“Thank you, Corrie. Now patch me through to Cecil, please.”
“Go, Ben,” Cecil said, coming on the horn.
“Cec, I spoke with General Payon. They had the same problem with their politicians down there that we had up here. Just one massive network of misinformation. Mexico City is gone. It took a direct hit and will be hot for centuries. That much is fact. But the rest of the country is all right. General Payon is temporarily in charge and is patterning the laws after ours. They’ve been busy with punks and thugs and crud and Night People, and they’re dealing with them the same way we did: with extreme prejudice.”
“Ike informed me the Mexican gunboats are offshore now, in force, and have been in touch with him. They’re prepared to stay for as long as it takes. It looks like we’ve finally got a handle on this situation.”
“For a fact, Cec. I’m going to shove off in the morning and start an easy push west. General Payon says his people are dug in and ready for a fight.”
“That’s ten-four, Ben. Central Los Angeles is burning. Ike is in control of the old Los Angeles airport. There is nothing left between Manchester Avenue north to the mountains. Everything else has been put to the torch. My bunch, Ike, Georgi, Therm, and Dan’s command, is stretched out along I-10. West and Seven and Eight Battalions are spread out north to south along I-110. We’re closing the pincers, Ben. There is no place left for the punks to run.”
“Then they’ve got to pull a desperation move, Cec. They have no choice in the matter. Be alert for that. How about the creepies? Have they linked up with the street punks?”
“What’s left of them, yes. And speaking of what’s left, Ike reported finding what appears to be the HQ, of the creepies — the Judges’ chambers, so to speak. There must have been quite a pocket of methane directly under the building. An HE round hit it and the whole damn block went up. It was a pretty good bang. Ike’s people found a lot of bodies, but no way for us to know how many of the Judges died.”
“Do you have any kind of overall body count?”
“Adding what we guesstimated just before you left, Ben, I’d say close to twenty thousand have died. I would guess that between two and three thousand have slipped out and split.”
Ben paused for a moment. “Cec, do you want to try another attempt at surrender terms for them?” Ben could feel the weight of twenty thousand shot, burned, and blown-apart bodies on him, and he knew that his other commanders were experiencing the same emotion.
When Cecil spoke, there was a weariness in his voice. “And do what with them, Ben? Rehabilitate them? How? Where would we house them? Weeks before we hit southern California we offered them surrender terms. They refused. We got on the edge of the city and offered them terms again. They refused. To hell with them, Ben. I wouldn’t believe anything these bastards said if they were standing in the middle of a bible factory.”
“All right, Cec; then that’s the way we’ll play it. We won’t offer them surrender terms again, but if they throw down their guns and walk out under a white flag, we’ll honor it on the spot and try them.”
“All right, Ben. But I’m going to wait a few minutes before passing the orders. You might change your mind.”
“Eagle out.”
Jersey was looking at him when Ben turned around. “We’ve given them half a dozen chances to surrender, General. That’s ten more than they would have given us.”
Ben looked around him, his eyes touching each member of his personal team, and also his son. “Say what’s on your mind, people.”
“No surrender,” Buddy said.
“They’re scumbags, General,” Beth said. “They’re slave traders, drug dealers, murderers, and cohorts of cannibals. They’ll not surrender to me.”
“Me neither,” Cooper said, in a rare moment of standing up to the general. “I’ll shoot every damn one I see, armed or unarmed. They’re worse than the Nazis I’ve read about.”
“I see,” Ben said softly. “Is this the sentiment of everyone in this command?”
“Yes, Father,” Buddy said. “It is.”
Ben nodded his head and looked at Linda. She shook her head. “A small part of me says to show them some mercy. But a much larger part of me says that I could never trust one of them. Not after hearing what all of the ex-prisoners have to say about them.”
“All right,” Ben said, his words soft. He looked at Corrie. “Take it off scramble and patch me through to all commanders, please.”
