She moved to a huge wall map and studied it. “So he’ll cross over here.” She placed her finger on the Tappan Zee Bridge.
“Yes. That’s the only logical choice. He’d have to go miles out of his way to cross over any farther north. When he reaches the southern end of Bronx County, he’ll have his choice of two bridges to use entering Manhattan. I don’t care which one he uses. Certain units will be fighting a holding action as he comes over. Just hard enough to make him think he’s facing our full force. When he’s got his people over, probably after a couple of days, those two bridges up north will be blown, electronically, so none of our people will be trapped.”
“How about this railroad bridge?” She pointed it out.
“That will go up with the others.”
“All these other bridges linking Manhattan, all the way down to the footbridge?”
“They’ll be blown. At least one section of them will be knocked out, thus making them unusable for any type of vehicular traffic.”
“These three bridges at the south end of Manhattan? What about them?”
“That’s our way out of here, Jerre. They’ll be rendered useless as we bug out—when the time comes.”
“Then . . . you’re going to trap Khamsin in Manhattan?”
“That is my plan, yes.”
“And . . . ?”
“And, what?”
“They’ll eventually get off the island, Ben.”
“No, they won’t. At least, not very many of them.”
She sat down in a chair facing his desk. “The tunnels under the river—rivers?”
“Blown. Destroyed. Blocked.”
“Of course, all your top people know of this plan?”
“As of late yesterday, yes.”
“And now you’re telling me. You trust me that much, Ben? I didn’t think you trusted me at all.”
Ben shrugged. “What reason do I have not to trust you? Besides, within two or three days, every Rebel in this command will know about the plans. You know how fast camp talk spreads.”
“You’re that sure that the creepie informants have been . . . well, taken care of?”
“Yes. Dan is very good at that sort of thing.” He stood up. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, thank you. It’s hard to believe that we’ve been alone for five minutes and we’re not arguing. It’s almost like old times, back in Virginia. You remember, Ben?”
“I remember.” He sat back behind his desk and sipped his coffee, looking at her beauty.
She met his gaze. “And what about New York City, Ben?”
“What about it?”
“When we bug out, I mean?”
He met her gaze, locked with it. Neither one of them blinked.
“You’re going to trap Khamsin and his troops in Manhattan and then destroy the city, aren’t you, Ben?”
“Yes,” he said softly.
BOOK TWO
The angel of death has been abroad throughout the land; you may almost hear the beating of his wings.
–John Bright
ONE
Ben’s spotter planes tracked the movements of Khamsin and his army as they made their way north, proceeding up the Garden State Parkway, staying well out of the range of the Rebels’ guns.
And Ben didn’t know yet whether Khamsin had any intention of taking him up on his offer to butt heads in the city.
He suspected that Khamsin himself wasn’t sure just yet. That was why he was moving so slowly, trying to make up his mind.
But that was all right with Ben and his people; the relative lull in the action—with only an occasional firefight with the creepies—was giving them all some much-needed time to rest and for Ben to reposition his units and to have his people lay more booby traps and more barricades and to dig in deeper.
Weapons were taken down and carefully cleaned and oiled. Cases of Chase’s MREs were handed out and stored, for when this battle began, hot meals were going to be the exception rather than the rule. Every member of Ben’s Rebels would be placed on the line, except for the doctors, their staff, and a few communications people.
And Ben had placed spotters on the top floors of half a dozen skyscrapers along his northernmost area of control, from the Hudson to the East River.
They would be his eyes above the streets, silently watching and reporting to the Rebels the movements of Khamsin and his troops.
And the first day they were up, the spotters reported some very interesting news to Ben.
“A lot of movement over in New Jersey, General. Looks like the Hot Fart left several battalions behind.”
“Keep an eye on them,” Ben ordered. “I don’t think those are Khamsin’s people. I’ll get back to you.”
Ben leaned back in his chair and cut his eyes to Ike, telling him of the spotter’s news. “What’d you make of it, Ike?”
“Those aren’t Khamsin’s people. I agree with that.”
Ben looked at the other commanders; they all nodded their heads in agreement.
“Okay, then it has to be Monte and Ashley’s troops and Sister Voleta’s people,” Ben said. “But why did they stay behind?”
“Because,” Buddy said, “remember that my mother knows you well, Father. And she probably guessed that you were deliberately taunting Khamsin, to draw him over into Manhatttan. My thinking on this matter would be that she has convinced Monte and Ashley to join her, and not to accompany Khamsin.”
“So what’s she got in mind, son?”
“Killing you would be uppermost on her mind. But as to how she plans to do that . . . ?” He shrugged. “Bear in mind at all times that my mother is brilliantly insane and quite cruel.”
“Why did you stay with her so long, Buddy?” West asked the handsome young man.
“I had no other place to go. And I never knew that Ben Raines was really my father until the Old One—my grandfather, I think—confirmed it just weeks before I left my mother’s camp.”
“Whatever your mother is up to, Buddy—and she is your mother, don’t forget that, crazy or not—I won’t assign you to fighting her or her people.”
“You may not have a choice in the matter, Father,” the young man reminded him. “She may be plotting some sort of ambush.”
