Chaos in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “OK, Lamar,” Ben said, waving a hand at the Rebels gathered around. “You explain to them why America fell apart, why it went bankrupt, why federal law enforcement agencies became stooges for the government, in many cases no better than the old Nazi Gestapo. Tell us why the government allowed the IRS to become the most powerful agency in Washington, answerable to no one? You want me to reunite the entire nation? OK. Tell them how we can do that and still preserve our way of life. Come on, wise-ass, enlighten us.” Ben folded his arms across his chest and smiled at Lamar.

  “I swear you set this up, Raines.”

  “Me? You opened this conversation, not me.”

  Lamar looked all around him. “Go on back to your duties!” he shouted. “Go on, now, or I’ll have you all lined up for a short-arm inspection.”

  Since about a fourth of the Rebels were women, they got a good laugh out of that. “You think that would really bother us?” one yelled.

  “Oh, good Christ!” Lamar muttered.

  Then the humor got a little raw as some of the women began suggesting where to line the men up for the inspection.

  “Make way, dammit!” Corrie shouted, shoving and pushing her way through the throngs of Rebels. “Ike on the horn, boss. And he is very unhappy.”

  Ben stood up. “I really hate to leave you like this, Lamar. I’d like to stay and hear your lecture. But . . .” He shrugged. “Duty calls.”

  “Now wait a minute, Raines! You can’t leave me trapped in here!”

  “Close ranks behind me!” Ben shouted.

  As the Rebels closed ranks, trapping Lamar, the doctor yelled, “Raines, you insufferable jackass!”

  Ben walked away, chuckling.

  FIVE

  “Goddammit, Ben!” Ike yelled over the miles. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing, splitting your command? I thought we agreed that—”

  Ben tuned him out until Ike paused for breath.

  “Calm down, Ike. I’m not exactly alone, you know. I’ve got a battalion of troops, plus armor and artillery, plus Lt. Bonelli’s people. Now stop yelling. Have you been meeting any resistance?”

  “Very little, Ben. But we have found numerous places where our permanent residents were executed. Whole families wiped out.”

  “We’ve found the same thing. What do you hear from the others?”

  “Same thing. The troops are pretty damned steamed about it and spoiling for a fight. But so far all we’ve run into is some scattered sniper fire.”

  “Cat and mouse, Ike.”

  “Yeah, that’s the way I figure they’re playing it. But what’s their game?”

  “I don’t know.” Ben paused, thinking fast. “Ike, stand by for a burst transmission.”

  “Ten-four, Ben.”

  “Corrie, order Scouts to start back-tracking us. I think the bastards are trying to put us in a bottle.”

  “Coming up from behind us, boss?”

  “Coming from all directions may be more like it.”

  Ben taped a short message and it was compressed and sent out in burst to all batt coms.

  All over the SUSA, Rebel units began shifting troops.

  Lamar stepped into Ben’s CP. “I’ve got to get back to my hospital convoy, Ben. I—”

  “No time, Lamar,” Ben interrupted. “I’m getting that old cold and familiar feeling. I think we’re about to get hit. And hit hard. Get to cover and stay put.”

  Lamar visibly paled. “Ben, my people only have a couple of platoons traveling with them. And—” He bit that off.

  “And what, Lamar?”

  “Cecil is with the convoy.”

  “What!”

  “He flew in a couple of days ago. Said he was tired of waiting around back at the assembly area. Said he wanted to be near the action.”

  “Jesus, Lamar—”

  “Dammit, Ben,” the doctor flared back. “The man is the elected President of the SUSA. He’s my boss. Technically, he’s your boss. I couldn’t tell him no.”

  Ben turned to Corrie. She was already on the horn to the hospital convoy. “The convoy is under attack, boss! Rabble and punks coming at them from all directions.”

  “I should have stayed with them,” Lamar muttered.

  “Why?” Ben asked. “So you could get killed with them? Don’t be an idiot.” He looked around him. “Anna?”

  “Right here, General Ben.”

  “Take Doctor Chase and Smoot and get to cover. Stay with them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Batten down the hatches, people,” Ben ordered. “It’s about to get lively around here.”

