“The Field Marshal does not wish to be disturbed,” an aide told the tough paratroop General.
General Jahn looked at the young man and smiled. “Get out of my way, you strutting little REM, before I physically remove you.”
The aide blustered, but stepped out of the way. “Sir,” he said. “What is a REM?”
Jahn smiled. “It’s an American expression. It means Rear Echelon Motherfucker.” He stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.
Hoffman’s nose had been set and a piece of tape placed across it. He looked at Jahn for a moment. “Well, General Jahn, what is it?”
“Consider surrender terms, Field Marshal,” the general said without hesitation.
Hoffman blinked. “Have you lost your damn mind, General?”
“No,” Jahn replied shortly. He walked to a sideboard, poured a snifter of brandy, and drank it down.
Far too much brandy, Hoffman noticed. And without taking the time to savor the delicate bouquet. The man was utterly without breeding.
“But it’s time to consider our position,” Jahn said, his back to the Field Marshal. He poured another brandy, and this time swirled the liquid about and gave it time to breathe a bit.
Then, Hoffman noticed, he knocked it back like a damn drunken roustabout.
“It’s better than it was a few days ago,” Hoffman said.
“Hell would have been better for us than then,” Jahn said. He spoke his mind and damn the consequences. He was a professional soldier, not a diplomat. He turned, facing Hoffman. “Field Marshal, consider this: Eighth Division is pinned down in the ruins of San Antonio. Raines’ Rebels there have now been beefed up by about a thousand Mexican guerrillas. Schleyer cannot get out. The Rebels have blown every bridge, every overpass, in a circle around the city. The Eighth is trapped and we cannot get supplies in to them. They are doomed. They will fight until their ammunition is gone, and then they will be forced to surrender.”
“We will be victorious up here and then send relief columns to break them out!” Hoffman shouted.
“You’re living in a dream world, Field Marshal.”
Hoffman jumped to his feet. “You do not speak to me in such a manner!”
“I offer you the truth while your staff officers shield you and tell you only things they know you want to hear. And you know that is the truth.”
Hoffman sat back down and pouted for a moment. He lifted his eyes and looked at General Jahn. “Surrender is repugnant. Absolutely unacceptable.”
“Raines is a warrior, a first class fighting man and brilliant tactician, but he is also an honorable man.” Jahn sat down in a chair in front of Hoffman’s desk. “Field Marshal, you know I only pay lip service to the teachings of Hitler. I am not a Nazi and never have been. No matter what you tell other people or personally think about me, and I know you think you have converted me, I shall never be a Nazi. What am I, what I have been all my life is a fighting man. I am a soldier. You are a student of history, Field Marshal, so think back. Not to the lies and half-truths you were taught as a boy, but to the real truth that you later discovered. The entire world rallied together, seventy years ago, against the man you worship. And now this shattered world is doing the same thing against us. There will be more countries coming in, Field Marshal. Trust me. My intelligence people have monitored other nations’ transmissions, and even though they have internal problems of their own, they are putting forces together to assist the Rebels. Even as we speak. I personally don’t think they will arrive here in time; I think we will be but a memory before long. But the Gods of war are fickle—they might choose to smile on us for a change. Who knows?”
Hoffman stared at the general for a long moment. His first thought was to immediately relieve the man of command. But he quickly put that out of his mind. Jahn was a fine commander and a brilliant tactician. His men would follow him through the gates of Hell without question. True, the forces of the NAL had suffered a setback, but not one that was insurmountable. He must convince Jahn of that. He needed the paratroop general. Needed him very badly.
“I will not consider surrender, General Jahn,” Hoffman reiterated.
Jahn shrugged his shoulders. “In that case, Field Marshal, I am certain that most of my men will fight to the death. But I will not order them to do that.”
“You do not believe in our cause, General?”
Jahn smiled. “You mean the torture and oppression and slavery of people, Field Marshal?”
“I am doing no more than Ben Raines is doing,” Hoffman replied.
