Terror in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Eleven

  Ben launched the assault against Dublin at dawn. He hit the creepies hard from the north, the south, and the west. Dusters and MBTs spearheaded the drive; the MBTs were going to be too large to navigate many of the city’s narrow, twisting streets. Scouts in LAVs — light armored vehicles — led the way in. Each Duster carried twice its usual complement of 40mm rounds, for once inside the zone, there was no way of telling how long it would be before they were resupplied, and there was always the possibility of getting cut off.

  Ben had been expecting a tough fight from the creepies, and he and his people were certainly not disappointed. The creeps had thrown up roadblocks at every intersection, dragging in old cars and trucks, chaining them together and then chaining them to lampposts. Ben and his team were pinned down hard almost from the get-go.

  “Where the hell are we?” Ben shouted, over the roar of machine guns and the rattle of smaller arms.

  “Pinned down,” Buddy said with a smile.

  “Thank you, boy. I’ll treasure that information always. Smart-ass.” Buddy laughed at him as his father crawled to the outside phone box of a Duster and told the commander, “See that saloon with the black and red trim about ten o‘clock and that old boutique at two o’clock?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Neutralize them. They’ve got fifties in there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The twin 40mm’s were lowered and began hammering out HE. The Duster is capable of spitting out 240 rounds a minute. Within fifteen seconds there was nothing left of either the saloon or the boutique. Nothing left of the creepies inside them, either, except what one might wish to scrape off the walls.

  An hour later, the Rebels of Ben’s command had moved up two blocks, and they were hard-won blocks.

  “Tell everyone to take a break and let’s find out what the others are doing,” Ben told Corrie.

  She radioed the orders, and gradually the firing subsided all around them.

  “All units are reporting slow going, sir,” Corrie told him. “The creepies are really dug in tight. We’re still twenty or more blocks away from St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

  “Get me Therm, Corrie. I heard some pretty heavy fighting back there just before we shut it down.”

  “You heard right, Eagle,” Thermopolis radioed, using code names. “You figured it on the money. The creepies were trying to do an end-around and box you in. We’re got it secured.”

  “That’s ten-four, Hippie. Thanks for keeping them off my ass. Eagle out.”

  “Eagle, this is Shark,” Ike radioed. “We are bogged down hard and mired up to our knees. We are going to have to use the heavy stuff if we’re to break through.”

  “Do it,” the voice of Pat O’Shea came through. “It’s a cryin’ shame, but I can see that it has to be.”

  “Are you sure, Paddy?” Ben asked, using the code name the Irishman had chosen for himself.

  “That’s affirmative, Eagle. There’s been too much blood spilled on this land as it is. I’ll not have the blood of Yanks on my conscience over a bunch of damn buildin’s.”

  “Bear to Eagle,” Striganov radioed. “Go to burst transmission.”

  “Go, Bear.”

  “We can save the landmarks, or at least a large portion of them. We’ll have to hand-flush the creepies out, but the churches and the libraries and museums can be saved.”

  “All right, boys and girls,” Ben said. “Let’s all catch our breath and start getting some heavy stuff up here. We’ll kick this thing off in thirty minutes.” He turned to Corrie. “Get teams with rocket launchers up here. Also we’ll use MBTs on the larger and wider streets.”

  The Rebel engineers had taken the bazooka concept and improved on it, coming up with something very much like the Marine Corps’s old SMAW – shoulder-launched, multipurpose assault weapon. But where the SMAW was limited to the types of rockets it could fire, the Rebel launchers could fire a variety of rockets.

  A half a dozen huge main battle tanks lumbered up to Ben’s position. The behemoths dwarfed the Dusters, making the smaller tanks look almost petite.

  “Everybody fall behind the tanks,” Ben ordered, and the Rebels pulled back of the armor. Ben talked to the tank commanders. “At my orders, start putting rounds ground floor into every building you can see from this spot. Then cease fire and let us mop it up. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ben checked his watch as the turrets whirred left and right and the main cannons were lowered. He watched the second hand of his watch move toward the mark. “Fire,” he said softly.

