Fury in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Or they didn’t care. Remember that many of our so-called leaders knew that the power play that led to the war was on the way.”

  “It’s moot now, though, isn’t it?”

  “Unfortunately. Well . . . this new development is going to delay the attack for a day, maybe two.”

  “This is also going to let the creepies and the outlaws grow stronger,” Buddy pointed out, speaking for the first time since Chase entered the room.

  “I know,” his father said. “But with this new twist, it can’t be helped. Corrie, have our scanners picked up any word on the whereabouts of Khamsin, Villar, and that bunch?”

  “Not a peep, sir. Wherever they are, they’re maintaining strict radio silence.”

  “That tells me they’re so weak in number they don’t want us to find them. We’d wipe them out. We really creamed them in the mountains. We had to have cut their numbers by a good sixty, seventy percent. Maybe more than that. We certainly buried and burned a lot of bodies.”

  “And then the remainder just drop off the face of the earth?” Chase said. “That doesn’t make any sense. Unless they all decided to go straight for a change, and that doesn’t seem a very likely probability to me.”

  “Oh, no, Lamar. They’re holed up somewhere, keeping their heads down. You can bet on that. And what is worse is that they’ll rebuild quickly. You know as well as I that there are thousands of thugs and punks just waiting for an opportunity to link up with a gang. Sometimes I honest to God think there are more crud than decent people left. Sure appears that way at times. No, we’ll just deal with one problem at a time. That’s all we can do.”

  “Like about a million creepies in the Los Angeles area?” Buddy said.

  Ben smiled. “Not that many, son. But for sure, we’re going to be outnumbered — again.”

  SIX

  Ben stood on the edge of the tarmac at Travis AFB with his mouth hanging open and watching his own new — or old — air force come winging in.

  He shook his head, closed his mouth, and turned to Ike. “Ike, where in the hell did the pilots come up with those planes, for Christ’s sake?”

  Ike laughed and slapped Ben on the shoulder. “They found some of them in museums over in Nevada. The rest came from the old Confederate Air Force in Texas.”

  “Good God, Ike!” Ben said, laughing as he watched another plane make its approach and come gracefully in for a landing. “That’s a B-17!”

  “Yep, it sure is. Only two of them in existence — that I know of — and we’ve got them both. They’re both well over fifty years old.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ben said. “Well over fifty years old.” He chuckled as he watched two B-25’s touch down on the runway. “Ike, what a hell of a way to run a war.”

  “Yeah, but you know, Ben, that half of our pilots used to be jet-jockeys, but they say they’d rather fight with these old jobs. Look yonder,” the Mississippi-born-and-reared Ike said, pointing. “P-51’s comin’ in.”

  “And those?” Ben asked, his eyes to the sky.

  “Beats the hell outta me, Ben.”

  “P-40’s,” Doctor Chase said. “The old Flying Tigers. Hot damn, boys! That is a beautiful sight for these old eyes, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Those planes are over sixty years old!” Ben yelled.

  “That’s our air force, Ben,” Ike said, grinning.

  “They should certainly strike fear in the hearts of the creepies,” Ben said drily. “If for no other reason than fear of them falling out of the sky and landing on them.”

  Ike got a laugh out of that, then said, “Oh, they’ve all been reworked, Ben. Hell, there isn’t an original part on any of them.”

  “How about bombs that will fit the racks?”

  “Well now,” General Georgi Striganov said, walking up and hearing the question. “I must admit, that is a, well, slight problem.”

  “I’m not sure I want to hear this,” Ben said.

  “We sort of had to do some home boy engineerin’ when it came to that,” Ike said, smiling. “But we believe it will work. We’ll see in a couple of days, won’t we?”

  Ben shook his head. “This is going to be good. I can just feel it.”

  “It will probably revolutionize modern warfare,” Ike said, trying to keep a straight face.

  “I’m sure. Let’s have a practice run.” Ben pointed across the tarmac to a field. “Right over there. Now.”

  Ben watched the bombs leave the bomb bay and hit the ground, reasonably close to the target. The bombs bounced but did not explode.