Jahn met Hoffman’s eyes. The man is crazy, the paratrooper thought. Why couldn’t I see that months ago? He knew the answer to that even before the thought cleared his mind. He saw it. He just ignored it.
“Anything else, General Jahn?”
The paratrooper was silent for a few heartbeats. He shook his head and rose to his boots. “No, Field Marshal. There is nothing else.”
“Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hoffman threw out his left arm. “Heil Hitler!”
Jahn looked at him. “Shit!” he said, and left the room.
SIX
Corrie looked up, surprise on her face. “General!” she called to Ben, seated across the room, his eyes poring over maps.
Ben removed his reading glasses and looked over at her. “Yes, Corrie?”
“General Jahn on the horn, sir.”
Ben quickly walked the distance and took the mic. “Ben Raines here.”
“This is General Jahn. I wish to discuss surrender terms, General Raines.”
“On the air?”
“On the air, face to face, or sitting on two burros,” Jahn’s strong voice came through the speaker. “It makes no difference to me. My only concern is the treatment of my men.”
“A trick, Ben?” Lamar Chase asked, standing close.
“I don’t think so.” He keyed the mic. “If your men lay down their weapons and agree to leave the United States, they will not be harmed, General. I give you my word. But I can’t guarantee their safety once out of this country.”
“We don’t want to leave the country, General. We want to become residents,” Jahn replied. “We are not Nazis, General. We are soldiers. But do not ask us to fight against men and women who we, in many cases, have known since childhood. I cannot ask my men to do that.”
“I understand, General. I would like to meet with you, General.”
“It would be an honor, sir.”
“Hold what you have and stay on this frequency,” Ben told him. “I’ll be back in touch with you in fifteen minutes.”
“I shall be waiting. General Jahn clear.”
“Get me Ike, Corrie.”
“Shark here. Go, Eagle.”
“What do you see up there, Shark?”
“White flags, Eagle. Lots of them. My recon teams tell me that Jahn’s people all over the place are laying down their weapons and standing in the roads, in the streets, in the fields, hands on their heads.”
“I’ll be at your location ASAP, Shark. Make a fresh pot of coffee.”
“That’s a big ten-four, Ben.”
Ben put on his beret and picked up his Thompson. “Let’s go, people.”
Hoffman was clearly suffering from a mild case of shock. That General Jahn, one of the toughest and most capable soldiers he had ever known would surrender to Ben Raines had never entered Hoffman’s thoughts.
Hoffman lifted dull eyes to his staff people gathered around his desk. “What happened?” was all the man could say.
Ben and General Jahn shook hands, and then both men stepped back and studied each other for a moment. Jahn slowly removed his pistol from his holster, all the while keeping one eye on Jersey, who, Jahn quickly and accurately surmised, would be more than happy to shoot him dead on the spot, and handed the weapon, butt first, to Ben.
Ben took it, looked at it, and returned it to Jahn. “Tell your men to keep their sidearms, General. We still have hundreds,
perhaps thousands, of outlaws and assorted scum roaming the country. I won’t leave you defenseless.”
Jahn holstered the pistol. “That is kind of you, General Raines. Some of my men were worried about that very matter. Where would you like us to relocate?”
“Anywhere you like, General. I must advise you that General Brodermann has orders from Field Marshal Hoffman to hunt you down and kill you.”
Jahn smiled. “I certainly hope that murderous SS bastard tries it. It will be the last thing he ever does.”
Ben laughed. “I believe you, General. Do you know what Hoffman has in mind?”
“No, sir, I do not. And I would tell you if I did. The field marshal and I did not exactly, ah, part on the friendliest of terms the other evening.”
Ben chuckled. “You didn’t hit him, did you?”
Jahn again smiled. “No. But I would be lying if I said that thought did not occur to me.”
Ben sobered and looked at the man. “I have to ask, General. Why did you surrender your men?”
“Frankly, because you are going to win, General Raines. And I felt that any further sacrifice of my men would be criminal on my part.”
“Any Nazis in your division, General?”
