“The few wounded the Rebels missed during their coup de grace said many of the attackers spoke German,” Hoffman told his people in a surprisingly calm voice. “That means the GSG 9 people have linked up with Raines. The goddamn filthy traitors. The wounded also heard General von Hanstein scream out Ben Raines’s name from his office. They also confirm that General von Hanstein was taken prisoner. Thrown into the back of a truck. The nerve of that bastard Raines. Taking a small force deep into our territory and carrying out a successful raid.”
Before he could continue, an aide rushed into the room and handed him a slip of paper, then quickly departed before Hoffman could read the radio message and once more fly into a fit of rage.
Hoffman read the message and barely managed to contain his anger. He took several deep breaths and composed himself. He said, “At least a full division of Ecuadorian, Peruvian, and Venezuelan troops have closed our highway supply routes. Those supplies that we were expecting will not arrive. The convoy was ambushed and all supplies seized. There were no survivors. All supplies will have to be flown in from this point on.” He was silent for a time. “The world seems to be massing against us,” he said finally, his words softly spoken. “But we expected that. All right. I anticipated something of this nature. I will shift Eighth Division down to guard the airport and roads around what is left of San Antonio. Supplies will be flown into there and trucked out into the field. Eighth Division will also have the responsibility of providing guards for the supply convoys. From this moment on, we are in no rush. We advance daily, but we do so slowly and carefully.”
“Then we are standing down from our defensive positions?” a staff officer asked cautiously, knowing the question had to be posed.
“Yes,” Hoffman said, no anger in his reply. “I overreacted and will admit it.”
“What about the message we received from the commander of Base Camp One?” Hoffman was asked.
Cecil had sent word that Hoffman could, under the terms agreed to earlier, freely and safely staff hospitals within the boundaries of what used to be Louisiana—and was now a neutral zone—but under no circumstances would he allow any SS troops to be treated in that area. He had issued orders that any and all SS troops were to be shot on sight, no matter what their physical condition might be.
Hoffman merely shrugged at that. “We will provide care for our elite troops. We do not need the protection of a neutral zone for them. The Rebels in the field will not attack a hospital. General Cecil Jefferys’s orders came as no surprise. Considering what he is. All combat troops will stay out of the neutral zone.”
Hoffman met the eyes of his staff officers. “Let’s return to the matter of Ben Raines. That son of a bitch!”
* * *
Ben and his command, deep in enemy territory, hit the small patrol of Blackshirts very swiftly and very hard. The five vehicle patrol had made the mistake of entering the old state park. It was their last mistake. Five rockets from Armbrust launchers turned the trucks into blazing death traps. Within seconds the Rebels and the GSG 9 personnel had put out the flames so the smoke would not be seen and had dragged away the searingly hot rubble, the bodies entombed forever in the twisted and melted metal.
“For years I have heard of Ben Raines and the Rebels,” Major Streicher said to Ben, as they sat in the darkness of the cold camp. “At first we thought it was just a rumor. Then rumor became fact as more and more countries—splintered and torn as they may be—began adopting the Rebel philosophy. Those countries who are sending troops here are now virtually free of crime and are rapidly rebuilding their societies. Those who have not adopted the Rebel way are nothing but raging battle zones. They will have to be dealt with at some future point. By us.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Ben agreed, grimacing as the night breeze picked up and brought with it the odor of freshly charred human flesh. “That is, providing we manage to knock the blocks from under Hoffman and his Nazis.”
The major smiled in the night. “Oh, we will, General. All of us sensed that the moment we met you and your people. Your movement is unstoppable. We might die, but the movement will live on.”
“Ike’s raising hell, General,” Corrie said, walking up. “He’s getting everybody else all worked up, too.”
“Let him holler,” Ben said, wishing he had a hot cup of coffee and a smoke to go with it. “We’ll bump him as soon as we’re clear of this box we’re in. I don’t even want to risk a burst. The damn Blackshirts are all around us. They could get lucky.”
