Trapped in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Ben was on the line before dawn; this close up, he was making a lot of his Rebels nervous.

  “Relax, people,” Ben told them, squatting beside a Duster. “Before this is over, we’ll all be fighting shoulder to shoulder.”

  Ben looked up the wide snow-covered expanse of St. Nicholas Street as far as the night would allow. “Any of you see anything moving last night?”

  “Nothing, General,” a young Rebel said. “After that hammering we gave them last night, I would imagine they’re going to keep their heads down.”

  “Don’t count on it, son. Khamsin is going to hit us and hit us hard. He wants to kill me so badly he’ll expend every man he’s got to do it.”

  “How many troops you figure he’s got, sir?”

  “Between six and seven thousand. Another two-three thousand of Monte’s and Ashley’s and Sister Voleta’s people sitting over there in New Jersey, waiting to see what happens before they commit. But I don’t think they’ll try any type of boat crossing. They’ll wait and strike from ambush when we get on the road.”

  “Dammit, Ben!” Jerre yelled at him from behind, finally finding him. “You had us all worried. “She walked to his side.

  The Rebels on either side of him seemed to melt back into the graying light, giving the general and the lady plenty of room.

  Ben smiled at her. “You could have brought some coffee, Jerre.”

  She smiled thinly and held up a thermos of coffee. “You want me to pour, too?”

  “If you like.”

  Tin cups filled with the hot black brew, they sipped in the dim new light of fresh morning and stared at each other, their breath as steamy in the cold air as the vapors coming off the brew.

  “When do you think Khamsin will hit us, Ben?”

  “Within the hour. He’ll probably start with some artillery to soften us up.”

  “Then don’t you think it would be wise to seek some shelter?”

  “Only if there’s some breakfast waiting. Besides, we’ll be able to hear the rounds coming about ten seconds before they hit.”

  “That’s so comforting to know.” She looked at the strange expression on his face. “What’s the matter, Ben?”

  “Incoming mail, Jerre.” He grabbed her around the waist and literally tossed her behind a sandbagged enclosure, coming in right behind just as the artillery shells started dropping all around them.

  FIVE

  They huddled close as the ground trembled around them. The street was showered with falling debris as rounds smashed into buildings and exploded. Ben protected her with his body as best he could, both of them shivering as they lay on a blanket of snow that had gathered inside the topless sandbag enclosure.

  Ben fumbled for his walkie-talkie and yelled for Beth.

  “Here, sir!”

  “Order all units to commence firing, Beth,” he yelled over the crash and boom of the incoming rounds. “Give them everything we’ve got in return.”

  He could not hear her reply, but within seconds, friendly mail was singing and whining overhead, heading for impact with Khamsin’s lines.

  The incoming slackened as Ben’s gunners laid down a lethal wall of flying steel and Willie Peter; then the incoming faded out entirely.

  “Let’s go!” Ben yelled, his hearing temporarily impaired from the recent explosions.

  Together, they ran for the safety of his bunkered CP. Behind them, Khamsin’s people had resumed their shelling. The concussion of an incoming round literally blew them inside the CP. The door had been knocked off its hinges the night before.

  “You all right?” Ben asked, sitting up on the dirty floor.

  “Oh, just dandy! But I dropped the thermos back there.”

  Ben started laughing at the expression on her face, and the laughter was infectious. It was almost like old times, years past. Almost.

  “General?” Beth said. She was holding out the mike. Her voice sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well. “General Ike on the horn.”

  “Go ahead, Ike. But talk loud. My hearing is shot for a moment. I’m still hearing booming in my ears. What’s up?”

  “Hell, you tell me! Are you all right up there?”

  “Oh, yeah. I haven’t received any casualty reports yet, but I don’t think we suffered any major injuries. We’re pretty well dug in. . . .”

  A runner stepped into the CP. “Khamsin’s people advancing, General. Comin’ at us hard.”

  “Gotta go, Ike. Work to do. Talk to you later.” Ben picked up his M14 and moved to the door. There were no sounds of any incoming, so he concluded that Khamsin was letting his infantry carry the load on this one. He turned to the runner. “Pass the word up and down the line and the word is Hold! Hold until you receive orders from me. Go, son!”

