Smoke from the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Then it came to Ashley.

  Big Louie had gone off the deep end.

  Never too stable — at least in the years that Ashley had known him — Big Louie had finally tiptoed over into yo-yo land.

  And a plan, springing like a large dangerous panther in the night, leaped into Ashley’s brain. The plan cat-footed about in the man’s head.

  Why not? he thought. It’ll work. Kill two birds with one stone, as the saying goes.

  “Why, Louie, Your Majesty,” Ashley said with a smile. “I think it would be grand for you to meet with Ben Raines and offer him a chance to join with us. Yes, indeed, Louie. A lovely idea. I’m sorry that I didn’t think of it.”

  Big Louie leaned forward and touched Ashley’s shoulder with a soft and perfumed hand.

  Ashley fought to suppress a shudder.

  “My dear boy,” Louie said. “I thought of it because it is my duty to do so. It is my obligation to the masses inferior to me. After all, I am the king, you know.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Ashley said, bowing. “Of course. May I take my leave now?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” Louie waved a hand. “Run along and play soldier boy. I have royal arrangements to mull over. I’ll call you when I have them completed.”

  Ashley backed out, bowing as he went. In the hall, he looked at one of his bodyguards. “He’s flipped out.” He jerked a thumb toward the Royal Room, as Louie called it. “Come on. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  FIVE

  “He agreed to it,” Ben said. Colonel Gray, Ike, and Tina had been called back to Ben’s CP. Dr. Chase was busy with his doctors, tending to the needs of those civilians the Rebel teams had managed to wrest from the hands of Big Louie’s men.

  “Bet on one thing, Ben,” Ike said. “It’s a trap of some sort.”

  “No doubt. But probably from the mind of this Ashley person. Not from Big Louie.”

  “Why do you say that, Dad?” Tina asked.

  No one had yet brought up the subject of Buddy. Ben had not mentioned it, and until he did, no one else was going to say anything about it.

  “Listen to this,” Ben said, lifting the letter, which had been handed to a forward recon team, by a bearer under a white flag.

  Tina sniffed at the paper. “Smells like expensive perfume.”

  “Chanel,” Dan said. “From a man?”

  “Quiet,” Ben said. “Listen: To his Majesty, the supreme general of forces, Ben Raines . . .”

  Ike swallowed a bit of chewing tobacco and began coughing.

  “Serves you right for sticking that dreadful mess in your mouth,” Dan said, smiling. “Do continue, general. Pardon this oaf’s interruption.” He whacked Ike on the back a couple of times.

  When the laughter had subsided, Ben read on: I, King Louie The First, do hereby accept your kind offer of a meeting. I am so looking forward to it. Being men of like mind . . . Ben rolled his eyes at that. I am certain we can reach some understanding which shall enable us to work out this small difficulty without the use of force. Do give some serious thought to joining me and together, we can sit side by side on the throne of greatness and certainly rule the world.

  “That fellow,” Dan said, pointing to the letter, “is certainly bonkers!”

  “At least,” Ben agreed.

  “When is the meeting?” Tina asked.

  Ben looked at the letter. “Tomorrow, at noon. At the Osage City exit, just off the Kansas Turnpike.”

  “Just up the road,” Ike said. “Still no clue as to who this Ashley person is, Ben?”

  Ben shook his head. “No.” He cut his eyes to Tina. “Met your half-brother yet?”

  The question caught her off balance. “Ah, why, no, Dad, I haven’t.”

  Ben smiled. “There are no secrets in any army, Ike. That much has not changed.”

  “Sure hasn’t,” Ike said. “But hell, Ben. He looks just like you.”

  Ben nodded his head. “Go see him, Tina. I want him at the meeting tomorrow at noon.”

  “Dad? . . .”

  “Do I have to make that an order, girl?” Ben asked, cutting his hawklike eyes at her.

  “No, sir!”

  Ben smiled and the young woman returned the smile. “Report to me at least two hours before the meeting. I want your opinion of him.”

  A mischievous look passed over the woman’s pretty face. She stepped forward and kissed Ben on his tanned cheek, tweaking him under the chin. “Yes, Daddy,” she cooed, then ran out of the CP before Ben could catch her.

