat old bastard,” Ben told Ike, but he, was smiling. “Hell, there isn’t a wet suit in the country you could get your big butt in!”
“Well, for your information, I have one, you silly-assed ground-pounder!”
“Who made it for you: Omar the tent maker?”
The others left the room and let the two old friends have at it. They’d work it out. Ben was going to cuss and stomp around and both men would insult each other. But all knew that Ike was going to lead the mission.
* * *
Ben was awakened by Linda’s punching him on the shoulder. “Ben, wake up. There’s a runner here to see you.”
Ben rubbed the sleep from his eyes and swung his feet out of bed. He snubbed his bare toe on a trunk, banged his shin on a coffee table and almost stepped on Smoot. The Husky let him know real quick that would be a bad mistake
. He managed to get dressed. Linda’s laughing at him didn’t add much to the moment.
He didn’t know whether his cussing helped any, but Ben got his pants zipped up and his boots on and stepped out into the hall, leaving Linda’s giggling behind him. He closed the door.
“Yes, Sergeant?” he said to the young man waiting.
The runner took a deep breath. The general didn’t look to be in a real peachy mood. “Sir, there are several hundred punks waiting outside the post gate. They demand to see you.”
Ben had glanced at the clock while Linda was abusing his shoulder. One o’clock in the morning. “In the middle of the damn night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know what they want?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ben waited. “Well, Sergeant?”
“They’re all heavily armed, sir.”
“What do they want?”
“Well, sir . . . the leader, a kid who calls himself Blotto, says they’ve come to declare war on us.”
ELEVEN
Ben blinked a couple of times. “I beg your pardon, Sergeant. Did you say they want to declare war? On us?”
“Yes, sir. It’s gettin’ sort of tense out there, sir. You better come quick.”
Corrie had stepped out into the hall, along with the rest of Ben’s team.
“This could be a trick, Corrie,” Ben said. “Get the post on full alert.”
Linda stepped out with Ben’s body armor, M-14, and battle harness. He slipped it all on and picked up his old Thunder Lizard.
“Did you say this punk’s name was Blotto, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why the hell would anybody want to call themselves Blotto?” Cooper asked.
“Let’s all go find out,” Ben said.
“That’s all of them, Ben,” West said, standing back about five hundred yards from the front gate of the old Navy base. “I’ve put teams out all around the gang. They’re in place.”
Floodlights had been turned on, the harsh lights illuminating the strange gathering outside the main gates.
“What are they?” Ben asked.
Courage In The Ashes Page 21