  He looked at Ike. The ex-SEAL grinned. “I think we may have screwed up just a tad. But nothin’ that we can’t correct.”

  Ben nodded his head and sat down in a camp chair, thinking that this was a hell of a way to run a war.

  The second practice bombing run went off without a hitch — except the bombs missed the target — and Ben smiled as the old World War Two planes came roaring in, dropped their payloads — this time the bombs exploded — and soared gracefully back into the skies.

  Many of the Rebels in Ben’s command had gathered around, seeing for the first time in their lives the planes that had helped to win a war that was over, for many of them, decades before they were even born.

  “They’re prettier than jets,” one remarked. “It just seems like that’s really flying!”

  “Do you remember World War Two, General?” a Rebel asked Ben.

  Ben laughed and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I wasn’t born when that war was going on. My war was Vietnam. Hueys and Dust-offs and B-52’s. Hell, Doctor Chase just barely remembers World War Two, and he’s as old as dirt.”

  Lamar glowered at him while the young Rebels laughed. When the laughter subsided, Chase asked, “Ben, how about the guns on those old Flying Tigers?”

  “They had to be reworked or replaced. We couldn’t find ammo for the originals. The .303’s were pulled off and 7.62’s were put in their place. We can’t use the synchronized propeller gun at all. The P-51’s have six machine guns. All in all, it’s going to be a very interesting campaign, I’d say.”

  Chase said, “All the troops have been assigned gloves and masks.”

  “Then we jump off in the morning.”

  Early morning fog still hung low over the coastline when Ben gave the orders to move out. The mighty machine of war called the Rebels surged forward as the Rebels’ air force took off from Travis AFB. B-17’s, B-25’s, P-51’s, and P-40’s. The old planes that had helped to win the war to end all wars were back in action. And the pilots were not above hamming it up. They wore leather jackets, white scarfs, and baseball caps. Ben had wanted them in more protective headgear, but they were in such high spirits, he decided against making them wear anything except what they wanted to wear.

  The bombers roared over the city, dropped their payloads, and returned to base to load up again while the fighters staffed the city streets with machine-gun fire. Since many of the pilots had been crop-dusters before the Great War, they took chances that few World War Two pilots would had ever thought of taking. They tilted their fighters on the wingtips and roared between the tall buildings, machine guns spitting and hammering out lead. They didn’t inflict many causalities flying that way, but they sure scared the hell out of a lot of creepies.

  Ike, Cecil, Georgi, and West got into position around the city while Ben and his people were stalled between San Jose and Palo Alto and Dan’s bunch pushed on toward Half Moon Bay.

  It was hard going for those south of the city, for the creepies were grouped en masse against such a move. Dan and his bunch made it across the maze of Interstate interchanges and headed for the Pacific, while Ben and his contingent had to slug it out for every yard gained.

  Ben called for Tina. “Kid, take your people and some Dusters. Cut west through what’s left of the Stanford University complex. Take Sand Hill road and try for the Interstate. Plug it up.”

  “Right, Pop. I’m gone.” She kissed him on the cheek and ran yellin
g for her teams to link up.

  Ben turned to Corrie. “We’ve got to punch through and establish a toehold, Corrie. Order main battle tanks in and have them buttoned up tight. I’ll use the outside phone.”

  When the tanks lumbered into position, Ben ran to the side of one and opened the phone box. “Lower your muzzles and blow me a hole through this crap,” he ordered. “Then form a protective line for us to follow. Use HE.”

  Half a dozen of the steel monsters lined up, lowered the muzzles of their main cannon, and blew a hole large enough for an aircraft carrier to move through.

  The tanks moved forward, the Rebels following.

  The creepies, hoping to swing around and trap Ben, did exactly what Ben wanted them to do.

  They swung around and closed off the rear — or thought they did.

  “Order the LAVs and Dusters up,” Ben said to Corrie. “A and C Companies face the rear, B and D to the front.”

  The Rebel companies swung around and caught the creepies in a box. The LAV Pirahnas and Dusters pulled out from hiding and went to work. Heavy cannon fire caught the creepies by surprise as Rebels poured out of the LAVs and added automatic-weapons fire to the carnage. When the creepies tried to retreat to the north, they ran into Ben and his rear-facing Rebels.