  But before Anna, Chase and Smoot could get to cover, gunfire tore into the old house, knocking out what remained of the windowpanes and gouging great holes in the walls. Ben and the others hit the floor.

  Cooper dragged his SAW over to the window and Ben shoved a can of 5.56 ammo his way; the can contained 200 rounds.

  “Light up the sky,” Ben shouted over the rattle of gunfire. “Let’s see what we’re up against.”

  Somewhere along the outer perimeters of the Rebel camp, a Big Thumper opened up, spitting out 40mm grenades. A .50-caliber machine gun was added to the roar and crash.

  “All battalions under attack.” Corrie’s voice came over the rattle of combat.

  “Figured this one out a little too late,” Ben muttered, crawling to a window just as the night was lit with IF mortar rounds.

  “Shoot anything not in BDU’s,” Ben shouted. He spotted half a dozen men running his way, clad in various articles of dress and carrying a variety of weapons. On his knees, he held the trigger back on his old .45 caliber Chicago Piano and blew a full magazine in their direction, fighting to hold the powerful old SMG level. The line of men went down like bowling pins as the fat slugs tore into flesh and shattered bone. “Keep those flares going!” Ben shouted, ejecting the empty mag and slipping home a fresh one. “Keep the night bright.”

  Anna had stowed Lamar and Smoot in the windowless center bathroom of the home and now joined the fight.

  “Goddammit, Raines!” Lamar shouted over the sounds of battle. “I’m a doctor, not a dog-sitter!”

  “Where’d you put them?” Ben yelled.

  “In the bathtub,” the teenager returned the yell, grinning at her adopted father.

  Two men suddenly appeared in the darkened hall of the home and Beth shifted the muzzle of her M-16 and blew them backwards. They landed in a lifeless sprawl of motionless arms and legs.

  A man dove through a broken window, landing right on top of Jersey and knocking the weapon from her hands. Cussing a blue streak, the diminutive Jersey brought both hands hard over the man’s ears. He screamed at the sudden pain in his head. Jersey jammed fingers into his eyes and then into his throat. She used her knife to finish it, driving the blade deep into the man’s belly and twisting it up. Blood sprayed from his mouth.

  “Yuck!” Jersey said, wiping off her blade and crawling over to her weapon.

  Anna turned and gave several men a full magazine from her CAR just as Ben was tossing grenades into the night, the flash and boom of the Fire-Frags followed by shrieks of pain as shrapnel ripped into flesh.

  Cooper was laying down a steady stream of fire with his SAW, stacking the bodies up outside the home.

  “The rabble is falling back on all sides,” Corrie said. “We’ve beaten off the first wave.”

  “Get the hospital convoy on the blower,” Ben told her.

  “Trying, boss. But they’re not responding.”

  “Keep trying.”

  Lamar appeared in the darkened archway, holding Smoot’s leash. Anna walked over and took the leash.

  The room became quiet, everyone waiting for a response from the radio van with the hospital convoy.

  Nothing.

  Only static.

  “Eagle to Mercy One, Eagle to Mercy One.” Corrie repeated the call. “Come in, Mercy One.”

  Corrie cut her eyes to Ben. She shook her head.

  Lamar
opened his mouth and Ben held up a big hand. “There is nothing we can do until dawn, Lamar. We’d be easy targets on the road tonight. If they’ve been wiped, they’ve been wiped. But I’m sure some got away. They’re just out of contact, that’s all.”

  “Cecil—”

  “I try not to think about that. But don’t sell Cec short. He’s a tough old bird. You’re forgetting he’s Special Forces trained. I pity the rabble who corners him this night.”

  “Where is that goddamn nigger president?” The hard voice sprang out of the darkness. “We killed everybody but him.”

  Cecil was belly-down in a weed and brush-filled ditch that ran alongside an old soybean field, about a hundred feet away from what was left of the burning, smoking rubble of the hospital convoy. He had a full canteen, his sidearm and M-16, and his knife for close work. Cecil had been out of the field for a long time, but brutal training dies hard. He was unhurt except for a cut on his upper left arm. Cecil waited and listened.