  He looked at Beth. “Tanks in position on our flanks, Beth. Mortars and heavy machine guns in the middle.” He looked at Buddy. “You ready, boy?”

  “After you, Father.”

  Ben and Buddy, with the remainder of Ben’s personal team right behind them, ran from the CP and took up positions behind what was left of a wall, facing north. Ben repositioned some concrete blocks and bipodded the M14 just as the first of Khamsin’s troops came darting into view.

  “Hold fire,” Ben ordered, and Beth relayed the orders. “Let them get on top of us and then give them everything you’ve got. Everybody keep their heads down; absolutely no movement.”

  The troops of Khamsin’s army moved closer, slower now that they were closing. The snowing had abated somewhat, after dumping several feet of snow on the city, and with the full dawning, Ben felt sure the temperature would be dropping. Soon it would be too cold to snow. Soon it would be just miserable.

  But not as miserable as Ben intended to make it for the Hot Wind.

  “Steady, steady,” Ben said, and Beth whispered the words into the mike. “I’ll open the dance. Wait for me, people.”

  The enemy was a block away, then half a block and closing rapidly, the footing treacherous in the deep snow. Nothing moved before their eyes. The last reported lines of the Rebels seemed deserted.

  “Now!” Ben said, and pulled the trigger, the old Thunder Lizard set on full auto.

  The cold air was split with hot lead; the fluttering of mortar rounds sang as they floated in. Tanks cut loose their cannon; 40mm, 90mm, and 105 rounds blasted the white-covered calmness of the city.

  Still the troops of the Hot Wind pressed on, using their dead comrades for cover as they sprawled on the snowy ground.

  “We’re too light!” Ben yelled in Beth’s ear, his voice just carrying over the rattle and crash of weapons. “Order all Rebels to begin falling back. Regroup at a Hundred Sixty-eighth Street. Order West and his people up. Tell them to stretch out east of Broadway to the river. We’ll take everything west of Broadway.”

  Beth nodded her head and gave the orders calmly. Ben was going to hate to lose her; but he had a hunch that when this was over, she was going back to Lev and the cows.

  “Make it appear to be a rout,” he heard her say, and Ben smiled at the words. She was one tough lady who knew the way his mind worked. “Pull them after us. Let’s go!”

  She looked at Ben. “Cooper and the others are in the Blazer, waiting for us, sir.” Her gaze lingered on his face. “Jerre’s there.”

  “Let’s go! We’ll set up around the old Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center for a time.”

  They ran for the Blazer, parked a block away. Cooper had put chains on the tires, and the engine was ticking over when they reached it.

  “Go, Coop,” Ben said, as the women piled into the backseat.

  “West reporting his men are on the way, General,” Beth told him, listening through a headset. “Generals Ike and Jefferys have moved several companies north just in case.”

  “Good. Bump Dan.” He turned up the volume of the radio under the dash.

  “Dan here, sir.”

  “Buddy with you?”

  “Ten-four, sir. We’re spearhead
ing.”

  An artillery round exploded against a building, showering them with fragments of brick and mortar before they could pass through it.

  “Close,” Ben muttered.

  Several creepies ran out of a building and pointed AKs at the Blazer. Cooper cut the wheel and ran over them, their bones crunching and flesh tearing as the chain-covered tires spun the life out of them. Their screaming faded as their blood stained the snow of the street.

  “Saves ammo,” Coop said with a tight smile.

  “The man can think about something other than women,” Jersey said from the backseat.

  “I lust for your body, baby!” Cooper fired back. “I dream about you at night.”

  “I retract that statement. Drive, Cooper, and shut your mouth. Don’t think. It’s too much a strain on your brain.”

  “Creepies in the medical center,” Dan’s voice came through the speaker. “I would guess several hundred of them.”

  “Just about the time we think we’re rid of them, they pop up again,” Ben said, reaching for the mike. “Dan, we can’t fight two fronts. Order tanks up and destroy the complex. Willie Peter and HE plastic rounds. Use flamethrowers to torch the ground floors. Set up behind the complex.”