  The Rebels then turned the littered streets into a slaughterhouse.

  Over the rattle and boom of battle, Corrie said, “Tina met heavy resistance in the college complex. She punched through and is almost to the Interstate.”

  “Okay. We’ve got a toehold. Dan?”

  “Colonel Gray is on Highway 92 and is driving hard toward the Pacific.”

  “Tell him once there to push on up to Moss Point and secure Half Moon Bay airport so we can resupply him at that location. We’ve got to secure the San Carlos airport, and we’ve got to do it by tonight. Tell all units to start laying incendiary charges in the buildings behind us. Torch it all down but leave us a rathole in and out. Then get me Ike.”

  Corrie gave the orders, then handed the mike to Ben.

  “Ike here.”

  “What’s your twenty, Ike?”

  “Sittin’ on the north side of the Golden Gate.”

  “Can you cross it?”

  “That’s ten-fifty, Eagle. The creeps have it all wired to blow.”

  “Just as we thought. They’re so single-minded they don’t realize that by doing that, they’re trapping themselves. Stand by, Ike. Corrie, get me Cecil.”

  “On the horn, General.”

  “How’s your bridge looking, Cec?”

  “Heavily mined.”

  General Striganov reported. “No way across, Ben. It doesn’t leave us many options, does it?”

  “No. I’m afraid it doesn’t, Georgi. Stand by.”

  With the rattle of gunfire, the crackle of flames, and the thunder of artillery in the background, Ben muttered, “One of the greatest tributes to engineering ever built.”

  “Sir?” Corrie asked.

  “The Golden Gate Bridge, Corrie. We’ll not see the likes of it again in our lifetime. Get me Ike, please.”

  “You don’t want to do this, do you, General?” Corrie asked.

  “No, I don’t, Corrie.”

  “General Ike on the horn, sir.”

  “Ike, blow the bridge. Cecil, Georgi, blow them. Cut the bastards off, then swing around and link up with me.”

  “That’s ten-four, General,” the commanders reported in, none of them liking the decision anymore than the man who gave the orders.

  The shelling began almost immediately. The exploding rounds activated the charges placed by the Believers. The charges blew, rocking the morning with destructive thunder. Huge spans of the bridges shattered, breaking off, then slowly dropping into the Bay, sending wild geysers of water high into the air.

  “Get me a report from Tina, Corrie.”

  “She’s in position, sir. Blocking the Interstate at Woodside Road.”

  “Did she report finding anything of value left at Stanford University?”

  “Negative, sir. The place had been virtually destroyed. Indications are that all the books were burned.”

  Ben shook his head in disgust. “Naturally. The first to go are the intellectuals, then the books. Control the minds, and you control the masses. Corrie, tell Georgi and his people to pour on the coals and get in behind us here. When he gets into position, have him spread his people out from 101 to 280, and then give the orders for this command to move out. We’ve got to take the airport at San Carlos.”

  Ike intercepted the orders and was on the horn immediately. “Goddamnit, Ben!” he yelled. “If Georgi and West get in a bind, you and your people could be trapped over there.”

  “Possibly. But not for long,” Ben radioed back. “You and Cec burn it all, Ike. Start your push south and search and destroy. Anything left, the . . . bombers,” he said with a smile, “can napalm it.”

  “That’s ten-four, Ben,” Ike radioed. He didn’t like it, and Ben knew it, but Ike would do it.

  “We’ve hit heavy resistance, Ben!” the Russian called in. “For your safety, you must hold what you have until we can punch through and get in behind you.”

  “That’s ten-fifty, Georgi. We’ve got to have the airport under our control and the runways cleared by late this afternoon. I’ll see you when you get here.” Grinning, Ben tossed the mike back to Corrie before Georgi could start roaring like a bear with a thorn in its paw. He turned to Cooper. “Get the wagon up here, Coop. Fall in behind the tanks. Grab your equipment, Corrie. Let’s go.”