She handed the mike to him. “This is Ben Raines. Take no prisoners. Repeat: take no prisoners. That is a direct order.” He handed the mike back to Corrie. “Let’s get packed up, people. We shove off at first light in the morning.”
Ben’s orders made it, in some repects, much easier for the Rebels on the line. No one ever disobyed a direct order from Ben Raines.
In the ever-shrinking area controlled by the street punks and the creepies, the battle halted for a few moments after Ben had spoken. There, among all, it was a time for much retrospection and what-ifs. But after a few moments, most of the street punks reached the usual conclusion that what they were was somebody else’s fault — not theirs. It was society’s fault that they were not made chairpersons of the boards of large corporations the instant they dropped out of school. They shouldn’t have been sent to jail just because they raped or mugged or killed. The women should have given up that pussy on demand; the people should have handed over their money on demand; if they’d done that, then they wouldn’t have been killed. Hurt, maybe, but what the hell? That’s the breaks.
The street punks had arrived at this juncture of their lives not because of anything they had done, but because of society. After all, in the words of a less than logical song of decades past, during one protest period or another, they hadn’t asked to be born, so society sure as hell owed them something — right?
It had never occurred to most of them that society had offered them all a great many things: free schooling from K through 12 — and in many cases through college — if they had the drive to see it through. The right to choose their own paths. The right to vote. The right of free speech. They all had the same rights as anyone else. They were just too goddamn sorry and lazy and worthless to take advantage of it.
“It ain’t right,” Jimmy of the Indios said. “They ain’t gonna give us another chance.”
Brute of the White Men and Cash of the Surfers looked at each other and smiled. Cash said, “We had our chances, Jimmy. Zillions of them. But we blew them all every time one was offered to us. There ain’t no point in whining about it now. Now all we got to do is die.”
The area controlled by the street punks and the creepies had shrunk dramatically. The Rebel commanders had reached the point where the danger to their troops had lessened considerably; most of the work was up to the artillery. On the three landlocked sides of the area, gunners pumped in round after round, on a twenty-four-hour basis, the rolling and killing and burning thunder never ceasing. Fires from hundreds of out-of-control blazes lit up the night sky and smoke was so thick even during the day it was difficult to see. The last major bastion of lawlessness, perversion, cannibalism, and horror in the lower forty-eight was only a few days from being destroyed.
The leaders of the street gangs and a representative from the Believers called for a last-minute meeting. Even Rich was in attendance.
“We got to bust out,” Leroy said. He was calm and in control of himself, even though he still despised Rich. He spread a map on the table. “Right up here is the Rebels’ weakest point — at least from what I could see. Brute, your plan was a good one. We got to take it. I . . .” He paused as the artillery stopped.
“What the hell? —” Fang of the Hill Street Avengers said, the sudden silence loud in the room.
A radio operator answered the frantic calling on his radio, then turned to the gang leaders. “Our forward people say the Rebel planes is warming up. You know what that means.”
“Gas,” Stan said. “The bastards is gonna dr
op gas in on us like they done in Frisco.”
“Hold it!” Bull yelled, as the gang leaders started to panic. “Just hold it for a second. If it’s gas, and I’ll bet it isn’t, there ain’t no way any of us could get far enough away to do any good. So just calm down and wait this out. Let’s see what develops.”
They waited. They were jumpy and wide-eyed but they waited.
“The Rebels is shiftin’ people around,” the radio operator said. “They’re pullin’ back to the east of us. They’ve left Highway 107 south wide open.”
“That don’t make no sense,” Dicky of the Blades said.
“Yeah,” Ishmal of the Boogies agreed. “Why would they do something stupid like that?”
“The Russian son of a bitch is pullin’ out too,” the radioman yelled. “They’re gettin’ into trucks and leavin’. The Rebels is all shiftin’ around. The Russian is headin’ back east on the freeway. What the hell’s goin’ on?”
Leroy’s lips peeled back in a snarl as his eyes touched Rich, who was smirking at him. “Why don’t you tell us, white boy?”