  “Ten-four, General.”

  “I’m not going to lose any more people to those bastards,” Ben growled. “I’m tired of jacking around with them. Coop, take us around behind the center on a Hundred Sixty-fourth Street. Khamsin’s men won’t try to punch through a blazing fire.”

  Coop slid around a snowy corner and came out on 164th Street. Tanks were already blasting away at the huge old complex, and flames and smoke were pouring out of the building’s top floors. Rebels with flamethrowers were working on the ground floors while others were tossing homemade Molotov cocktails through the shattered windows, the firebombs catching and spreading flames.

  “Mortar the roof,” Ben spoke into the mike. “Cave it in on them. You ten-four that, West?”

  “Ten-four, General. Setting up mortar teams now. You going to call in coordinates?”

  “Affirmative. Drop them in when ready. I’ll correct if need be.”

  “Back us up a few hundred meters, Coop,” Ben told him.

  From their position a few blocks east of the medical complex, West’s men began lobbing in mortar rounds, the first ones falling short. Ben corrected and the rounds began striking their target.

  “Dead on, West,” Ben said. “Keep it up.”

  The mortar crews began dropping in incendiaries, and within moments, the medical center was engulfed in flames. Black-robed crawlers were hurling themselves out of windows, trying to escape the raging flames. The Rebels shot any who survived the fall to the ground.

  Standing outside the Blazer, Ben lifted the mike. “Buddy, take your teams and set up along the Henry Hudson Parkway just in case Khamsin’s people might try some flanking moves.”

  “Ten-four, Father.”

  “Tina, you and your teams join me.”

  “On the way, Pops.”

  “Cease firing, West. Good job. That place will continue burning for hours. Khamsin won’t try to punch through all that. They’ll be hitting your sector hard any moment.”

  “I see them, Ben. We’ll hold until you tell us to fall back,” he added calmly. It was not a brag; the mercenary knew his men and knew what they could do.

  “Wogs advancing across a Hundred Seventieth Street, General,” Beth told him.

  Ben looked at her, a smile on his lips. “Wogs, Beth?”

  “Slip of the tongue, General. That’s what my father used to call them. When the Palestinians declared open war on Israel, my father lost nearly all of his family over there. My mother was there visiting. They killed her. I just don’t like those people, General. Not one damn bit.”

  What could he say to her? He remembered as a teenager talking with World War II veterans who until their dying day hated the Germans or the Japanese.

  Ben also noticed that Beth had taken her M16 from the back of the Blazer and was carrying filled clip pouches around her waist.

  “Whatever, Beth.” Ben motioned a young Rebel over to him. “Take the radio, son. Give Beth a break.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Beth looked at Ben for a moment, then slipped out of the radio and handed it to the young man. She took up her M16 and wriggled around behind a pile of debris until she had staked out as comfortable a position as possible.

  “What’s your name, son?” Ben asked.

  “Chuck, sir.”

  “All right, Chuck. You stay with us. If a translator is needed, hand the mike to Beth.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stay out of the line of fire and don’t let the radio take a hit if you can help it.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Ben knelt down beside Beth. “Back on the line, Beth?”

  “Yes, sir. I have a really personal interest in this fight.”

  Ben nodded and waved his team down just as Tina and her people were pulling up. Ben spread them out between Fort Washington Avenue and Broadway then returned to kneel down beside Beth and Jerre and Jersey. Cooper had taken up position in a building behind a 5.56-caliber machine gun called the Minimi. Each prepacked and belted ammo box contained 250 rounds, and the Minimi could spit out the lead with a vengeance.

  “Where’d you get that thing, Cooper?” Ben called.

  “I stole it from the Canadians!” He grinned with his reply.

  “Armies never change,” Ben muttered.

  “Here they come, sir,” Jersey called.

  Ben found him a spot and lifted the M14, set on full rock and roll and bipodded. “Chuck, tell the people to fire whenever they get a target.”

  Ben sighted in, pulled the trigger, and began to make life awfully uncomfortable for some of Khamsin’s troops.