“This General Ike McGowan,” Colonel Lenz said. “Will he send out rescue patrols?”
“No,” Ben said quickly. “He’ll bluster and beller but that’s just for my benefit. He’s letting me know how he feels about my taking chances.”
“He’s right, you know?” Colonel Lenz said softly.
Ben chuckled goodnaturedly. “My God! You and Ike are going to hit it off famously.”
At first light, Hoffman’s troops began their slow northern advance along seven fronts. There was little the Rebels could do to stop them. Ben had ordered his heavy artillery moved north and hidden. For every big gun and battle tank the Rebels had, Hoffman had thirty. The Rebels just could not stand toe to toe with the Blackshirts and slug it out. Not yet. They had to wear them down, little by little.
Ben and his command pulled out, heading east and staying on little used county roads, getting lost more than once, for many of the roads were not on any map. Dusk found them camped along the banks of a large creek or a small river—none of them were sure about that.
“I think it’s the Blanco,” Cooper said, looking at a map. “This road is not marked. If it is, we’ve got to cross Interstate 35 tomorrow.”
“And we know from radio intercepts that Hoffman is shifting his Eighth Division over to San Antonio,” Jersey added. “We might run into them.”
“I think we’d better stay right where we are,” Ben ended that discussion. “We’ve got good cover and water. In a couple of days we’ll be in the clear. Stand down, gang.”
Forward people both saw and heard Hoffman’s Eighth Division on their way southwest to San Antonio. And it was a massive movement. At noon of the third day’s hiding, the recon teams reported no more movement of troops and equipment. The highways were silent and empty.
“Let’s go, people,” Ben ordered. “We’ll be in the clear in two hours.”
Luck was with them and two hours later, they were rolling up 77, big and bold as brass, heading for Waco . . . or what was left of it.
“According to these reports,” Major Dietl said. “Hoffman’s Seventh Division is only a few miles to our west.”
“Sure,” Colonel Lenz said with a smile. “That’s why General Raines is taking this route. Who would think to look for us here?”
Dietl grinned and shook his head. “Working with the general is going to be interesting.”
“To say the least.”
The words had just left his mouth when the words of forward Scouts screamed into Corrie’s ears. “Gunships heading south. Following the highway.”
“Over there,” Ben said, pointing to the ruins of a small town. “Duck in between those buildings. Order Stingers readied.”
As she always did, Beth had slipped on another headset and was monitoring the frequencies used by Hoffman. “They’re calling in our position now, General,” she said.
Cooper pulled into an old service station. The gloom was comforting.
“The choppers are beginning a slow circle, General,” Corrie said, after speaking with forward recon. “Staying out of range of SAMs.”
“I wondered when Hoffman’s boys and girls would smarten up,” Ben said, getting out of the armored car and stretching. “Well, we can expect some sort of company pretty damn quick. What kind of gunships are they, Corrie?”
“Scouts don’t know. Say they’ve never seen anything like them. But they resemble our Apaches. They say the firepower looks awesome. But the choppers are not making any host
ile moves. They are staying well away from the Scouts position, maintaining a slow circle.”
“Dig in for a fight,” Ben ordered. “We can’t move from here. Those gunships would cut us to pieces.”
Corrie was calmly setting up her radio, Jersey was standing in the open door of the service part of the old filling station, Cooper was checking out his M-60 machine gun, and Beth had taken up a position at the rear of the building. Other Rebels had spread out up and down the ruins of the small street. Stingers were readied in case the circling gunships of Hoffman did come into range.
Men of the GSG 9 had quickly appraised the layout of the town and taken positions without having to be told. In less than three minutes, the town appeared to be deserted.
“Blackshirt units are on the way,” Corrie said. “From the north, west, and south.”
Ben nodded his head and checked his Thompson, then checked his sidearms. “How many of them?”