  “Maybe we got bad information.” The voices began drifting to him. “Maybe he wasn’t with this convoy.”

  “Could be. Search the bodies again just to be sure.”

  Cecil watched as beams from flashlights began darting about like mad fireflies. If I just had one full squad with me, Cecil thought ruefully, I could wipe out the whole damn worthless bunch of these bastards.

  Might as well wish for the moon, he thought, ceasing his wishful thinking.

  Although he was well-hidden in a drainage ditch, with tall weeds all around, Cecil ducked as a harsh beam of light was cast out into the field to his right.

  “That white-haired son-of-a-bitch ain’t here. I’d know him anywheres.”

  Oh, really? Cecil thought. Now how might that be?

  “I swore on my mother’s eyes, I’d find that nigger bastard and kill him,” the same man said. “The day he run me out of Louisiana. Him and that goddamned uppity Ben Raines. I swore I’d see them both dead someday.”

  Interesting, Cecil thought. I wonder why we ran him out?

  “Just ’cause I wouldn’t stop whuppin’ my young’uns, they come ’round givin’ me orders that I had to go. They took my young’uns. Ain’t seen ’um since. Prob’ly wouldn’t even know me now if’n I did run into ’um.”

  “Hell, Jeeter. They prob’ly Rebels by now. Fightin’ agin us, you know?”

  Ah, yes, Cecil thought. Jeeter. From down in that part of the parish that Ben used to call the land that time forgot. White trash of the worst sort. Tell it all, you miserable piece of shit. Tell your friend how you sexually abused your daughters, starting when they were about ten years old, you miserable bastard.

  “Man’s got a rat to whup his kids,” another voice added.

  “Shore do,” Jeeter said. “Well, hell, come on. Let’s go. That nigger wasn’t with this bunch. We’ll rat-eo ahead and find out how Denver done with Raines’ bunch.”

  “Shit!” a man said, his voice filled with contempt. “They done prob’ly kilt ’em all. These Rebels ain’t shown me nothin’ when it comes to fightin.’ They ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of candy-asses, you ax me.”

  Cecil fought back an almost overwhelming urge to rise up and empty a full mag at the voices. He calmed down and willed himself to lay still in the ditch and watch as the men faded into the night.

  Cecil waited for fifteen minutes, then slowly made his way toward the wrecked, looted and still smoking ruins of the convoy. He found a walkie-talkie and checked it—it still worked. The Rebels’ repeater system was still functioning, so he could talk to damn near anywhere in the SUSA. Trying his best to ignore the bloody and mangled and sometimes charred bodies, he filled a pack with food and ammo and slipped away into the darkness. In the umber, he switched over to the emergency frequency and keyed the talk button.

  “Eagle, Eagle. Come in, Eagle.”

  Miles away, Corrie was on it immediately, “This is the Eagle’s Nest,” she radioed, frantically motioning for Cooper to find Ben. “Come in.”

  “Eagle’s Nest, this is—” Cecil grinned “—Ol’ Black Joe. You copy this, Eagle’s Nest?”

  “Ol’ Black Joe?” Ben said, running into the room. He laughed. “Well, he hasn’t lost his sense of humor. Give me that mic, please, Corrie. Joe, this is Eagle. Report.”

  “Entire convoy wiped out. They took no prisoners. Supplies looted and vehicles, most of them, burned. The truck took some sort of hit in the rear, rocket I think, and tipped over—threw me out and into a ditch. I got overlooked by the rabble. It’s our old friend Jeeter from the land that time forgot who seems to be heading up this pack of crap.”

  “I remember him. Are you hurt?”

  “Negative. Just my pride. I’m going to rest for a time and eat a bite and then catch some Z’s. Don’t try to extricate me this night. Too dangerous. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Ben knew better than to ask for a position. “All right, Joe. That’s ten-four. Hang tough.”

  “You got it. Joe out.”

  “That’s a relief,” Jersey said.

  “Yes,” Chase agreed. “But five percent of our field doctors and medical staff are dead, and a lot of valuable supplies with them. All the whole blood we collected for this push, refrigeration units and all the OR tents and instruments.” He met Ben’s eyes and shook his head. “I have a real lousy feeling about all this, Ben. I have this feeling that conditions are going to get a lot worse before they begin to turn our way.”