  After the laughter had died down, Ben cleared his throat and, red faced, said, “Now you both see why nepotism is such a lousy idea.”

  “Yes, Daddy!” Ike and Dan shouted in unison.

  Together, they ran out of the CP, with Ben throwing his spare boots at them. One of the boots just missed Denise, who was bringing Ben a message from one of the recon units.

  “Be careful in there, love!” Dan called over his shoulder. “Big Daddy is a bit testy today.”

  Giggling like a pair of kids, the ex-SAS man and ex-Seal ran out of sight, straight to the hospital, to tell Dr. Chase what had just gone down.

  Shaking her head, Denise entered the CP, after picking up Ben’s boots from the ground. Ben glared at her.

  “You could hire that face out to frighten little children, general,” she told him.

  Ben growled at her.

  “Shall I call Dr. Chase to have you checked for rabies?” she asked innocently.

  Ben glared for a moment more, then smiled. He walked to the door and told his guards, “I do not wish to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ben closed the door and picked the woman up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed.

  “Do all generals behave like this?” she asked.

  Grinning as he unbuttoned his shirt, Ben said, “If they get the chance.”

  “Give me your left, left, left, right, left!” Lieutenant Mackey called out the cadence.

  After the group had been bathed and inspected and curried and given physicals, the force had been culled down considerably. Out of the initial six hundred men and women, three hundred had been deemed physically fit to be a most unwilling unit of the Rebels.

  And at this, the first full half day’s training, the entire new unit was playing alligator.

  Their ass was dragging out their tracks.

  “Company . . . halt!” Lieutenant Mackey shouted the welcome words.

  The men and women slumped to the ground, too tired to even try to seek some shade from the merciless heat.

  “Piss-poor-looking bunch,” Cecil said to Lieutenant Mackey, a grin on his face.

  “I sure won’t argue with that, general,” Mackey said, also grinning.

  A medic approached them. “Jake wants to see you, general.”

  “Oh? I gather, then, his jaw is not broken?”

  “No, sir. Just bent a little.” All laughed at the old army joke. The medic said, “He did lose a couple of teeth, though.”

  “I imagine that Jake is a bit upset, is he not, son?”

  The medic laughed aloud. “Yes, sir. He says just any ol’ time you feel lucky, he wants to challenge you to a fight for leadership.”

  Cecil smiled. He knew all about that. He remembered those from his days as a Green Beret. “Oh? Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir. And he demands the right to let his followers know that.”

  Cecil nodded his head. “Very well. Harrison?” he called, looking around for his driver.

  “Here, sir.”

  “Will you please bring this Jake person to the parade ground?”

  The parade ground was an old high school football field.

  “Right away, sir.”

  Jake was escorted to the parade ground, a Rebel on both sides of him. He looked at what were once his people, sprawled in near exhaustion on the field. His eyes found the remainder of his people — the culls — that Cecil had ordered placed in the stands. Ja
ke looked at Cecil. Jake’s jaw was slightly swollen, and one lip was cut, but when he spoke, his words were clear.

  “I’m a-gonna whup your ass, spade!”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. ’At air’s a purdee fact, boy.”

  “And what do you think that will accomplish . . . should you be instrumental in succeeding in that highly unlikely bit of braggadocio?”

  “Haw?”

  “What will it prove?” Cecil said with a sigh.

  “Hit’ll prove whut ever’body else awready know. That I’m the better man.”

  Cecil smiled. “Surely, God must have had a sense of humor.”

  “Haw?”

  “Nothing, you cretin. Very well. How do you want this fight?”

  A sly look crept into Jake’s eyes. “You really gonna fight me, boy?”

  “Oh, yes. Most assuredly.”

  “You dumb ass! I never knowed a nigger in my life that had no sense.”

  “Surely a startling revelation is just around the corner, Jake.”

  “Whutever ’at means.”

  Cecil started to tell him. He decided that actions would speak louder than words.

  Cecil stepped back and removed his web belt, laying it to one side. He looked at his Rebels, now all gathered around. “No interference, people. If Jake wins, we pull out. If Jake loses, he joins the group and takes orders just like any other buck-ass private.” He cut his eyes to Jake. “Is that amenable to you, Jake?”

