Ambush in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “They were good people. Take Bruno Bottger alive, Ben.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I want to castrate the son of a bitch with a very dull knife.”

  “Lamar!” Ben drew back in feigned shock. “You’re turning into a vicious man, you know that?”

  “Screw you, Raines,” the chief of medicine said, pushing back his chair and standing up. “Let’s just get this show on the road.” He bent down and looked more closely at the long scar on Ben’s face, faded now with healing and the sun. “Good thing that hunk of shrapnel hit you in the head. That’s the one place on your carcass that’s the least likely to get damaged, considering it’s empty most of the time.” He walked quickly out of the room chuckling, before Ben could retort.

  Things were back to normal.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Ben’s team was declared fit to return to duty—limited at first—and the team was back together. A few days after their return, Ben’s personal vehicle was brought in and Cooper and Corrie spent the next several days going over it. Although it had less cargo space than their old wagon, it was much more state of the art and much more comfortable riding. To avoid standing out even more than it did, the big wagon was painted olive green.

  Rebel Scouts had penetrated deep into Nigeria and reported that Bottger’s troops were nowhere to be seen. They had pulled back and appeared to have stretched out in small units, west to east from Gabon over to Kenya.

  And the Scouts also reported that millions in Nigeria appeared to have died from Bruno Bottger’s practice of genocide. They also warned to be on the lookout for wild animals, who were making a fast and very dramatic comeback. There were prides of lions seemingly everywhere one turned. And while no Rebel Scout had been attacked by a lion, it would be a bit disconcerting to come face to face with a large lion while walking through the bush.

  Ben called for one more meeting with his brigade commanders to map out and finalize plans before the ten brigades jumped off in their offensive against Bottger’s army.

  “First of all,” Ben said, standing up to face the ten brigade commanders, “let me say that both Jackie Malone and Buck Taylor are well on their way to recovery. But their days in the field are over. They will remain stateside and take over command of training bases. The bodies of several batt coms who were killed during Bottger’s assault have been recovered and sent back to the States to be buried with honors. The bodies of the other officers and men were buried with honors near where they fell. Most were unrecognizable.

  “All right, let’s admit we took the worst beating we’ve ever suffered and learn from it and put it behind us. I don’t know what we could have done to prevent it. Bruno just simply outfoxed many of us . . . myself included. But we’ll all try to ensure something like that will never happen again. But don’t ever underestimate the intelligence of Bruno Bottger. The man is surely insane, but brilliantly so.

  “We’ve got a lot of green troops with us now. But I suspect by the time we reach Bruno’s first front, they’ll be well on their way toward becoming seasoned hands. At the very least the barfing at the sight and smell of rotting bodies will have ceased. Once we hit Bruno’s first line of defense, nursemaid time for green troops will be over.” Ben looked at the nine brigade commanders, included among them his son, Buddy, and his daughter, Tina. Tina sat beside the ex-mercenary, West. Someday, when there were no more wars to be fought, they planned to marry.

  “We’re better equipped now than we’ve ever been,” Ben continued. “Practically everything we have is state of the art or has been upgraded. Including one very large surprise I don’t intend to show Bruno until we get almost nose to nose.”

  The brigade commanders all smiled at that.

  Ben picked up a long pointer and moved to the huge wall map. “All right, folks. Let’s get down to it.”

  The ten brigades, numbering forty battalions, plus Therm’s 19 Batt, were lined up and ready to go. Scouts had prowled all over the country south of the brigade line for a hundred and fifty miles, mapping out the best roads and where bridges were still intact, and where there were no bridges, the best place to ford the stream or river.

  And they reported that while millions had died under Bruno Bottger hideous plans of genocide, there were still thousands and thousands who were in desperate need of help.

  Dr. Chase had elected to stay with Ben’s 501 Brigade. When Ben told him what the Scouts had reported, the Chief of Medicine merely shrugged and said, “We’ll do what we can.”