“Plenty of them. And they did not surrender and will still conduct a guerrilla type action against the Rebels.”
“Thank you for your candor, General Jahn. One more thing: If you are serious about joining the Rebels and settling in this country, you will be expected to fight for it.”
Jahn smiled. “That is something we do very well, General. Count on us.”
The men shook hands and Ben left him with Ike. Just as Ben and Georgi Striganov had once been bitter enemies, and were now friends, Ben felt that given the time, he and Jahn would also become fast friends and allies. Also, though Jahn didn’t know all about the meeting, while Ben had been driving up to meet with him, he and his senior officers had been interviewed separately and every word analyzed by some of the most sophisticated lie detector equipment anywhere in the world. Had Ike felt any of them to be lying, he would have shot them on the spot.
Battalions had been reformed and most of the Rebels were back in uniform. For those fighting in the arid parts of the state, they wore desert cammo to better blend in. A few wore tiger-stripe and the rest wore woodland cammo. All were back in black berets when out of combat zone or on stealth patrol, everyone on the line was in helmets and body armor, Kevlared to the max.
Artillery was all in place, gunships were being readied—on both sides, Ben was sure—and the two forces were about to start slugging it out.
And still Hoffman had made no major move to bust his Sixth and Seventh Divisions out of the loose box they were in. Ben had spent several long days pouring over intelligence reports and dozens of maps.
“I just can’t believe it,” Ben finally muttered. “Hoffman is going to do it.” This was said after Ben had studied several bundles of intercepted dispatches between Hoffman and his commanders and then carefully studying a map. “He’s really going to stand and slug it out with my eastern battalions. The man is a fool.” He straightened up from the table and said, “Corrie, order Dan to launch a full scale artillery attack immediately. Tell General Payon I’m shifting Jim Peters Fourteenth Battalion and Ned Hawkins and his Rangers to the south, with all the artillery they can muster, to prevent the Second and Third from making an attempt to break the Eighth division out of San Antonio. Tell Garcia to shift two of his battalions down to help on the eastern front. The Blackshirts can’t run west. There isn’t a bridge or overpass intact for hundreds of miles once past this area.” He tapped the map. “No point in delaying this any longer.” He shook his head. “Damn, but we are spread thin.”
Ben turned to Beth. “General Jahn and his bunch cause any trouble up north?”
She shook her head. “Not one incident. While they are being processed by our people north of the thirty-sixth parallel, Jahn ordered his men to turn in their side-arms. Not a one objected. One full colonel was overheard to say if he never heard another shot fired in anger he would be happy.”
“But the multinational force have their hands full containing that regiment of Nazis who refused to surrender with General Jahn and company,” Jersey said. “Maybe we ought to go up there and lend them a hand.”
Ben smiled at her. “Sorry, Jersey. I sort of gave my word I’d run the rest of this show from the safety of a secure position. Relax and enjoy the tranquility.”
“But you miss the action, don’t you, General?” Cooper asked.
“No comment,” Ben replied.
“Dan says he will commence firing at 1000 hours, General,” Corrie called.
Ben looked at his watch and smiled. “Fifteen minutes. Dan isn’t going to waste any time. How are our stockpiles, Beth?”
“Overflowing, General. But Hoffman can’t say the same. He simply won’t be able to match us shell for shell and round for round. He’s got to conserve his supplies. We have completely stopped any incoming supplies from reaching him.”
“Remember, sir,” Jersey added. “Our people at Base Camp One worked around the clock for months getting us ready for this. We’ve got supplies cached everywhere. And the multinationals brought tons of supplies with them.”
Ben nodded and began a restless pacing of the office. The office was actually the den of a home located on the Trinity River in East Texas, far from any battlegrounds and out of danger. His team watched him, knowing he was missing the action. Tell the truth, so did they.
Once Ben stopped his pacing and stood for a moment, hands balled into fists resting on his hips. He slowly looked around him at the room, a disgusted expression on his face. Then he walked to the open window and looked at the green landscape. One of the contingent assigned to guard Ben smiled and waved at him. Ben returned the wave and turned around to face his team. “Ike and Chase damn sure couldn’t have stuck me in a more isolated place,” he bitched.