“Okay, I’ll do that. But if you’re thinkin’ gas, forget it. Unless you fart. Look here, boys. The Rebels is tryin’ to sucker us south. They’ve left a buffer of ten or twelve blocks of no-man’s-land between us and them, all the way around. And a line of Rebels north of us, stretched out west to east. And it has to be a thin line. That’s our ticket out of here, boys. That’s where we slide through.”
“For a honky, you ain’t but half stupid,” Leroy said. “You right. We got no choice in the matter. We got to head north.”
“But not all of us,” Bull said, speaking the damning words.
“What you mean?” Ishmal asked.
“All of us pulling out would be a dead giveaway,” Brute said. “But it isn’t as dismal as it sounds.”
“It ain’t?” Sally asked.
“No, dear, it isn’t. The fair way to do this is to draw lots.”
“I don’t need no property,” Junkyard said.
Brute sighed. “Dear God,” he whispered. “I have cast my fate to the winds, and am on a vessel crewed by cretins.” He cleared his throat. “We will draw straws, cut cards, or toss pennies to see who goes north and who heads south.”
“Oh,” Junkyard said.
“Now then, any move we make had best be started tonight,” Brute continued. “Those of us heading south will pretend to be taking the bait offered by the Rebels. When you get halfway between L.A. and San Diego, cut straight east, break up into small groups, and disappear. Get rid of your gang colors and bury them. Forget them. Occupy farm houses and chew tobacco, hum hillbilly music, scratch at yourselves and look outdoorsy if Rebel patrols find you. There is a good chance many of us will make it. All who elect to go to the barren and hostile wilderness, a.k.a. Alaska, will rendezvous . . . oh, let’s see . . . in Central Nevada as quickly as possible. Everyone agreed on that?”
“We got shortwave equipment,” Bull said. “Our rendezvous code word will be . . . what? Come up with something, Brute.”
Brute smiled. “Miami.”
“That’s a good one. Let’s start cuttin’ the cards.”
“What are we gonna do out there?” Ruth of the Macys asked, waving her hand toward the countryside. “I ain’t been out of the city in years. What the hell is out there?”
“Ben Raines,” Josh said glumly.
TWO
The Rebel planes had taken off, some of them to resupply Rebel units, most of them to take freed prisoners to Base Camp One for medical treatment. The Rebels loosely surrounding the small area of the city still in hands of the street punks took a break to bathe, eat hot food, change into clean uniforms, and rest. Rest the body and the ears, now that the artillery had fallen silent.
“You know that a lot of them will bust out of the city tonight,” Buddy said to his father.
“It can’t be helped, son. We’re down to only a few artillery rounds per gun. We’ve used thousands of rounds during this assault and the factory back at Base One can’t keep up with the demand. It’ll be at least a week before the supply can be built up.”
“Take a guess, Father. How many of the punks who bust out of the city will settle down and stop their lawless ways?”
“Not many. Percentage-wise? Five to ten percent, maybe. These are hardcore punks.”
“They’re sure to find out about the outlaws gathering in Alaska.”
“We’ll have a fight up there, for sure. But we’ll have all winter to gear up for it. When we pull out for Northstar, we’ll be fully prepared. Even better prepared than we were for this assault.”
Darkness had settled softly over the land, and the Rebels camped between Yuma and Mexicali rested. Ben sat outside his tent, waiting for Corrie to tell him the punks were bugging out of the city . . . and in which direction they were heading. He’d made a mental bet with himself that some would head south, and some would head north. How far south they would go was something he could not know. But if he were in their shoes, he would take the bait and wait until they were in a very isolated area, then cut hard to the east and try to find a hidey-hole.
Using a flashlight, he studied a map. They would break east between Oceanside and Del Mar, splitting up into small groups and taking that maze of county roads that led over to 78 and I-15.
“Punks are bugging out, General,” Corrie called. “Heading south.”