“She would have no way of knowing how we plan to bug out of here, son.”
But Buddy shook his head. “I don’t know, Father. Her hatred for you is so strong I sometimes think she can see through the miles. I’ve seen the woman do some things that bordered on the supernatural. She was a practicing witch, you know?”
“A witch?” Tina looked at her brother.
“Yes. Before the Great War. She belonged to some sort of satanic cult. She was some sort of high priestess.” Buddy looked at the expression on his father’s face and burst out laughing.
Ben shook his head. “She told me she loved my horror stories. Had all my books. She even had the bloodiest scenes committed to memory. I should have guessed that she might be a little strange. Over the months a lot of that . . . brief encounter has come back to me.”
“Hell, Ben,” Cecil said, “maybe she does possess some supernatural abilities. None of us can afford to discount anything anymore.”
What the hell do I do? Ben thought. Walk around carrying a silver bullet or a sharpened stake to drive through her black heart? He sighed. “All we can do is keep an eye on those left in New Jersey and direct most of our attention to Khamsin. But advise the spotters closest to New Jersey to keep an eye out for any movement from Sister Voleta. You suppose that motorcycle bunch came up north with her, Buddy?”
“I’m sure they did. She’s probably five or six hundred, strong. Just her group.”
“Maybe fifteen hundred then, max, counting the men with Monte and Ashley. No more than that, ’cause we’ve creamed the hell out of that crew,” Ben mused aloud. “Enough to cause us some grief in an ambush, though.”
Ben once again cut his eyes to Ike. The ex-SEAL was in charge of planting the explosive
s around the city. “How are the explosives holding out, Ike?”
“We’ll have enough to do the job we talked about, Ben. Especially if those methane pockets run deep, as I think they do. We’ve tapped into every gasoline storage tank in the city. We’ll open the taps and flood the tunnels with raw gas just seconds before we bug out. Then we’ll blow the big boys. I’ve planted chemicals in what I think are strategic locations—most of it highly concentrated and short-lived blister gas. Effective disabling time something around fifteen to twenty minutes.”
“We’re going to be cutting it close, gang,” Ben said. “Real close. Uncomfortably so. If we stick to the original plan. And if the wind is wrong, we’re really going to be in trouble.”
“Do we have a choice?” West asked.
“Not really. But we have got to clear the Narrows before we hit the button, and those ships are going to have to be hauling ass, people. We’re going to have to leave the tanks and the big SP artillery. But that’s no big deal; we’ve got tanks and long toms running out the ying-yang. We can run the jeeps and light trucks right on the ferries. The rub comes in if Sister Voleta and her people set up any kind of ambush once we’re back on land. We’re going to be short on heavy artillery.”
“Our mechanics have checked the engines on those ships, Ben,” Striganov said. “They’ve got them purring and we certainly have the fuel for a long sea cruise.”
“There is something else,” Tina said. “Dad, have you considered returning to pick up our vehicles once the danger time has elapsed?”
“Yes. And I still haven’t discounted it. We very well may have to return, mount up, and head up into New York State, then cut over. We have electronic air sensors we can plant before bugging out. We can monitor them for readings.” Ben met the eyes of each person in the room. “Anything else, gang?”
They shook their heads.
“Tell your forward teams to move out this afternoon and get into position at One Hundred Eighty-first Street. I want Khamsin stopped cold right there for at least two days. Three days would be better, but tell your people not to hang in so long they risk being overrun and captured. Then bug out and fall back, fighting all the way. Suck him in here. When he’s got all his troops on the island—and we’ll know from spotter planes—blow the bridges behind him. I’ll meet with the forward teams before they pull out. That’s it, people. Let’s go.”
Khamsin crossed into Rockland County, New York, pulled his long columns onto the New York State Thruway, turned east, and then stopped.
The pilots of Ben’s spotter planes reported that the Libyan terrorist’s army seemed to be setting up a bivouac area about fifteen miles from the Tappan Zee Bridge.
“Come on, you bastard!” Ben muttered, staring at the huge wall map in his office.
Even Ben’s Rebels were getting edgy. They were all well rested and ready for a fight. So let us get it on! was the generally shared opinion.
But Khamsin wasn’t quite ready to attempt taking a bite out of the Big Apple.
“The pig is pulling something,” Khamsin told several of his most trusted senior officers. “He has some sneaky and totally dishonorable plan up his sleeve. I do not trust that man at all.”
“So we wait?” he was asked.
“For another day or so. I must pray for guidance.”
Restless, Ben began a day-long tour of his troops, starting at the westernmost position on the parkway up the Hudson River. Colonel West and his mercenaries would defend from the parkway over to Amsterdam. Rebet and Danjou would take Amsterdam to the edge of Central Park. Cecil and the Underground People would have Central Park. Ike would take the edge of Central Park over to Third. Striganov would hold Third to York, and Buddy and Dan would take York to the East River. Ben and his people would stand in reserve, ready to plug any suddenly appearing hole in the line of defense.
It was the dead of winter in the Big Apple, but the day had started out surprisingly pleasant, with most of the snow and ice melting; the temperature during the night had not dropped below freezing.