  “I have a feeling that you just may be right, Lamar.”

  * * *

  All battalions took hits the night the rabble and punks attacked. After the fire-fight, there were Rebel dead to be buried, and Rebel wounded to be patched up.

  Batt 1 suffered five dead and twenty wounded, two of the wounded not expected to live.

  At first light, ‘Ol’ Black Joe’ made contact with Ben and Ben turned his 1 Batt around and headed back to the ambush site, Scouts ranging out in front of the long column.

  They hit no resistance along the way. The rabble had no stomach for a daylight fight, and that disappointed the men and women of 1 Batt, for after the sneak attack of the past night, they were more than ready for a fight.

  As the first Scouts approached, Cecil rose up out of the field and walked to the shoulder of the road. The Scouts did a visual on the man walking out of the field, determined it was the President of the SUSA, and immediately fell into defensive positions around him.

  “Relax, boys and girls,” Cecil’s calm voice touched them. “No bogies around here. They’re long gone. I’ve been scanning the area since before dawn.”

  The Scouts treated Cecil with the same respect they showed Ben Raines. Everyone knew the two men were as close as brothers and had been for years. Everyone knew that Cecil had been with Ben since the beginning of the old Tri-States dream, right after the Great War. A medic with the Scouts sat Cecil down and began checking him out.

  “Orders, Mr. President. Doctor Chase told me to do this.”

  “I understand, son,” Cecil said. “You have any pills in that kit for old age?”

  “Wish I did, sir.”

  By the time the cut that Cecil had suffered was cleaned out and bandaged, the main column had arrived, the massive MBTs leading the way. Ben and Cecil shook hands, then stood and smiled at one another for a moment.

  “It was close, Ben. Close.” Cecil’s eyes found Sergeant Major Gene Cousins, now fully decked out in Rebel BDUs. He waved him over. “What is this, Gene? Are you back in action?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You feel up to snuff?”

  “All the way, sir.”

  “How many old soldiers that can still cut the mustard you figure you could round up?”

  Ben narrowed his eyes.

  “Hell, sir . . . maybe five or six hundred if I could put the call out,” Gene answered.

  “Put it out. Right now. And as of now, you are my battalion sergeant major.”

  Gene grinned. “Yes, sir!”

  B
en shook his head and stepped into it. “Cec, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Cecil cut his eyes. “Getting back into it, Ben. It’s personal now.”

  Chase had walked up. “Are you out of your mind, you old goat? You’re in no shape for the field.”

  “The hell I’m not. As long as I take my pills, I’m in as good a shape as Ben . . . almost,” he added with a grin. “And who are you to be calling me an old goat, you old goat!”

  “Your designation would be 22 Batt, sir,” Beth said, stepping between the President of the SUSA and the Rebel Chief of Medicine, jotting that down in a small notebook.

  “Thank you, Beth. 22 Batt it is.”

  Chase threw up his hands in disgust, snorted, and walked away, back to the ruined convoy, to see if he could salvage anything.

  “You’re sure about this, Cec?” Ben asked.

  “Positive.”

  Ben nodded. “All right. Corrie? Pull some armor and artillery up here. Assign a MASH unit and get some Scouts in here. He’ll need a political team and an interrogation team. Notify Mike Richards so he can assign a couple of his spooks to 22 Batt.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ben turned back to Cecil. “I have a great XO in mind for you. And he’s past due for a promotion. I can jump him a couple of grades.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, Lt. Bonelli.”

  Cecil chuckled. “And that would get him out of your hair, right, Ben?”

  “Why . . . Cecil! That never crossed my mind.”

  “What a terrible liar you are, Ben. You get worse as you get older. All right. I’ll take him. Mix his people in with mine.” He looked at Corrie. “Corrie, find me some good communications personnel.”

  “Right, sir. I know just the people.”

  Ben said, “Now, Cec, you take it easy until you get accustomed to the field. You’ve been out of it for a long time.”

  “I know. Hell, most of my people will be around my age . . . or older. Just be sure we are well supplied with Geritol.”