  Meaning that in his opinion, unless the Rebels wanted to leave behind men and equipment and be prepared to stay for years, teaching the people the right way to deal with the land and keep it productive, Chase and his people would fix them up now, and they would starve later anyway.

  “I know, Lamar,” Ben said. “But what else can we do?”

  “Nothing,” the doctor agreed. “But I don’t believe for one minute Bruno managed to kill off a hundred million people in Nigeria alone. That’s a lot of people to kill, Ben. Say he did manage to kill off ten percent, and that’s probably high, and say starvation and disease another twenty-five percent. That still leaves sixty-five million people. Where are they? What happened to them?”

  Ben held open his hands. “I don’t know, Lamar. I know only what the Scouts report.”

  “Unless some terrible plague swept the land,” Lamar mused aloud. “And that is certainly possible. But it seems as though we would have heard about it.”

  “The old tribal hatreds surfacing, Lamar. Beth told me this morning that in Nigeria alone there are over two hundred and fifty tribes speaking over four hundred dialects and oftentimes the tribes don’t get along.”

  Lamar shook his head. “The Bible must be wrong. The Tower of Babel surely must have been here.”

  Ben laughed as Lamar walked off, to make one final check of his medical people before the brigade pulled out in the morning. Ben knew that despite Lamar’s crusty talk, the man felt deeply about helping the people of this continent, and would work tirelessly to do all he could.

  Ben walked to the door of his CP and stepped out. The convoy was getting in position to roll out at dawn. The skies were no longer filled with planes and the runways were quiet. The last generator would be loaded just moments before the convoy pulled out and the airport would be dark once again.

  Ben wondered if it would ever be lighted again.

  His team was lounging about outside, taking in the coolness of approaching evening. It was the first evening in months that it had not rained.

  “All set to go, gang?” Ben asked, walking over to them and squatting down.

  “Settin’ on ready, boss,” Cooper said. “I do like that new wagon. Handles like a dream. It’s got a huge V-8 diesel mill that packs some power.”

  “What’s the top speed, Coop?” Ben asked.

  “Spec sheet says about sixty-five miles an hour. But we won’t have to worry about that on these roads.”

  “For a fact. Everybody used to the new brigade designation?”

  “Five-oh-one leads the way,” Jersey said with a grin.

  “There you go,” Ben returned the smile. He stood up and walked a few yards away from the group, looking around at all the activity a bit longer before returning to his CP. There he folded and put away the last of his maps, zipping the waterproof case closed. He checked all around the room. It had been stripped bare in preparation for tomorrow’s move.

  Ben decided to walk over to a mess tent for some chow and then hit the sack. It was early yet, and going to sleep now would mean he would be up hours before dawn, but so would half the camp, packing up the last of equipment and supplies, striking the mess and MASH and the last of the supply tents, and getting the troops ready to move.

  Ben began the walk over to the mess tent, his team falling in behind him. Now that his own team had returned to full duty, the security teams that Ike had assigned him had returned to other duties.

  “Maybe we’ll get to see some lions and
tigers this time,” Cooper ventured.

  “Lions, maybe,” Beth told him. “Tigers, no. Wrong part of the world.”

  “Tarzan fought tigers here,” Cooper insisted.

  “Shut up, Cooper,” Jersey said. “You’ll strain your brain. With any kind of luck, you’ll be kidnapped by a gorilla.” She frowned. “Although the gorilla would probably turn you loose in a few minutes.”

  “You’d miss me terribly, my little love blossom,” Cooper told her.

  Jersey made gagging sounds. “There goes my appetite.”

  “You’ll get it back by the time we reach the mess tent,” Corrie said.

  “Only if Cooper doesn’t insist on sitting with us.”

  “I must,” Cooper said. “The sight of your lovely face thrills me.”

  “Oh, God!” Jersey moaned.

  Ben smiled and walked on. It was good to have the team back.

  Ben was the first one up, as he knew he would be. He also knew that at the first whisper of sound, Jersey would be up, wide awake. Ben dressed quietly in the dark, gathered up his gear, and walked outside. He smiled. Jersey was sitting on the side of her cot, pulling on her boots. The other team members would only be seconds behind her.