“Ike didn’t do it,” Beth said, looking up from her journal. “Your kids picked this place out.”
“Wonderful. Never have kids,” Ben muttered. “They’ll turn on you.”
“Hang on!” Corrie said, adjusting her headset. “I’ve got a transmission coming in. Say again, Recon. Say again. You’re breaking up.”
She listened for a moment and turned to face Ben. “About a regiment of Blackshirts from the Sixth and Seventh busted through the lines, sir.”
Ben’s face brightened. “No kidding? Which way are they heading, Corrie?”
“Straight toward us, sir.”
“Is that a fact?” Ben picked up his Thompson.
“Dan is urging us to head for the neutral zone and wait it out,” Corrie said.
“Way too far,” Jersey said, checking her M-16. “We’d never make it.”
A Rebel lieutenant had been standing outside, listening. He stuck his head through the window. “What are you talking about, Jersey? It’s a good two hundred and fifty miles to the bust out point. We’d be over into the neutral zone long before they even reached here.”
“I’m with Jersey,” Ben said.
“Sir,” the lieutenant protested. “We have a very light battalion here. That’s a damn regiment-sized force coming at us.”
A sergeant standing beside the lieutenant said, “I can have choppers in here in one hour, General. We’ve got to get you to safety.”
“I don’t like helicopters,” Jersey said. “They have this tendency to fall out of the sky.”
“I agree,” Ben said. He gave Corrie a few orders and then, with a smile on his face, said, “Let’s see now, what shall we do. Ah! I know. We’ll . . .”
“Ike on the horn, General,” Corrie interrupted.
Ben walked to the communications set-up and took the mic. “Go, Ike?”
“Ben, you get your long tall skinny ass out of there!” Ike yelled from hundreds of miles away in North Texas. “You hear me, Ben? You head north for the Oklahoma line.”
“I though
t I’d head for Louisiana, Ike.”
The speaker was silent for a moment. “What are you pulling, Eagle?” Ike asked. “I don’t trust you.”
His team was staring at him, disbelief in their eyes. Ben Raines was going to run from a fight? They didn’t believe that for a moment.
“That regiment can’t go anywhere, Ike,” Ben radioed. “Cecil will have ten thousand home guard people waiting for them at the line. That is, providing they even reach the state line before his artillery blows them off the face of the earth. You’re in command here, Ike. I’m heading back to Base Camp One for a little R&R. You have any objections to that?”
“I don’t trust him,” Colonel Lenz of the GSG 9 said, standing close to Ike. It hadn’t taken the GSG 9 commander long to learn that Ben Raines would go to any lengths to get into a scrap. “He’s up to something.”
“Tell me!” Ike said. “I been puttin’ up with his trickery for years.”
“Corrie, have the battalion pack up and mount up,” Ben ordered. He winked at Jersey and she smiled, knowing Ben had something wicked up his sleeve.
In Base Camp One, due to repeaters placed all up and down the line, Cecil sat in his office and was able to listen to the conversation, a smile on his face. Ben was sure as hell up to something. But he couldn’t imagine what it could be. If Ben told his commanders he was going to Base Camp One, he was going to Base Camp One. How long he was going to stay and what he was going to do when he left was what worried Cecil. For he knew only too well that Ben was an ol’ war hoss and he was not going to stay out of action for any length of time. But what in the hell did he have planned?
“He’s gonna pull somethin’,” Ike fumed. “He’s actin’ just too damn innocent. I know him, I tell you. He’s got somethin’ sneaky up his sleeve.”
“However,” Colonel Lenz pointed out. “He is the commanding general.”
“Yeah,” Ike replied. He keyed the mic. “All right, Eagle. Sounds good to me. With you out of the way, we can stop worryin’ about you and concentrate on kickin’ Hoffman’s butt.”
“I thought it was very considerate of me,” Ben said drily.
Battle in the Ashes Page 18