  “Haw?”

  “Is ’at awrat with chew?” Cecil mush-mouthed. He could not contain a small smile.

  Somewhere in the ranks of the newly drafted members, a woman’s laughter reached out, taunting. “You should be able to understand that, Jake!” she called.

  Jake’s face mottled and flushed with anger. “Yeah, I understand hit, awrat. You ready to fight, boy?” he asked Cecil.

  “Oh, quite!” Cecil responded cheerfully.

  Jake danced a bit, balled his big hands into fists, and stepped forward, tossing out a quick testing fist.

  Cecil stepped inside the punch and planted one on Jake’s chin, staggering the bigger and stronger and younger man.

  Cecil stepped to one side, dodging another of Jake’s punches.

  Jake snapped a left, catching Cecil on the shoulder. The punch stung, and Cec knew he would never be able to stand up and slug it out, toe to toe, with the man. At least, not yet. That point was further emphasized when Jake popped Cecil on the side of the head with a left hook. The blow brought stars into Cec’s vision, and little birdies chirped.

  Cecil sidestepped and brought his elbows in close, his fists up, protecting his face and belly and dancing a bit until his head cleared. Then he heard Jake’s breathing. He smiled. If he could keep Jake moving and swinging, all the while protecting himself, he could wear the bigger man down and then beat the shit out of him.

  Although Jake was younger and stronger, he was very much out of shape.

  “You stand still and fight, you black son of a bitch!” Jake yelled, the frustration evident in his voice.

  Just to let him know that he hadn’t forgotten him, Cec popped Jake flush on the mouth with a short left. Jake’s head snapped back, and the blood flew from newly busted lips.

  Cec danced back, his head clear of little birdies, keeping Jake moving. “You know what they say, Jake!” Cecil taunted him. “We got rhythm!”

  “You nigger ape!” Jake hissed, panting for breath. He stepped in, wanting to mix it up, nose to nose.

  Knowing he was taking a terrible chance, Cec gave the man his wish, for a couple of short, hard blows. Cecil hit him with a right to the stomach and a hard left to the jaw.

  Cec stepped in close and brought his right fist up in a vicious uppercut. Jake’s teeth slammed together.

  Jake’s knees buckled for just a couple of seconds, and his eyes glazed over, blood pouring from his busted mouth.

  That was all Cec was looking for. He stepped in and began battering the man, smashing him with combinations of lefts and rights. Cecil’s big hard fists turned the man’s face into bloody pulp. Both of Jake’s eyes were swollen and closing, blood dripping from his mouth; the big man was staggering.

  “Give it up, Jake,” Cec panted. “You’re finished. Don’t make me kill you.”

  “Ain’t no goddamn nigger gonna do ’at,” Jake hissed at him, the words whistling through broken teeth.

  Jake swung at Cec and Cec stepped to one side, grabbed the man’s wrist and forearm, and tossed him over his hip. Jake landed hard on the ground, on his butt, the breath whooshing out of him.

  Cec knew he should end it right there simply by kicking the man in the head. But he didn’t want it like that. Even though he had been shown otherwise hundreds of times down through the long years, he wanted to prove that cop wrong. Just one time.

  Cecil waited until Jake had crawled to his feet, standing there, swaying. Cec stood, his fists raised, waiting.

  “You’re not an animal, Jake. You’re a human being, with a brain that can think and reason and learn. Come on, Jake. Help me prove that cop wrong.”

  “Whut cop?” Jake panted the words. “I hate cops as much as I do niggers. Especially coon cops. Whut’d you thank about that, black boy?”

  “Actually,” Cec said, “I’ve always thought that a misnomer, since I am more cinnamon colored than black.”

  “You smart-assed coon!”

  “Oh, come on, Jake! Join us. Fight for the side of reason and right and freedom.”

  Jake’s grin was bloody and savage and unrepenting. “I’m rat. My daddy was rat. And his daddy was rat.”

  “Right about what, Jake?”

  Jake swung a feeble fist and Cec brushed it away, shoving the man back down to the dirt. Jake sat hard.