“Too damn many,” Corrie replied. “And coming as fast as road conditions allow.”
Ben smiled at her initial reply.
Cooper unwrapped a candy bar from a ration packet and took a bite. Jersey popped a fresh stick of gun into her mouth. She glanced at Ben. He winked at her and Jersey laughed and signaled thumbs-up. Beth was laying out thirty round clips of .223 ammo for easy reach.
“Colonel Lenz reports his men are in position,” Corrie said. “Recon staying in place and asking if there is a way to get a Stinger to them?”
“Negative,” Ben told her. Ben walked around the shop area a couple of times. He stopped and said, “Corrie? Now you can bump our people and tell them where we are and that we just might be in a little bit of trouble.”
Jersey rolled her eyes at that, then grinned and said, “And tell them if they want to get in on the action they’d better hurry. We’re about to kick Nazi ass all over the place.”
FIFTEEN
Hoffman was ectatic as he studied the huge wall map of Texas. He could not hide his wide smile. He actually felt like dancing. He controlled that unseemly urge and rubbed his hands together and chuckled. “We have that arrogant rogue bastard now,” he gloated, for he had correctly anticipated what route Ben might take back north. “He cannot slip out of this box. Shift units of the Seventh Division north and south of Raines’s location to prevent Rebels from coming to his aid. I want gunships up immediately to cover the area east of his position. Nail the lid down tight. Now, General Ben Raines. Now, I have you.” He turned to face an aide. “Just as soon as all troops and gunships are in position, kill that son of a bitch. Blow that damn town to bloody splinters and dust.”
The staff officers surrounding Hoffman all applauded at the brilliance of their field Marshal. He accepted the loud accolade with modesty.
“Corrie, belay the message to our people. Maintain radio silence. Cooper, pass the word: Take two day’s rations, as much ammo as each person can comfortably carry, and leave everything else. We were using Black-shirt vehicles so let’s leave some presents behind with them.”
Cooper grinned and nodded his head in understanding. The vehicles would be booby-trapped.
“Split up into four or five person teams and head for the river bed and work east toward the Brazos. But don’t try to follow the river north. They’ll be expecting that. Keep working east until we reach our units along I-45. Do it right now. Move, Coop. And get back here quickly. Let’s get our shit together, gang. We’ve got to bug out. I have a feeling Hoffman is going to use heavy artillery on this old town.”
Teams began exiting the town within a minute. Ben’s team waited, knowing they would be the last to leave.
“I must insist that you leave now, General,” Colonel Lenz told Ben.
“Take off, Colonel,” Ben said with a smile. “Godspeed.”
Lenz gripped Ben’s shoulder for a moment, then saluted. “We’ll take General von Hanstein with us.”
Ben nodded. “If he gets to be too much trouble, shoot the son of a bitch.”
Lenz laughed: “It will be my pleasure to do so, General.” The German GSG 9 commander was gone at a silent run.
“And so once more, it is with regret that we leave a lovely scenic spot,” Beth said straight-faced. “What a delightful time we’ve had here.”
Even though Beth was not prone to wisecracking, ever since she had seen an old travelogue tape she had mimicked the announcer whenever they got into a tight spot.
“Make a note in your diary to return here someday,” Ben said with a smile.
“Hell, there won’t be anything left in an hour,” Beth replied.
“Or less,” Ben added.
“That’s it,” Corrie announced, taking off her headphones and slipping into the straps of the back-pack radio. “We’re alone. All teams have gone.”
“Bug-out time,” Ben said, looking at Cooper. He was just finishing his booby-trapping of the armored car. “Did you leave a nice surprise for them, Coop?”
“They’ll get a bang out of it.”
Jersey groaned at the old joke.
“Let’s go, gang,” Ben said.
They slipped out and headed for the river. Ben’s piece of a map did not give a name for the stream. It was the San something; that part of the map was creased over and not legible. Ben’s team had not gone half a mile before the artillery barrage started. They paused and looked back as the old town exploded.
