Fire in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Oh. Excuse me, Ms. Bellever,” Ben said. “I'll try to watch my language."

  She laughed at the expression on Cecil's face. “Colonel Jefferys—have you ever been around a bunch of reporters when they're drinking?"

  “I'm afraid not, Ms. Bellever."

  “They aren't exactly priests and nuns, I can assure you both of that. Do you want me to leave, General, so you and Colonel Jefferys can speak in private?"

  “No. You'll be handling supersensitive papers and decoding messages while you're working here. There is no reason at all for you to leave.” He looked at Cecil. “It doesn't surprise me, Cecil. The people just didn't have it in them to fight. Doctor Chase warned me this might well be the case. I was wrong in placing too much hope with civilians. They just want to work and be left alone. Can't blame them for that. Have you talked with Ike about this?"

  “Mentioned it to him. Told him I was coming here, and that you'd probably want to hash this over with the other field commanders."

  “Get hold of them. We'll meet at 0800 in the morning. Put everybody on low alert. There is a chance we'll be pulling out very soon."

  Dawn felt her heart quicken its pace. Game time, or so it looked, was just about over. Now it was down to, as Jimmy Brady put it, “fish or cut bait."

  Cecil left the tent and Ben glanced at Dawn. “Getting scared, Ms. Bellever?"

  “I'd be lying if I said no."

  “Only a fool isn't afraid of combat, Ms. Bellever. It is the most mind-boggling, terrifying, gut-wrenching sensation a human being will experience."

  “I can't imagine you being afraid of anything, General."

  “Unfortunately, Ms. Bellever, sometimes a man becomes inured to the worst of the combat. The fear comes after the battle."

  “I ... see."

  “No, you don't, Ms. Bellever. But you will, I'm afraid."

  Ben rose to leave and she touched his arm. “General ... last night. I mean, I rather enjoyed it."

  His smile touched her in very intimate places. “I rather enjoyed it, too, Ms. Bellever."

  “Would I be forward if I asked that we do it again sometime?"

  He laughed. “Ah, the liberated ladies of the latter part of this century. Would you have dinner with me this evening, Ms. Bellever?"

  “I would love to, General—on one condition."

  “And that is?"

  “Would you please stop calling me Ms.?"

  Ben laughed and left the tent without replying.

  * * * *

  “So you see,” Jake said, “this is, as Shakespeare put it, much ado about nothing. All the government wants is for people to get back to work and get this nation rolling again. Then maybe I can go back to Illinois and get back to farming."

  Lisa and the others laughed at that. “Man,” the brunette said, “I just can't imagine you plowing a field."

  I'll plow your field before too many more days, honey, Jake thought. “Oh, it's true, dear. Believe it. I was raised on a farm."

  “Why did you become a mercenary for Lowry?” he was asked.

  “Because I believe in a United States,” he was quick to reply. “I was a professional soldier before the big war of ‘88, and for a few years after that. I got hurt and had to get out of the regular army. This way, I can still serve my country."

  “May we speak frankly, Captain Devine?” the brunette asked.

  “As frankly as you wish,” she was answered with a smile and a gentle wink. “I am very interested in your views and comments. Anything to get this fighting a thing of the past."

  “What do you want from us?"

  “I want you all to come with me to the holding camp down in Decatur and over in Logansport. I want you to bring a camera—or I'll supply you with one—and take all the pictures you want. Talk to every person there. I want you all to see that everyone there is being well-fed and cared for; they have, if not nice, at least comfortable living quarters; and that no one—repeat no one—is or has been tortured in any way, shape, form, or fashion."

  “But all the rumors ...?” a young lady said.

  Jake brushed them off. “Lies. Dirty lies from the Rebels’ camp. Come with me—I'll prove it to you all."

  The young people looked at Lisa; she nodded her head minutely. She received an answering nod in the affirmative.

  “Great!” Jake beamed. “Lisa, you ride with me. You other young people can take those two station wagons over there,” he pointed, “and follow us. You're all going to be very pleasantly surprised."

  He could not conceal his smile as he held the door for Lisa.

  Nice tits, he thought.