  “Ever’thang I know,” Jake mumbled. “Goddamn teachers tried to teach me otherwise, but I knowed better. I knowed they was wrong and my daddy was rat.”

  Jake sat on the ground, unable, or so it seemed, to get to his feet.

  Cec knew he was taking a terrible chance with Jake; that he should end it. But unlike Ben, Cecil still clung to the faint hope that there was good in even the worst of men.

  Although at times that belief was sorely tested.

  “One thang for shore,” Jake said. “The only good nigger is a dead one!” He came off the ground fast, and Cec knew the man had been faking it, gathering his strength.

  Jake tried to grab Cec in a bear hug, his arms around Cecil’s waist. Cec twisted, breaking the hold, at the same time hammering on the man’s neck and kidneys with his fists. Jake’s hold slipped away, and Cec slung him to the ground. Jake slid on his face, his blood marking his trail.

  Proved right again, Mr. Deputy Sheriff, Cecil thought. Someday maybe I’ll get it through my head.

  Jake crawled to his feet, a very tough and very pure redneck. White trash clear through, but he still refused to give up. He raised his fists and lumbered toward Cec.

  Cecil planted his booted feet and started his punch chest high, twisting his body. He put everything he had left in the punch: a solid straight right, with no detours and no curves. The fist caught Jake flush in the mouth. Jake’s feet flew out from under him; he was out cold before he hit the ground.

  Cecil stood over the beaten and bloody man, shaking his aching right hand. Ben was right, he thought. It’s in the home. There is living proof of it. But how in the hell do we combat what is taught in the home? Or is that a moot point now?’ Surrounded by the devastation of war.

  Cec sighed. He had fought Jake with his fists only because he had wanted to. Not because he had to. Cec was well schooled in the art of hand-to-hand combat. He could have ended it very quickly by using any number of martial arts movements, and he knew most of them. But he also knew that a certain class of people would not have been impressed by that victory. They would have accused him of “not fighting fair.”

  Or some such shit as that!

  Cecil walked to the front of the very quiet
group of men and women resting on the parade field. He faced them, trying to make eye contact with as many of them as possible. Many would not meet his stare.

  “Get on your goddamned feet!” Cecil roared.

  The crowd quickly rose from the ground.

  “You do not sit in my presence,” Cecil informed them. “Unless I give the orders to do so. Is that understood?”

  The crowd collectively muttered its response. Everybody but one. His voice rang out loud and clear, in Marine Corps boot camp remembrance. “Yes, sir!” the ex-Marine shouted.

  “I can’t hear all of you!” Cecil shouted.

  “Yes, sir!” they said.

  “I still can’t hear you!”

  “Yes, sir!” the crowd roared.

  “That’s much better.” Cecil smiled. “Now, is there any doubt in anybody’s mind as to just exactly who is running this outfit?”

  “No, sir!”

  “That’s good.” Cecil’s eyes found the ex-Marine. “Step out here.”

  The man quick-timed to face Cecil. “Yes, sir!”

  “What is your last name, Billy Bob?”

  “Manning, sir.”

  “Well, Mr. Manning, you are now a lop Kick in Ben Raines’s Rebel army,” he informed the astonished man. “You will act accordingly. It’s going to be up to you to appoint platoon sergeants and squad leaders. I shouldn’t have to tell an ex-Marine to make your choices wisely. It’s going to be a big company, Sergeant Manning. You think you can handle it?”

  “Yes, sir. No sweat, general.”

  “Fine. Tell me this: Why did you stay with Jake?”

  “I . . . don’t know, general.” Manning’s reply was softly given. “I left two/three times. But alone, out there . . .” He jerked his thumb. “It’s tough. I think after you talk to some of these people, you’ll find that we were planning a revolt against Jake and his men. It just got to be more than a lot of us could take.”

  Manning shook his head. “There isn’t any law anywhere. And people need law and order, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do, Sergeant Manning. They certainly do. All right, Master Sergeant Manning. The company is all yours. Run them through a few minutes of PT; don’t let them stiffen up; and then march them down to that creek.” He pointed. “For a bath. Then get them back up here for chow.”