  Operation Clean Sweep kicked into high gear.

  The ground floors of small shops and apartment buildings and old office buildings exploded in dust and rubble as the big guns roared. Over the sounds of falling bricks and rafters came the screaming of the Believers as they were caught in the crushing debris of the collapsing buildings. Many tried to run and were chopped down by the Rebels.

  The tanks moved up a block, the treads of the sixty-three-ton tanks crushing out any life that might remain in those creeps shot down in the streets. The Rebels fanned out on either side to begin the mop-up.

  Ben ran into what at one time had been a tobacco shop. The small shop, even after a decade of unuse, and after taking a hit from a 120mm tank round, still faintly held the aromatic smells of dozens of kinds of tobacco. And under those smells Ben could detect the stink of creepies.

  Ben pointed to himself and then to a closed door behind the dusty old counter, the door set in the only wall that was left undamaged. The west side of the shop was completely blown open. Beth and Corrie nodded their understanding and Jersey moved with Ben while Cooper maintained a vigil at the front of the shop.

  Ben had laid aside his CAR-15 and was carrying his old M-14, the Thunder Lizard set on full auto with a thirty-round clip in its belly. The old .308 was tough to handle on full auto, but its capacity to deal out hideous wounds was three times better than that of the 9mm CAR.

  Ben poured in half a clip through the door and blew it off its hinges while Jersey stood by with a grenade in her hand. When the door sagged, Jersey tossed the antipersonnel grenade into the stinking darkness and the team members flattened against a wall or hit the littered floor.

  Blood splattered the counter an instant after the grenade exploded. The team grinned at each other and stepped outside to the sidewalk, moving to the next doorway.

  It had been cleared by the tank round. The creepies had been bunched up in a storeroom and the HE round had not left many of them intact. Most of them were dripping from the walls and ceiling or splattered on the floor.

  They moved on, staying on the same side of the street. During any mop-up, troops had to stay within the perimeters of their assigned sectors; moving away from them was a good way to get seriously dead from friendly fire.

  Jersey found an unopened box and held up a blouse.

  “Oh, that’s cute,” Corrie said.

  “It looks like it might fit you, too,” Beth said.

  “Are we having a fashion show?” Buddy asked, stepping in through the rubble.

  “If you find a sport coat, 44 extra long,” Ben said, “I want it.”

  “This is a ladies shop, Ben,” Linda said, holding up a pair of red panties. “I don’t think these would fit you very well.”

  “I agree,” Ben said.

  They all hit the floor as a sniper opened up from the top floor of the building across the street. The lead tore into the walls and howled off the exposed bricks of the interior of the boutique.

  “AK-47,” Jersey said, listening to the rattle of the weapon. She folded the blouse and tucked it into a pocket of her BDUs.

  A Duster spun in the street and lifted its twin cannon. Seconds later the section of the building housing the sniper no longer existed.

  The Duster moved up the street and Ben and his team slipped into the next building. This one was three stories and virtually undamaged. The round had gone straight th
rough the windowless front and right out the open back door, impacting against the building across the alley. Ben pointed at Buddy and several of his Pack and then pointed toward the stairs. They moved out to clear the top floors and Ben and his people concentrated on the ground floor.

  It was difficult to tell just what the ground floor had once been. Looters had done their work many times. Ben picked up a yellowing sheet of paper and read, THE TIME IS HERE, REPENT NOW AND YOUR SINS WILL BE FORGIVEN. THE BEAST HAS EMERGED AND THE END IS SOON.

  “No kidding?” Ben muttered, and returned the paper to the floor just as M-16’s rattled and .45 caliber slugs from Buddy’s old Thompson hammered from the floor above him. Muffled and very short screams drifted to the team, followed by the sounds of bodies hitting the floor.

  The ground floor was empty of hostiles. Ben sat down on an old bench and took a sip of water from his canteen, listening to the cannons of the tanks as they moved up the street.