  At the mess tent, breakfast was not quite ready, but the huge urns of coffee were ready to serve. Ben pulled a mug and sat down, his team following suit. Ben looked up. To his surprise, Dr. Chase was walking in, his security people close behind him. The doctor drew a mug of coffee and sat down at the table with Ben.

  “I went to bed too damn early,” Lamar bitched.

  “You just want to get on the road, you old vagabond. Admit it, you’ve got ants in your pants.”

  “I’ll admit nothing of the kind. I am a home-loving man, longing to be around the hearth, with kith and kin.”

  “You also tell enormous lies, you old goat.”

  “There is nothing to compare with being insulted at this ungodly hour of the morning.”

  “You just want to get deeper into Nigeria and see if you can find out what happened to the people.”

  “I will admit there is some truth in what you say. But it was no more than a lucky guess.”

  “Well, if no one slips and breaks a leg, you’ll be able to pack up what little is left to do and be ready to move on time.”

  “I should be so lucky.”

  “Yeah, you’ll probably hold us up for three or four hours.”

  Lamar gave Ben a very dirty look. “I’m not going to sit here and be insulted by the likes of you, Raines. I’m going to take my coffee and return to my quarters. There, I’m going to take sandpaper to several needles, break off the points, and await the time when you need booster shots.”

  “You sure are a vicious old man, Lamar,” Ben said with a smile.

  “Wait until you need a shot. Then you’ll see how vicious I really am.” But Lamar couldn’t maintain a straight face and he finally walked off laughing.

  “All right, guys, let’s grab something to eat,” Ben told his team. “Then we’ll load up what’s left and move to the head of the column before traffic gets so bunched up we’ll never make it.”

  Already, Rebels were beginning to line up at the serving area, where mounds of scrambled eggs, bacon, pork chops, beef steaks, fried potatoes, gravy, biscuits, fresh fruit and plenty of cold milk and hot coffee were waiting to be consumed. And consumed it would be, with very little scraps left. Whenever possible, Ben insisted on hot meals and plenty of food for his troops, for there would be days, perhaps weeks ahead of them, when everyone would be subsisting on field rations. But this would be the last of the fresh milk for a while. Powdered milk would be available from here on in, but even ice cold, it did not taste as good as whole, fresh milk.

  Ben finished his breakfast and had another mug of coffee, while he was waiting until his team was through. Beth had a huge thermos filled with coffee, then it was back to the CP for a final check, load up, and pile in. Cooper expertly guiding the big wagon through the seemingly impossible unorganized maze of traffic to near the head of the column. There, the team unassed the wagon and squatted or sat on the ground, out of the way.

  Slowly the long, long line began to take shape. One by one the generators that lit up the encampment ceased their humming and the lights began winking out, the portable generators loaded onto trucks. Miles of cable were rolled up. The mess tents were struck. The encampment went dark.

  Ben stood up and brushed off his clothing. “Let’s mount up, gang. We’ve got a long way to go. Nigeria is a big country, and it just might be full of surprises.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The convoy passed through village after village without seeing one living soul. It was baffling to Ben and frustrating to Dr. Chase and his medical team, especially those who were assigned to the mobile research lab which had joined Ben’s 501 just before leaving Niamey.

  Scouts had found a dirt/shell road that led to Argungu, Nigeria. There, the Rebels found wild animals and half-wild dogs prowling the streets, and the streets were littered with hundreds and hundreds of skeletons—men, women, and children.

  “Not shot,” Chase’s doctors reported to him. “We can’t find any evidence of trauma.”

  “Get what samples of flesh still remain on the fresher bodies,” Chase ordered. “And run every kind of test you know how to run on them.”

  “Scouts reporting that Sokoto suffered the same fate,” Corrie said. “Skeletal remains everywhere. But we’re getting radio transmissions out of Jega. Desperate calls from Paula Preston.”