Ben did not ask for numbers; there was no way to tell. “Corrie, have Seven and Eight Battalions stay in position and order West to leave immediately. Head straight down I-15. Tell him we are leaving within the hour and by dawn will be in position just east of Escondido on Highway 78. He is to leave the Interstate at the junction of 76 and spread his people along that route. I’ll spread my forces on either side of Santa Ysabel. Advise General Payon of our plans and order all personnel to break camp.”
The Rebels were accustomed to abrupt changes in plans, and in thirty minutes they were ready to go.
“Take the Interstate to El Centro, Coop,” Ben told him. “Then north to Brawley and west on 78. Are the Scouts out, Corrie?”
“Should be five miles ahead of us now. West is on his way, pushing hard.”
“Let’s go, Coop.”
They had just over a hundred miles to travel, on roads they were unfamiliar with, and through territory that was unknown but presumed hostile. They could make no more than thirty-five miles an hour, and in many instances, much less than that. Tanks spearheaded the drive and tanks brought up the rear. Scouts reported a barricade at the junction of I-8 and 98.
“Blow it,” Ben ordered. “Blow any that you find. We’re coming through.”
The column rumbled on through the night.
“Scouts asking if you want them to check out Calexico, General,” Corrie said.
“Ten-fifty. Get us through to our immediate objective.”
“General Ike is on the horn, sir. He wants to know what the hell you think you’re doing.”
“Tell him to worry about his own sector. If I need a nursemaid I’ll pick my own.”
“Yes, sir.” She relayed the message. Waited. “There is no way I’m going to tell General Raines that, sir,” she said. “Fine,” she said hotly. “The same to you! Eagle out!”
Ben chuckled. He could just imagine what Ike had said. “Ike get a little profane, Corrie?”
Corrie muttered something under her breath and Jersey burst out laughing.
The column rolled on through the night. “Right along here is where Hollywood used to film a lot of desert scenes for movies,” Ben told his team. “Hollywood,” he murmured. “Gone forever.”
“Hold it up,” Corrie said. “Scouts reporting an overpass is blown just west of El Centro. They advise take a county road to Brawley. It’s not numbered but they’ll mark it for us.”
Cooper nodded his head.
The county road slowed them down to an infuriating crawl.
“Brawley is occupied by thugs, General,” Corrie
told him.
“Tell the Scouts to hold up and wait for us. We have no choice in the matter. We’ll have to blow our way through. All tanks up front.”
The convoy pulled over to the side of the road, allowing those tanks in the rear to join the spearheading armor.
“Close it up, Coop,” Ben said. “Stay with them.”
Brawley had been a town of about fifteen thousand when the Great War enveloped the earth more than a decade past. Since it was full dark, and the age of street lamps had come and gone except in towns controlled by the Rebels, there was no telling what condition the town was in now, but Ben knew what condition it was going to be in when the Rebels left it behind: in ruins.
Ben got out of the wagon and walked to a group of Scouts, helping position the tanks. “Any guesses as to the number of crud in the town?”
“I’d guess a couple of hundred, General. They’ve got some big .50’s in there too. They opened up on us too soon, though, and we were able to hit the ditch banks. We told them who we were and they told us to kiss their ass.”
“Commence shelling whenever you people are ready,” Ben told a tank commander. “HE and incendiary. We don’t have time for politeness. Punch us through.”
The armor opened up with cannon fire and the Gatlings and Vulcans began howling. Mortar crews had set up and began dropping rounds in. Very soon, the entire eastern end of the town was burning.
“Advance,” Ben ordered just as Buddy called out.
“They’re bugging out, Father.”
“Take some people, son. Find us a way through.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ben returned to his vehicle and rummaged around until he found a candy bar. He was munching on that when he noticed Smoot’s ears perk up and the puppy’s eyes shift to the darkness to Ben’s right. “Stay, Smoot,” Ben said softly, closing the door and dropping to the dewy grass beside the road.
His M-14 was propped up against the wagon and Ben didn’t want to risk exposing an arm reaching for it. Belly down on the grass, he pulled his .45, carried cocked and locked, from leather and eased the autoloader off safety.
Fury in the Ashes Page 19