  * * * *

  Dawn could not hide her smile as they carried their meal trays from the mess tent back to Ben's quarters. She said, “I thought the brass always had better food than the enlisted people?"

  “Not in this army,” Ben told her. “And it shouldn't be that way in any army. However,” he smiled, “I do have this bottle of wine that should make the meal a bit more palatable."

  “Oh?"

  “Yeah. Picked it up on the way here from Wyoming. You're not going to believe me when I show it to you."

  “My God, Ben!” she blurted, after they had placed their trays on the table and Ben opened his trunk and removed the bottle of wine. “That's a Rothchild."

  “1955. Wonder if that was a good year?"

  They tasted the wine after clinking glasses.

  “Excellent,” Ben said. “Should go right with this SOS we're having."

  Dawn looked at her plate of dried beef in gravy over biscuits. “Why is it called SOS?"

  “The initials for which it stands,” Ben said with a smile, knowing very well what was next.

  “What does SOS mean?” She took a small tentative bite. “Oh, this is good!"

  “Shit on shingle."

  She dropped her fork. “You're kidding!"

  “I think it's been called that since World War Two. Maybe further back than that. But it's tasty and hot and really, I suppose, rather good for one."

  “We'll let that one be you,” Dawn pushed her plate from her. “I'll just have a little salad and some wine."

  “Plenty of wine,” Ben spoke around a mouthful of SOS. “I pinched a case."

  Her eyes widened. “A whole case of Rothchild ‘55?"

  “A whole case, dear."

  “This is going to be a memorable evening.” Her eyes lifted to touch his across the table.

  “I hope so,” he said quietly.

  * * * *

  “I just can't believe it,” Lisa said. She had bathed in the first hot water she'd seen in two weeks, and Jake had rounded up some genuine Levi's for her (which the young lady filled out very well) and a western shirt and good sturdy shoes.

  “What is it you can't believe, dear?” Jake took her small hand and guided her slowly toward his quarters at the holding area for survivors of the government crackdown on dissidents.

  Lisa rather liked the feel of his strong hand holding hers and the way their hips sometimes touched as they walked. She knew what was coming—what he probably had in mind for her; but the thought was not disturbing to her. Jake had been true to his word right down the line: Lisa had not eaten so well in ... she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a rib-eye; Jake had given her some nice clothes; her friends had a nice place to sleep and some of the same good food. All in all, she mused, it won't be a bad trade-off.

  Like most young ladies her age, fifteen to twenty, Lisa had only vague memories of the big war of ‘88. But she, like so many others, had bitter memories of the struggle for survival since the bombings: never enough food or warm clothing; never enough money to buy nice things; the constant threat of being attacked by roaming gangs of hoodlums.

  “Oh,” Lisa said, “everything I've seen the past few hours. The nice treatment the people are receiving; the good food ... everything. I just ... I mean, it's so hard for me to believe Ben Raines and his people are lying to us. But I see now that they are. It's ... it
hurts, kind of."

  “I know, dear,” his voice was deep and comforting in the dusk of evening. “But I won't lie to you—I promise you that."

  They had reached his quarters. She stood quietly while he opened the door. He looked at the teenager and she returned the frank stare.

  “You'll be sure I have enough to eat and pretty clothes to wear?” she asked.

  “I can promise you that, Lisa."

  She stepped inside and the door closed behind her.

  * * * *

  Dawn slept with one arm flung across Ben's naked chest, her breasts warm against him, the soft down of her pubic area pressing against his thigh. October winds were blowing cool across the huge park, and the blanket which covered them felt warm against bare flesh.

  They were both adults, the days of groping and grappling long past them. It had been a silent, mutual consenting, with neither one of them in any great rush for completion.

  For the first time, it had been almost perfect, for they had talked of likes and dislikes in sexual preferences before anything began.

  Her body had been leaner and harder than the pictorials in the magazines, but that served only to make her more mature, at least in Ben's eyes.

  Ben looked at her in the dim light in the isolated tent. She was deep in sleep. Easing his way from her warmth, he quietly dressed and slipped outside. He looked toward Ike's tent and caught the red glow of a cigar. He walked toward the glow, checking the luminous hands of his watch as he walked. Ten o'clock. The camp area was very quiet.