  “From who?” Ben blurted. “Paula? I thought she was dead.”

  “So did everybody else. Seems she’s got a bunch of press types with her.”

  “How the hell did they get to Jega?”

  “Don’t know, boss. I can’t make much sense out of anything she says.”

  “Well hell, that’s normal, Corrie. Liberals never did make any sense . . . even before the Great War.”

  Corrie ducked her head to hide her quick smile. “What do you want me to tell her?”

  “I know what I’d like to tell her. Oh, hell! Tell them we’ll send rescue choppers down to get them ASAP. Get out to the airstrip and stay put.”

  Ben stood for a few moments, leaning up against the big wagon. Sudden and very dark suspicions began clouding his mind. He turned to Corrie, but not before he noticed Dr. Chase looking at him very strangely.

  “Corrie, where was Paula just before the assault?”

  “Well . . .” Corrie hesitated. “Let’s see. She and the rest of the press had left us some time before and were traveling with another battalion. I’m not sure which one it was now.”

  “Find out if you can, please.”

  “Will do.”

  “And find out just how the press managed to escape being slaughtered . . . although I have a pretty good idea.” He turned to Lamar. “It was a plague that struck this land, Lamar. I’m sure of that. A man-made plague, sent by Bruno Bottger.”

  That remark shook the doctor. “Germ warfare, Ben?”

  “You bet. Bruno had to test the killing bugs somewhere. And he wanted to get rid of all who opposed him. The bugs worked and he got rid of the people.”

  “Monstrous!” Lamar stared at Ben for a few heartbeats. “But what has all this got to do with Paula Preston?”

  “She’s tied in with it somehow.”

  “But she’s a screaming left-winger, Ben. Our intel verified that.”

  “I know. But don’t forget she’s still tied in tight with Bruno. Our intel verified that, too.”

  “Where the hell is Mike Richards when we need him?”

  Ben smiled. “He’s over in Addis Ababa making goo-goo eyes at dancing girls or something like that. Is this place safe to bivouac near, Lamar?”

  “Oh, yes. If it was a man-made germ that killed these people, and I’m not convinced of that, it was short-lived. My people checked the safety of the area first thing.” The doctor hesitated for a heartbeat. “Just don’t drink the wa
ter until we’ve done a few more tests. I’ve passed that word through the ranks.”

  “Thanks for telling me,” Ben said drily.

  “Oh, it wouldn’t kill you,” Lamar said brightly. “But it might give you the shits.” The doctor walked off toward the mobile research trucks, chuckling.

  Ben sat down on the fender of a deuce-and-a-half and rolled a cigarette. It had been puzzling him for weeks why no trace of any member of the press had been found . . . except those from the SUSA, they had all been killed. That had been confirmed. But no sign whatsoever of the press who lived and worked and were a part of the political movement outside the SUSA.

  Now he thought he knew why that was.

  And it was a terrible thought.

  But one that really did not surprise him.

  Ben shook his head and sighed. But no, he thought, not all of them were guilty of collaborating with Bruno Bottger. He couldn’t believe that. But Paula Preston and Alex Marsh and Marilyn Dickson, yes, he was now 99 percent certain they were in some sort of cahoots with the man.

  And the thought of it made him slightly ill.

  Ben had known for years that he was probably the most hated man—in some circles—in America. He could live with that. So far he hadn’t lost any sleep over it. But for those left-wingers to hate him so much that they would get in bed with a monster such as Bruno Bottger was beneath contempt.

  But it looked as though they’d done it.

  “Jesus Christ!” Ben muttered under his breath, the words too low for his team to hear. “How far down can people sink?”

  Pretty damn low, was his conclusion.

  Ben’s mouth was suddenly very dry from disgust and rage. He unscrewed the cap from one of his canteens and took a sip of water. It helped, but not much. He unwrapped a stick of gum and chewed it. His mouth lost its bad taste.

  “. . . Used to be a fishing festival held here,” Corrie was saying. “A big event. Fishing around this part of the river was banned for the rest of the year.”