“Another fifteen minutes and we’d have been chopped meat,” Jersey said.
“Speaking of meat,” Cooper said.
“You’re always hungry, Coop,” Ben said. “Come on. It’s hours before we can stop for that.”
“I’ll die of starvation!”
“You’ll get shot in the ass by me if you don’t move,” Jersey warned him.
Cooper took one look at Jersey and moved right out. Smartly, as the British say.
The four Scouts had left their forward positions and moved out first, under orders from Colonel Lenz. He told them to head for the river fast, like bunny rabbits, and stay there until they linked up with their General and stay with him. He didn’t have to tell them he was doing that without Ben’s notice. They guessed that.
A mile from town, Beth spotted the Scouts waiting for them. “Don’t fuss at them, General,” she said. “I bet you Colonel Lenz ordered them to link up with us.”
“You’re probably right.” Ben waved at the Scouts to take the lead and they set a route step that was not uncomfortably fast, but covered a lot of ground. The small group held to cover as much as possible, avoiding open fields.
Ben was the first to hear the unmistakable whapping of rotor blades. “Down!” he called. “Choppers.”
Corrie was listening intently to her earphones. “Teams have been spotted,” she said, lying beside Ben. “Hoffman knows we bugged out.”
“We’re in for it now,” Ben replied. “He’ll be throwing everything he’s got at us.”
“We’re spotted!” Beth shouted, listening to the Black-shirt’s frequency.
“He’ll be coming in for a strafing run,” Ben called, watching the chopper begin a slow turn. “Good God, look at the armament on that damn thing.”
Then the helicopter disintegrated in the air as a Rebel Stinger, fired from a hidden Rebel team about a half a mile away impacted against it. Metal parts and body parts were flung in all directions and the ball of fire fell out of the sky and crashed to earth.
“Let’s go!” Ben shouted, jumping to his feet. “Head for that stand of timber.”
Reaching the timber and pausing to catch their breath, the small band of Rebels listened for the sounds of more choppers. None came.
“Probably a lone wolf,” Ben said, after taking a small sip of tepid water from his canteen. “You picking up any enemy chatter, Beth?”
“Negative.”
Corrie didn’t mention that Ike and other Rebel commanders were raising hell about Ben’s disappearance and continuing silence. Ben already knew that.
“Let’s cover some ground
while we can.”
By nightfall, they had put the destroyed town far behind them. They ate cold rations and Ben told them to get some rest. He had some thinking to do.
Should they move on? That just might be a dandy way to get seriously dead by the guns of their own people. Before they had bugged out of the little town, passwords had been chosen: Alamo and Bowie. But with very nervous trigger fingers, there might not be time for words.
Ben slept for a few hours and then roused the others. “We’ll chance it. Let’s move out. Everybody remember the challenge? OK. Heads up.”
They had not gone a thousand yards before the point man dropped down, the others following.
The point Scout silently wriggled back to the main body. “Blackshirts,” he whispered. “Looks like a big bunch of them.”
“Go around them,” Ben said. “To the east. Coop, pass the word. Anybody makes a noise, we’re all dead.”
It took them nearly half an hour of slow and silent moving, being very careful where they put a boot down. By the time the Rebels had worked their way clear of the Blackshirt encampment, the smell of nervous sweat was becoming sharp in the surprisingly cool night.
A mile away, behind them, hard gunfire splintered and fractured the night. A few hundred yards in front of them, sudden movement and the sounds of boots hitting the ground flattened the Rebels out, still and silent, hearts thudding heavily. Sharp commands came to them and then a Blackshirt patrol came running past, heading for the gunfire. They were running so close all the Rebels could feel the impact of boots upon the earth.
“Move out,” Ben whispered. “Straight east. These sons of bitches are all around us.” He didn’t have to add “be careful.”
Battle in the Ashes Page 13