  “Evenin,’ El Presidente,” Ike said. And Ben knew the man was grinning.

  “The camp is unusually quiet for ten o'clock,” Ben said, squatting down beside his friend.

  “Rumors fly, ol’ buddy. Folks have decided we're probably pulling out very soon; need their rest."

  Ben lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before replying. “They're probably right,” he finally spoke.

  “I'm gonna give you some advice, ol’ buddy,” Ike said. “Take it or leave it. I know your guts must be in a knot about Tina joinin’ Gray's Scouts and about Hazen's suggestion of a suicide run against Lowry. Well, I've been doin’ some thinkin’ ‘bout that.” He sighed. “I just don't think Lowry's the top rooster in the hen house. Not anymore ... if he ever was. I think a move against him wouldn't help us at all."

  “I hadn't thought of that. But every indication points to Lowry being the brains behind Logan. How do you explain that?"

  “I don't. I believe he was. But couldn't there have been a silent third man just as well? Some invisible third party who was the real brains?"

  “Who?"

  “I don't know; I don't even know if there is one. A gut hunch tells me there is. Probably a person we would never suspect.” Again, he sighed. “Anyway, it's moot now, isn't it, Ben?"

  “Yes. At least for a time."

  “We're moving out tomorrow, aren't we?"

  “Yes. We've tried arming the people, hoping they would find the courage and the brains to help us. That failed. We can't just stay here forever."

  “Ben ... we could just turn our backs to the problem. Go on back to the Tri-States, or set up somewhere else."

  “Sooner or later, Ike, we'd have to fight—you know that. Might as well get it done now and get it over with."

  “I agree, Ben. But I had to point out the options. Ms. Hickman?"

  “What about her?"

  “What happens to her?"

  “She goes with us."

  “Ms. Olivier?"

  Ben thought for a moment. “When we move, we're going to be hitting hard and fast. TV viewing is going to be limited. Besides, I think Hartline is stringing Ms. Olivier along. We'll give it another week. It'll take us that long to map out plans and pull out of the mountains."

  “And what happens after a week?"

  Ben looked at him. “We send someone in to get Ms. Olivier and daughter."

  “Suppose she doesn't want to go?"

  “I think,” Ben's words were soft, “that in a week she'll be more than ready to leave Richmond."

  “Premonition?"

  Ben shook his head. “I just know Hartline's reputation."

  Thirteen

  The sergeants were rolling out the troops at dawn the following morning, shouting out orders. The troops responded like the well-oiled machines their instructors had made them.

  At 0800, Ben's field commanders showed up for the scheduled meeting. Ben had not informed them of the pull-out, and was pleased to see smiles on all their faces at the sudden activity in Base Camp One.

  Ben shook hands all around, General Hazen saying, “Made your mind up, eh, Ben?"

  “We're going to pull out gradually, Bill. Over a week's time. Let's start hashing out what's what and how and when."

  “How, is easy,” Hector Ramos said. “We kick ass. I've been giving some thought to where."

  “That's what we're here for, gentlemen,” Ben said, leading them to his big tent. He sent out for some coffee and was amused at the looks the officers gave Dawn.

  “I swear I've seen her before,” Conger said.

  “Me, too,” Hector echoed. “Damn, she looks familiar to me."

  “Dawn Bellever,” Ben said softly, a smile playing around his mouth.

  “Ahh!” Conger said.

  “Bello, bello,” Hec said with a smile and a waggling movement of his fingers.

  “What the hell are you guys talking about?” General Krigel asked.

  Conger told him.

  Krigel looked at the retreating derriere of Dawn. “No shit!” he said.

  Work halted briefly outside the tent as laughter erupted from inside.

  “What's going on there?” a dark-haired, small young woman asked Dawn.

  “Damned if I know. Dawn Bellever.” She stuck out her hand.

  “Rosita O'Brien.” The women shook hands. “I'm with Colonel Ramos's detachment. Sounds like the brass is having a stag party in there."

  “That ... very well may be true. Boys being what they are.” She had a pretty good idea what the men were laughing about.