“I’m sure that Khamsin has been praying,” Ben told West. “And he’ll probably take this warm spell as some sort of sign from Allah. I expect him to cross over the bridge today and hit us tomorrow.”
“I have been thinking along those same lines. So even if he should cross over into Manhattan tomorrow, we still have a couple more days of this damn waiting.”
“Yes. The meteorologists say this warm spell is just a prelude for a major winter storm, coming in right on its heels. If they’re right, and they usually are, just about the time we blow the bridges, there’ll be a blizzard hitting us.”
“And we’re accustomed to them and Khamsin is not.”
Ben smiled. “That thought has crossed my mind. I’ve moved a lot of Abramses up to within shelling distance of Khamsin—when he crosses over, that is. We’re going to sit back here and not make a move. The forward tanks will be well behind our front teams. The commanders have worked out the areas where the shell trajectory will clear the lower buildings. After we’re all back here on the main lines, artillery can shell and let them fall wherever. Khamsin has never fought in a city like this. When the tops of buildings start coming down on their heads it’s going to be a real morale-buster.”
“And for us as well,” West pointed out.
“Yes. Taking everything into consideration, it’s going to be a miserable little war for both sides.”
Ben drove over to Rebel and Danjou’s sector. The two field commanders were standing together, smiling as they watched Emil Hite trail Michelle Jarnot around the area. From the look on Michelle’s face, it appeared that she wished the damn war would hurry up and start—anything would be better than this.
“I will shower the ground before your pretty little feet with rose petals!” Emil wailed.
“I hate roses! They make me sneeze! Go away, Emil. Please!”
Michelle ducked into a building, with Emil right behind her, singing “Some Enchanted Evening.” He sounded like Bloody Mary with a cold. South Pacific would never again be the same.
“How long has that been going on?” Ben asked the two men.
“Ever since Michelle got cut off from her unit the other night,” Danjou replied.
“I certainly have to compliment his taste in women,” the Russian said, trying to keep a straight face as Emil changed songs and the sounds of “On the Street Where You Live” came drifting out to them. “He is loving well if not too wisely.”
Ben knew that feeling from personal experience. In a way, he could empathize with Emil.
“Jesus Christ, Emil!” Michelle yelled. “Will you please cool it? You’re driving me bananas.”
“I love you, Michelle!” Emil shouted for all the world to hear. Or at least a couple of blocks. Then he burst into a ragged rendition of “Stand By Me.”
Ben chatted with the field commanders for a few moments, until Emil’s singing got the best of him. He moved on over into Central Park and found Cecil.
“I hear Emil has been shot with one of Cupid’s little arrows,” Cecil said with a smile.
“Yeah. And I think it shot him right in the head. Now that you’ve had a chance to meet the Savies and their group, Cec, how do you rate them?”
“I don’t trust them,” the man said flatly. “Quite frankly, they make the short hairs on my neck stand up.”
“You think they have any idea at all about what’s going down?”
He shook his head. “No. They came around, asking questions. But my people just ignored them. I haven’t seen them since late yesterday.”
“Don’t count on them, Cec. I don’t think they know, yet, what side they want to be on. Except for the winning side. You seen the Underground People?”
“No. But they’re around.”
“Bet on that. They’ll stand.”
Ben drove over to Ike’s sector. “I won’t add the activating agent to the gas until just before we pull out, Ben,” Ike told him. “That’s just i
n case one of the areas where they’re planted takes a hit.”
“Good. Let’s take as many potential backfires out of this plan as possible.”
“I’m thinking if this warm weather holds, Khamsin and his boys will come across tomorrow.”
“Everyone I’ve spoken with agrees with that assessment, friend. Hang tough, Ike.”
Ben moved east a few blocks, reaching Georgi Striganov’s sector. The Russian had dug his people in deep, and his very capable troops were ready and waiting for a fight.
“Savie and a few of his bunch came around early this morning,” the Russian said. “I don’t trust him, Ben.”
“No one else does either. But I think out of pure desperation they’ll be forced to join us. If they don’t fight, and fight well, their butts are going to be left in New York when we bug out.”
“That wouldn’t bother me at all,” the Russian bluntly stated.
Ben moved over to the easternmost sector, near a small park on the East River. As usual, Dan had dug his people in deep and camouflaged them well. A master of ambush, Khamsin’s men were going to be in for a very brief and very deadly encounter when they bumped into Dan and Buddy.
“Not long now, General,” the Englishman said. “Tomorrow, I’d wager.”
“Ten o’clock,” Buddy said.
“Noon,” Dan countered.
Ben left them in a friendly argument and went back to his own sector. Spirits were high among his people, and they were more than ready to mix it up and get this fight over with.
There was no sign of any Rebels in this area, as in all the sectors Ben had just inspected. His Rebels were staying low and quiet. He walked into the building where he knew Thermopolis and his people were housed and waved the man over to him.
“You have any stroke with Emil, Thermopolis? Ben asked.
“Well, he will listen to me on occasion.
“He’s making a fool out of himself over in Danjou’s sector. Go get him for me, please, and haul his ass back here. Tell him I said to stay put.”
Trapped in the Ashes Page 13