  “Corrie,” Ben called. “Advise all tank commanders to hold what they’ve got. Don’t get too far ahead of us. Also find out where Therm is. We don’t want to get so far apart we stand a chance of being cut off. Advise all battalion commanders that the creepies are more than likely below us, underground, and remind them that the creepies do have a tendency to pop up from the most unexpected places.”

  “Yes, sir. General Ike reports that he’s having combat engineers spot-weld manhole covers in place as blocks are secured.”

  “Good idea. Have all units do the same. Remember New York City?” The team nodded their heads. Only Linda had not been in that prolonged battles. It was there that the Rebels had really learned how to fight the Night People.

  “Thermopolis is reporting heavy fighting, sir,” Corrie called. “The creeps have surfaced out of the sewers all around him.”

  “Does he need help?”

  “He says no. He pulled tanks in just before the attack.”

  Ben nodded just as Buddy and his people returned from clearing the building. “Buddy, round up your Rat Pack and get back to Therm’s position, attack the creeps from the rear, and get some pressure off the Eighth. Corrie, advise Therm of this move.”

  Ben munched on a cracker and watched as Buddy yelled for his team, and the young hellions – male and female – who made up the Rat Pack began the run back to Therm’s position. He smiled at Linda. “I was that young once, I seem to recall.”

  “Wish you could go back, Ben?”

  “No way. Middle age suits me just fine.”

  “General, Striganov is reporting he’s just beat back a suicide charge by the creeps. It was a very heavy attack. He took some damage and is holding until he can get his wounded evacuated back to a MASH.”

  “Get me reports on what’s happening north of us, please. Start with Danjou’s Seven Battalion.”

  “Danjou has found one of the creepie butcher shops,” Corrie said with a grimace. “He says it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen. Several of the newer Rebels got pretty sick at the sight.”

  Ben knew only too well what she was talking about. He hoped he would never see another of the Night People’s butcher shops. Over the long years of fighting the creepies, many Rebels had become pure vegetarians.

  “Those I’ve contacted are reporting only limited action,” Corrie said. “And Buddy and his Rat Pack are attacking the creeps at Therm’s position.”

  Ben consulted a map and marked their present position. The assault was going just about as well as he had anticipated. Dan was south of Ben’s position, both battalions still in the area that had been known as the Liberties, so named because its streets once lay in the “free land” of the cathedral, just beyond the jurisdiction of the Lord Mayor of Dublin.

  Those battalions pushing north and south against the city were gradually shoving the creepies against a wall from which there would be no escape.

  Ben carefully folded the map and returned it to a pocket of his BDUs. He picked up his M-14. “All right, folks, let’s catch up with the tanks.”

  The battalions moved on, two battalions stretched out north to south over a mile of shops and office buildings and twisting streets. And the Rebels had miles to go before they reached the harbor.

  A bullet blew splinters into Ben’s face and he hit the sidewalk, crouched down behind a rusted old truck. Corrie called for a Duster and the tank spun around and gave the top floor of the building a hundred rounds of 40mm shells. While those creeps in the building were taking punishment, Ben rolled into a store that had once sold hardware.

  “Ace is the place,” he muttered, knowing that of his team, only Linda would know what he was talking about. She caught his words and smiled at him.

  Ben saw a flash of movement on the second floor of a building and gave the gray-clad figure half a clip. That brought more fire from the glassless windows across the street and above his position.

  The Duster began really pouring rounds into the building until the second floor was virtually destroyed. Creepies poured out of the ground floor and ran into the littered streets, screaming hate and fury, running straight toward Ben’s position. The Duster wheeled about and crushed one under the treads. Others climbed on and tried to breech the open gunner’s compartment. Ben and his team shot them off just as a few creeps reached the old hardware store and flung themselves through the open storefront.

  Linda whirled around and saw the rear of the store filled with wild-eyed Believers. She leveled her shotgun and held the trigger back, firing from the hip. The buckshot tore into flesh and threw the attackers back.