  “I heard that. What's going on, Dawn? Why all the commotion?"

  Dawn opened her mouth, then closed it. She shook her head. “Beats me."

  Rosita laughed. “Okay, I get it. Well, I'll get the word in time."

  “Come on,” Dawn took the woman's arm. “Walk with me to the mess tent."

  “Thanks, but I've already eaten."

  “No, I've got to get some coffee for the brass."

  Rosita stopped dead in her tracks. “I'm no goddamn delivery person.” The fire in her eyes was a smoldering emerald green. “And neither are you; you're a soldier, remember?"

  “Sure. I also remember something else, as well."

  “Oh?” the little Irish-Spanish lady stood with hands on hips. “What's that?"

  “Ben said he wanted some coffee."

  “Ben? Oh ... I see. I think.” Her face brightened. “Some people get all the luck. Come on, let's get that coffee. I have a million questions I'd like to ask you."

  “If they're about General Raines, forget it."

  “Aw, come on, Dawn! We're on the same team, aren't we?"

  “Sure,” Dawn's reply was dry, then she joined in Rosita's laughter.

  * * * *

  Hartline ignored the girl's pleadings and shifted her into another position. “That's my little fox, now,” he laughed. “Isn't this way all better?"

  She sobbed her reply.

  “Oh? Well ... let's do it this way, then.” He grinned as he took her, his grin broadening as Nancy Olivier's cries filled the bedroom. She jerked under his assault and tried to pull away. His hands held her, clamped tightly on her shoulders and he bulled his way inside her. “You just hang on, now, baby—it'll start gettin’ good in a minute or so. Ol’ Sam Hartline guarantees it."

  The girl groaned as his manhood filled her.

  “Yes, indeed,” Hartline laughed. “Won't momma be surprised?"

 
* * * *

  “Okay,” Jake Devine spoke to the roomful of young people. “This is what I want you folks to do: Now you've all seen the treatment your friends are receiving; you've seen that the talk of mistreatment and torture is nothing but a pack of lies. So I want you all to spread the word in the towns I've given you. Tell the folks no harm will come to any of them. All they have to do is lay down their arms and go back to work. My people will come through and gather up the guns and they won't see us again. That's a promise. Now I've given you cases of food and clothing for the people—you young folks distribute them as evenly as possible; be sure the old folk get enough to eat and warm clothing and medicine. That's all, kids—take off."

  Lisa was still in his quarters, sleeping. Jake watched the young people file out to the cars and trucks waiting for them. They were well-fed, wore new clothing, and had sidearms belted around their waists.

  “I gotta hand it to you, Jake,” a lieutenant said, walking up to him. “This way is a hell of a lot better than shooting it out with the citizens. Do you think it'll work?"

  “Slicker than an ol’ redbone hound. Kindness always works better than force."

  “Fine-lookin’ little gal you picked out for yourself, too."

  “You like her? Hell, John. Soon as we move from this area into Illinois, I'll give her to you, then you can pass her around when you get tired of the same old snatch."

  “How about the ones we're holding now—that bunch from Huntington?"

  “How are they responding to the talks?"

  “Very well. We have the few diehards separated from those who just want to go back home and forget all about fighting the government."

  “Okay. Send those back home."

  “What about those we couldn't brainwash?"

  Jake looked at him. “Shoot them."

  * * * *

  Ben looked at the message just handed him. He gritted his teeth and swore, loud and long. When he had exhausted his profane vocabulary, he looked at Conger.

  “Move your people out of here this afternoon. Block all the bridges leading from Indiana into Kentucky, starting at Madison. Pull some extra personnel from General Krigel's troops. We've got to write off Indiana. We've lost it. I don't want the same shit to happen in Kentucky.” He glanced at Cecil. “Radio Captain Gray. Tell him to start a guerrilla movement, working east. I want a terror campaign against all federal police, effective immediately. General Krigel, your people will have the states of Mississippi, Arkansas, and Louisiana. General Hazen, take Alabama, Georgia, and Florida. Hector, North and South Carolina. My bunch will move in behind Major Conger and secure Kentucky, then move into Virginia."