  All up and down the line, the Rebels found targets and sent Khamsin’s people either diving for cover or sprawled on the snow. Cooper’s Minimi was rattling out 5.56-caliber slugs. Beth was very carefully picking her shots, and her aim was true. Between shots, she was muttering some highly uncomplimentary remarks about the enemy. Like she’d said, she had a personal interest in this fight.

  “Spotters report Khamsin is moving up tanks, General!” Chuck called.

  “Send our Abramses out, Chuck. All Dusters and other light tanks hold in position.” Ben knew that his Abramses were much more heavily armored and better gunned than Khamsin’s lighter tanks. It would not be much of a fight.

  Ben, watching through binoculars, saw one Abrams round a corner, lower its main cannon, and blow one of the Hot Wind’s tanks clear off one track and then turn it into a fiery death trap with armor-piercing rounds.

  Another Abrams clanked up the street, looking for trouble. It soon found it in the form of Khamsin’s heaviest tank. Khamsin lost another tank to Ben when the gunner fired an antitank round called a HEAT, and the enemy tank exploded from the inside out, frying its crew.

  With two of his tanks out and two more crippled, Khamsin recalled them. They just were no match for Ben’s heavier tanks.

  “All tanks return,” Ben ordered Chuck. “No pursuit.”

  Chuck relayed the orders, then said, “Khamsin’s people are dropping back, sir. They’re crossing a Hundred Seventy-first and formed a line.”

  “All right, people,” Ben called. “Get ready for mortars and artillery. Get yourselves bunkered in as best you can and grab your asses. Khamsin is going to give us all he’s got!”

  SIX

  Khamsin spent the early hours of the afternoon dropping artillery rounds on where he thought Ben and his Rebels were hunkered. But when the first shells started falling, Ben had shifted his people several blocks to the south.

  Khamsin was shelling an empty sector.

  Over on the east side of the island, West chuckled, then said to one of his men, “Smooth move. Like silk. Khamsin is detroying the exact sector Ben had proposed destroying. The silly bastard is doing our work. We have found a ho
me, Monroe. I always said if I ever found a better tactician than myself, I’d follow him up to and through the gates of Hell. I’ve found him.”

  The shelling stopped. Within seconds, Ben ordered, “Back on the line, people. Move, move, move.” He grabbed up the mike. “West! Move your people back to our original lines. Let’s have a surprise waiting for Khamsin.”

  Laughing at Ben’s downright sneakiness, the mercenary yelled his men forward through the snow, and they took their hidden positions in deserted buildings.

  Khamsin’s men came running through the cold snowy streets, racing toward the smoking desolation left by their gunners.

  They ran straight into the guns of Ben Raines’s Rebels and died by the dozens—died wondering what had happened and why their great religious leader, the Hot Wind, had been so wrong.

  Ben occasionally watched as Beth coolly and calmly picked her shots, rarely missing. There was a grim expression on her face, and her eyes were flint hard with long-overdue satisfaction.

  “Enjoying yourself, Beth?” he asked during a short lull in the fighting.

  “Retribution, General. Pure and simple.” She lifted her M16 and knocked another of Khamsin’s terrorists sprawling to the snow—then shot him again to put an end to his squalling.

  “I’m going to miss you when you go back to Lev and his cows, Beth.”

  She cut her eyes. “I ain’t gone yet, General.”

  As night fell over that shattered portion of the city, Khamsin sat in his drafty CP and did not savor the copper taste of defeat that had formed on his tongue.

  He sent his tanks into battle, and Ben Raines had bigger and better tanks. He sent his troops into battle, and Ben Raines’s Rebels slaughtered them. He poured hundreds of rounds of artillery into a sector, and Ben Raines and his Rebels were not there. Then the Rebels materialized like ghosts, and more of his troops were dead.

  The man was a devil!

  Ben sat in his warm CP and enjoyed a spot of bourbon from a cache his people had found. He had ordered whiskey for all his Rebels who wanted a couple of drinks. The whiskey sort of killed the taste of the goop that Doctor Chase called field rations. Highly nutritious, but with all the flavor of a horseshoe. Some Rebels even went so far as to say it tasted like something that dropped from a horse.