D-Day in the Ashes
Page 28
“Are you quite through, Representative Nichols?” Homer asked, his face pale with anger.
“No. I am not. Face facts, sir. We can’t stop Bottger. We’re not strong enough. Not after liberals like you destroyed our military capabilities. General Raines has admitted that even he doesn’t know if his army can stop Bottger. Africa and Africans is simply not our problem.”
“No, but Bottger damn sure is,” Ben spoke up.
“Here and now, yes,” Nichols said. “You think we should go into Africa, General?”
“Not until we deal with Bottger. And then only after certain conditions have been met with the leaders or warlords of each nation on that continent. When I take my people in to stabilize a nation, I will stabilize it.”
General Bodinson and many of the other military men were smiling. They wished they could have the same authority as Ben Raines in dealing with thugs and punks and other human slime. It would make their job of trying to stabilize the United States—what was left of it—so much easier.
“Let’s all take a break and cool off,” Ben said. “I could use a cup of coffee and a smoke.”
Blanton and Nichols left the room, the Secret Service doing their best to keep the two apart.
Outside, Ben turned to Mike Richards. “I think Bottger is bluffing, Mike. I don’t think he has this serum. I think his people made some breakthrough; I think they’re probably very close. But they haven’t quite got it yet.”
“We have no proof of that, Ben.”
“We have no hard proof that he does have it, either. When will you have people in place in Africa?”
Mike looked uncomfortable for a few seconds, then he shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t found anyone who wants to volunteer to go, and I’m not going to order anyone, Ben. But I am working on it just as hard as I can. I may have found a few people. I’ll know in a couple of days.”
Ben sighed. “The hate runs that deep, Mike?”
“You know it does, Ben.”
Ben shook his head. “I honestly did not know it was that bad.”
Mike put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Ben, ol’ buddy, we go back a lot of years. We’ve never lied to each other, and I won’t start now. I don’t think you’ve ever really comprehended just how hated the black man is. Ben, I’m no fair barometer in this. You know how I feel: I like black people individually; I can’t stand them as a race. I told you a few weeks back that Bottger has people all over America. Cells. They were planted a long time ago. Now they’re emerging. Oh, not in the SUSA. Bottger isn’t a stupid man. He’ll save the SUSA for last. But he’ll get around to us. Believe that—”
“Say what’s on your mind, Mike,” Ben interrupted him.
“All right, Ben. I’ll lay it right out for you. The majority of the American people, both in and out of the SUSA, want Bottger stopped. But they want him stopped here. In Europe. The press doesn’t know for a fact that Bottger has or is working on this serum. However, rumors are flying around like BB’s. But a full fifty percent of the people don’t give a damn what happens in Africa. They’re tired of four decades of gimmie, gimmie, gimmie. They’re tired of ‘you owe me this, you owe me that, and you owe me everything.’ They’re tired of boogie-woogie jive shit. They’re tired of a double standard in education. They’re tired of excuses for savage behavior. They like the black man and the black woman individually, they just don’t like niggers! And don’t throw Cecil Jefferys up to me, Ben. Cecil is a good decent man. Cecil also knows that we can’t have a double standard: one for black people and one for white people. Cecil knows there are classes of people, in black and white and red and brown and yellow. Cecil has talked to me about this. We both wanted to tell you but didn’t know how. The hate’s been building for years, Ben. Long before the Great War. Now it’s boiling again. You know and I know that had the Great War not come along when it did, America was looking a race war right smack in the face. Now it’s very nearly come to a head. Again. Next to the bottom line is this: The white race is not about to allow themselves to become a minority race. The bottom line is this: You’d better be goddamn sure you put the Rebels on the right side, Ben.”
Mike turned and walked away without looking back. Ben stood for a moment, his team standing a respectful distance away. They had all heard Mike’s comments. Ben looked at them. They met his eyes briefly, then averted their glances.
So there it was.
How the hell could he have missed it for so long?
Ben went off in search of Homer. General Bodinson intercepted him. “General Raines. I’ve talked it over with my staff. We all agree that Bottger has to be stopped. Here. I’ll send you every man I can spare to stop Bottger here in Europe. But I’ll be goddamned if I’ll commit my people into Africa.”
Ben nodded his thanks and walked on. He found the president sitting on a bench. By himself. Ben sat down and the two men were silent for a time.
“I feel so damned . . . alone,” Homer said.
“That makes two of us,” Ben replied.
“What are we going to do, Ben?”
But Ben had no reply to that.
SIX
Doctor Lamar Chase found Ben sitting alone in his office. No further meetings were scheduled for that day. Each attendee was off by themselves, with their own thoughts.