  The Rebels stayed between Bayshore Freeway and the Junipero Sierra Freeway and slugged it out with the creepies. The creeps had them heavily outnumbered, but the Rebels had far superior firepower. Ben’s people advanced, very slowly, fighting for every foot of ground gained.

  Across the Bay, huge columns of smoke began pouring into the air as Ike and Cecil pushed south, burning everything in their path. The Rebels had the search-and-destroy tactics down to perfection, using incendiary charges their lab people had devised that threw white phosphorus and napalm upon exploding. Four charges, separated and placed two inside and two outside, would effectively burn a city block. For added insurance, the prop-driven bombers and fighters came in right on the Rebels’ heels, dropping their payloads of napalm, adding more smoke and fire to the inferno that sent plumes of smoke reaching toward the skies.

  General Georgi Striganov split his command, taking his personal battalion first west, then turning north and cutting up under Ben, leaving the troops of the Russian Rebet and the French-Canadian Danjou spread out west to east, to block any escape from the creepies trying to flee the flames. As the first of Cecil’s troops reached Rebet and Danjou’s position, they swung west and once more joined Striganov, beefing up the general’s forces.

  Dan and his people had reached the Half Moon Bay airport and were hanging on while Tina sent two squads over to Highway 35, blocking that final southern escape route for the creeps.

  Ben radioed his daughter. “How’s it going, kid?”

  “We’re hanging on by our fingernails, Pop,” she told him. “But for a while it was touch and go. The creeps have been coming at us in human waves. Or subhuman waves,” she amended. “I think we’re firm now.”

  “Hang tough, kid,” Ben told her. “I’ve ordered West and his people to push to your location with battle tanks spearheading. He’ll split his people and send half over to beef up Dan. Can you hold for an hour tops?”

  “That’s ten-four, Dad. Can do.”

  Ben knew the mercenary, West, was in love with Tina, and she with him. Colonel West would be brutal in his advance to get to Tina. The westernmost positions of the Rebels would be secure in an hour.

  Ben radioed Ike and Cecil. “We’re in pretty good shape here, boys, and getting better. So slow your advance and do the job right the first time. I want everything from Oakland to San Jose put to the torch.” He paused for a few seconds, then lifted the mike, sealing the fate of t
he creepies and anyone closely aligned with them. “No prisoners.”

  Cecil halted his forces, stretching them out west to east from Alameda to the Warren Freeway, and waited for Ike to join him. He radioed the pilots and told them to take a break until Ike linked up with him and the drive south could be resumed.

  Ben halted his drive north and told his tired Rebels to grab a few minutes rest until everyone could get in place. He knew that would give the creeps a chance to regroup also, but his people were weary and needed a break.

  Linda came to him carrying two mugs of coffee. Ben accepted one with thanks and took a sip of the hot brew. He looked at the woman. Her face was grimy from the smoke and sweat of battle, but she was hanging in. That was all Ben could ask and expect of anyone.

  She looked across the strip of street that had, for the moment, become the unofficial no-man’s-land, and was surprised when Ben said, “It won’t take long for the wildlife to return to this area.”

  She cut her eyes to him. “Wildlife?”

  “Oh, yes, Linda. This entire region is a very important feeding and nesting area for migratory birds on the Pacific flyway. Once we’re out of here, their numbers will increase — I hope.”

  She shook her head and smiled. “Ben.” She used his first name for the first time — and that did not escape Ben — as she pointed across the wide area littered with the broken and bloody bodies of stinking creepies. “There are only God knows how many Believers north of us in that city. And you’re thinking about wildlife?”

  Ben sipped his coffee and smiled, amusement in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll get used to me, Linda. In each state we reclaim, I set aside several areas for the wildlife to run free — as God intended them to do. A place for wolves and panthers and mountain lions and bears and other predators to once more take their place in God’s way of balancing herd populations —”

  A burst of gunfire from the creepie side of the street broke into their conversation. A Rebel tank clanked around, lowered its cannon, and put an end to the gunfire. A creepie staggered out of the rubble and a Rebel cut him down with one shot.