  Ben emptied a clip and then reversed the M-14, using it as a club, beating in the head of a creep. He dropped the empty weapon, pulled out both 9mms, and let them both bang.

  Cooper was lying on his belly, behind his Stoner, keeping the street clear while Corrie and Beth were trying to plug up a large hole in the wall made by a friendly tank round. Jersey gave Ben some relief and some time to slip in a fresh clip for his Thunder Lizard and full clips for his 9mms. Two Dusters backed up and blocked the storefront, allowing those inside to concentrate on the rear and the large hole to their north.

  “We damn sure hit a pocket of them!” Jersey said, slamming home a full thirty-round clip.

  “Where the hell are they coming from?” Linda yelled, locking into place a full drum of shotgun shells.

  “Damn good question,” Ben said, taking a fire-frag from his battle harness. “Everybody, chunk some oranges and apples into that store next to us.”

  A half a dozen antipersonnel grenades sailed through the hole in the bricks and blew dust and debris and various body parts all over the place. Wild shrieking followed the grenade attack, and one of the Dusters blocking the store front started pumping .50 caliber slugs into the mangled mess. The screaming faded off into silence. Before anyone could stop him, Ben was through the hole and into the store, his team scrambling frantically to catch him.

  “God damn it, General!” Jersey cussed.

  Ben paid her no attention as he stepped over dead creeps. “Look for a hole in the floor,” he said. “I bet you a case of whiskey they’ve got holes leading to tunnels under the city. Corrie, radio all batt coms to stop advancing and look behind them for hidey-holes. There it is,” he said, pointing. “Under that counter. Get some truckloads of explosives up here. We’re going to have to backtrack and find these holes and blow them closed.”

  “That’s going to take a lot of time,” Cooper said.

  “Better than waking up in bed with one of these creeps,” Ben pointed out.

  “Yekk!” Jersey grimaced.

  Twelve

  “You’re right, Ben,” Ike radioed from his position just north of the National Botanical Gardens. “The creeps have quite a network of holes and tunnels. Hell, they’ve had ten years or more to set it up.”

  “I’ve got explosives being flown in,” Ben told them all. “We’ll just hold what we’ve got for a day or two. And watch your backs. You can bet the creeps are going to counte
rattack from the rear. Buddy, stay with Therm’s Eight Battalion. Dan, how’s it with you?”

  “We’re spread pretty thin,” the Englishman radioed. “But then, so is everybody. We took a creep alive, General. He confirmed that they have holding pens all over the city, underground.”

  “Fresh food whenever they want it,” Cooper said. “Barf!” He looked at his packet of field rations and put it back into his pack.

  The Rebels were settling down for the night, but no one was going to get much restful sleep, not with the knowledge that the Believers were all around them above ground and moving around under them.

  Ben’s CP for this night was the second floor of an office building. He thought it ironic that he was using the offices of what had once belonged to an Irish defense attorney – according to the papers his people had found.

  He wondered if the Believers had eaten him. He shook his head at the disgusting thought.

  “We found the hole in this building,” Beth told him, walking into the office. “It was in the back of a closet. We plugged it temporarily until we move out. Then we’ll seal it tight.”

  “We’ve got to find every damn one of them,” Ben said, opening a packet of field rations. “And plug them. If we miss just one, the creeps will pour out of it like rats.” He looked at his rations and sighed. “I’d like to have an omelet. With chopped up onions and peppers and some Monterey Jack cheese.”

  “Chicken and dumplings,” Cooper wished.

  “Moo goo gai pan,” Linda said.

  “What the hell is that?” Jersey asked her.

  “Chinese,” Linda said gently, realizing that Jersey had been no more than a child when the Great War had struck the world. Many of the Rebels had only vague memories of baseball games, The Golden Girls, Sunday picnics ... or peace.

  “Sounds awful,” Beth said. “But ... seems like I remember something about it.”

  “We got something moving around out there,” Corrie stuck her head into the room and announced. “All battalions are reporting movement.”