Crisis in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  It was a bold plan, initiated by Lara Walden in a short but specific coded radio message, with the right wording to prove it had come from General Raines himself: Strike the main compound in Indianapolis at midnight, when there would be “other distractions.”

  Other distractions could mean only one thing.

  “They’ve sent someone to target Osterman in an assassination attempt,” he whispered, with his mike turned off so no one at base command could hear him.

  It was a bit unlike Raines, calling for a single chopper strike in the middle of the night without other air and ground support.

  “Someone knows something.” He sighed, guiding his powerful airship over the treetops in total darkness.

  “What did you say?” asked his co-pilot, Les Minor. “You didn’t have your mike on.”

  Tom thought about his reply before he gave it out loud, for a man could never be too careful about where a bug had been planted. “Someone knows our target will be easy to hit tonight,” he answered.

  “It does seem strange,” said Les. “We have no support in the air of any kind.”

  “I think it was designed this way, Les. We’re supposed to go in with these ATGs and fire them off with as little fanfare as possible.”

  “This Huey makes a hell of a lot of noise, Captain. It will be hard as hell to go in without being noticed on the ground.”

  Tom’s jaw clamped. While he agreed with his copilot, it was dangerous to question orders from the top levels of command. “We’re doing what we were told to do, Les. We should be sighting our target in less than five minutes, give or take. I can’t read our ground-speed indicator with all the instrument lights turned off. This is like flying blind in a really bad dream.”

  “Our radar is working. Nothing I can see in our way for the next quarter mile.”

  “It’s what we can’t see that worries me,” Tom replied, using a bit more thrust to increase the Huey’s speed and forward tilt to the north. “A heat sensor on a SAM will pick us up right away, and we’ll be ducking and dodging for our lives up here. This is not my idea of a good assignment.”

  “We don’t get to pick ’em, unfortunately,” Les said. “What worries me most is that this one came so quickly, and it came from Lara.”

  Tom nodded. “I know, but I verified the source of the radio signal, and it came from SUSA. We didn’t really have a choice.”

  “Seems odd that they’d send us to the USA headquarters without a backup, Cap’n. General Raines is usually very careful about sending us out. We’ve had plenty of air support.”

  Tom was growing tired of the banter. “Why don’t you contact him by radio and ask him if he was serious about this mission, Les?”

  Les gazed down at the inky forests below them. “I think I’ll just keep my mouth shut about it, Cap’n. If this is what they want us to do, I’d be the last one in this Rebel army to question it.”

  “You’ll remain an officer a helluva lot longer with that attitude,” Tom told him. “I’m real sure they’ve got plenty of potatoes needing to be peeled at the mess hall, if you’d rather have that job.”

  “It’d be safer,” Les observed.

  Tom gave the Huey’s radar screens a glance. “Could be trouble,” he said after a moment’s contemplation. “See that little blip coming up from the north? Could be a SAM being fired at us.”

  “We’re still way out of range, Cap’n. I don’t think that’s a missile. It’s too small.”

  Tom wasn’t so sure. “I hope like hell you’re right about it, Les. This big metal bird will go down like a damn rock if they hit us.”

  “My belly ain’t feelin’ so good, Cap’n. Wish you wouldn’t talk like that.”

  “I’m a realist, Les. If they’ve fired a heat-seeking SAM at our radar image, we don’t stand a chance in this big son of a bitch.”

  Tom watched the screen again. “Looks like it’s coming right at us.”

  “It’s too damn small. Hardly more’n a speck on that screen right now.”

  The blip on their radar screen was aimed in a straight trajectory toward the Huey. Tom watched it a moment longer, and there was no mistaking its course. Whatever it was, it was coming for them.

  “You don’t suppose we’ve been double-crossed?” Les asked in a small voice.

  Tom swallowed, for now his mouth was dry. His hands were wet, and his feet trembled slightly on the rudder and rear rotor pedals. “Tricked might be a better word for it,” he said. “I know that was Lara’s voice. She gave me the code word, and when I answered back, she gave me the correct reply. It had to be her, unless—”

  “Unless what, Cap’n?”

  “Unless they somehow picked up an earlier transmission and broke the code.”

  “But you said it sounded just like her.”

  “It did. I swear I would know her voice anywhere. It was Lara, all right.”

  Les was staring out the front of the chopper. “I can see a vapor trail now, Cap’n. That’s a damn SAM missile, and it’s headed straight for us.”

  Tom had only one choice . . . to take the Huey down as fast as he could. The big helicopter was awkward, hard to maneuver in the air.