Lamar poured a mug of coffee and sat down. For once he didn’t have anything to say about the ashtray filled with cigarette butts on Ben’s desk.
“What did you and Blanton agree on, Ben?” he finally asked.
“That it’s lonely at the top.”
“Are you able to see both sides of the picture clearly, Ben?”
“You know I can, Lamar. But neither side is very pretty from where I sit.”
“And . . . ?”
“Do you want to go into Africa, Lamar?”
“Truthfully, no.”
“Do you want to see an entire race of people destroyed?”
“I won’t even dignify that with a reply, Raines.”
“Have you spoken with Cecil back home?”
“About fifteen minutes ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That you will do the right thing.”
“Oh, that’s just goddamn wonderful, Lamar!” Ben slammed a big hand down on his desk. “Thank you both for absolutely, positively nothing!”
“What the hell do you want me to say, Ben? That I have the answer? Well, I don’t! I’m a doctor. An old one. But that doesn’t make me Solomon. I do know from talking to our intelligence people that the majority of the German people despise Bruno Bottger. But they can’t stop him because he disarmed them years back. Same with the people in all the countries that now make up his Federation. You’ve seen the latest figures on the size of Bottger’s army?”
“Yes. He wasn’t kidding when he said he had a 250,000 troops and 100,000 more in reserve.”
“And . . . ?”
“I can’t pull those battalions I left in reserve stateside over here, Lamar. And you know why?”
“You think the pot is about ready to boil over back home, Ben?”
“Yes. And so do you.”
Mike walked in and sat down after filling a mug with coffee. “You want some more bad news from back home, Ben?”
“Oh, by all means, Mike. I mean, shit! Make my day.”
“A group of people in the Midwest have surfaced. About fifty thousand of them. Well armed and ready to fight. They say the only way this race issue can be resolved is to round up all the blacks and put them on reservations . . . just like their ancestors did the Indians.”
Ben threw his coffee mug across the room. It shattered against the wall.
Mike said, “You want to hear the rest of it?”
“Why not?”
“Blanton has just been informed that his government is on the verge of collapse. And the military is not going to intervene.”
“Anything else?”
“The SUSA is solid. No trouble there. But thousands of blacks have ga
thered at our borders and are demanding they be allowed in.”
“Demanding?”
“That’s what I said.”
“And I suppose that Cecil has handed that decision off to me, right?”
“The SUSA was your dream, Ben.”
“And Cecil is president; the people elected him. I run the army.”
“Bullshit!” Lamar said. “You are the SUSA, Ben. Always have been, always will be.”
Beth walked in with a broom and swept up the pieces of broken mug. She dumped the shards into a wastebasket and poured Ben a fresh cup and placed it on the desk. “It’s all right to praise one’s past,” the normally quiet Beth said. “We all should look back at our culture and our heritage and be proud, when it’s deserving. You know I read a lot of history. And I’ve concluded that to a very large degree, conformity is now and always has been one of the keys to acceptance. It’s all right to be rebellious, I suppose. As long as it’s confined to one’s youth. But almost all of us grow out of it when we mature, look around us, and find that the majority is disapproving. We’re either going to be one people, or we’re going to be a nation divided. I don’t like it when any group of people tries to jam an alien culture down my throat and demand that I accept it. Jersey is very proud of her Indian heritage. But she doesn’t walk around wearing feathers and a loincloth. Jersey conformed and stepped right into the white culture with total acceptance. No one even blinked. She once summed up the American Indians’ complaints with this statement: They lost the war; whitey won. And there were no prouder people on the face of the earth than the Apache. Jersey had enough sense to see that. Seems to me that other minorities could learn from her. That’s my opinion.” She walked out of the room.
“Well, now,” Lamar said. “I couldn’t have said it better.”
“Nor I,” Ben said. “But it doesn’t solve the problem.”
“Ben,” Mike said, standing up just as Corrie entered the room. “This might be a problem that only has one inevitable solution.”
“And that is . . . ?”
Mike shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the room.
“Boss,” Corrie said. “Bruno Bottger has given the Rebels twenty-four hours to leave Europe. If we’re not out by then, he’ll drive us out.”
“I never liked being ordered to leave a place,” Ben said. “Put the Rebels on full alert for an offensive.”
“And the situation back home, Ben?” Lamar asked.
“I deal with one problem at a time, Lamar. And right now the immediate problem’s name is Bruno Bottger.”
SURVIVAL IN THE ASHES
TERROR IN THE ASHES
VALOR IN THE ASHES
BATTLE IN THE ASHES
OUT OF THE ASHES
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1994 by William W. Johnstone
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-2465-8
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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