  He shut down the engines and headed for the dark ground underneath them with the blades in autogyro, hoping the crash wouldn’t kill them, knowing for certain a SAM missile would.

  The Huey crashed into the tops of a copse of maple trees, slowing its fall as a SAM missile streaked by overhead, fooled by the absence of the heat signature from the big Whitney-Pratt engines that the pilot had shut down in the nick of time.

  The bird stopped momentarily, held in place by tree limbs. Tom slapped at the buckle on his seatbelt and rolled to the door as the chopper tilted at a crazy angle. He lay on his back and kicked out the plexiglass window and dove through it just before the Huey turned turtle and crashed to the ground, thirty feet below.

  Tom landed on his left shoulder and back, his stomach doing flip-flops at the sound of his bones breaking. Then pain rushed at him like a red fog and he was swallowed up by blackness.

  Hours later, he awoke. His shoulder felt as if someone was holding a branding iron to it, and any movement brought him dangerously close to passing out again.

  He crawled on hands and knees, using only his right arm, his left hanging useless at his side. “Got to warn HQ, he mumbled. There’s a traitor somewhere. Got to let General Raines know.

  It took Tom thirty minutes to crawl the fifteen yards to the wreckage of the Huey. Pulling himself up, he glanced in the window and saw Les, bent and crumpled in the copilot’s seat, his neck canted at an angle, his open eyes staring at eternity.

  Son of a bitch, Tom thought. If only I’d checked with headquarters, this wouldn’t have happened.

  Another half hour was spent prying open the door and crawling into the chopper. There was the smell of burnt insulation everywhere, along with the heady aroma of avgas. The tanks must’ve ruptured on impact, he figured, so he didn’t have much time left to warn the others.

  With a Herculean effort, he pried back the pilot’s seat and fumbled at the radio controls. Thank God, it’s still active.

  “Eagle Two, come in. This is Whirlybird Three calling. Come in.”

  “Eagle Two HQ here,” a voice answered. “Eagle Two is not here. Shall I send for him?”

  “No. We’re down ten klicks from enemy headquarters. Tell Eagle Two we got fake . . . repeat bogus . . . message from Lara Walden to attack without air support.”

  “Say again, Whirlybird Three.”

  “There is someone out there using our codes and the name Lara Walden. Warn Eagle Two . . . you’ve got to warn—”

  A loud whoosh sound was followed by an intense wave of heat as the aviation gasoline in the tanks went up in flames.

  Tom had time for one quick intake of breath, and he was consumed by the inferno.

  “Whirlybird Three, come in . . .” The radio began to melt from the incredible heat and the transmission was not completed.
r />   There was no one left alive to hear it.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Ben and his team and Lara Walden’s Freedom Fighters were just finishing breakfast, with Cooper giving those members who hadn’t been along on the raid on the hydroelectric plant a highly colored version of the firefight when the radio buzzed.

  Corrie stepped to the transceiver and keyed in the frequency, switching on the scrambler at the same time.

  “Eagle One, come in. This is Eagle Two calling Eagle One.”

  Corrie picked up the mic. “This is Eagle One. Come back, Eagle Two,” she said, glancing at Ben with raised eyebrows. It was highly unusual for Mike Post to call during the day unless he had important news to convey.

  Ben got up from the table and walked over to the radio set.

  “Eagle One,” Mike’s voice said. “This transmission is ears only. Are you secure?”

  Ben leaned over and plugged in the earphones, so only he could hear what Mike had to say. His face showed worry. Mike had never before called with an “ears only” message. Something big was up, and Ben wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

  “This is Eagle One. Transmission is secure. Go ahead, Eagle Two.”

  “Ben, I’ve got some disturbing news. The boys in Security have been putting some things together, and have come to the conclusion we have a spy among us.”

  “I’ve had similar thoughts, as you know, Mike. Any idea who, or where, the operative is?”

  “Yeah. From the times of the leaks and culling out people who had access to all of the information we know has been sent to the USA, Security is about fifty percent sure it’s someone up there with you. Their best guess is . . . Lara Walden.”

  Ben’s face paled. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Anything more certain than a guess?”

  “Well, one of our helicopter pilots received a secure transmission from someone calling herself Lara Walden. She had all the right code words, and he said he was sure it was her voice.”

  “What happened?”

  “She sent him and his crew on a mission against Osterman’s compound without any air cover. The pilot said they were waiting for him.”

  “Did they make it?”

  There was a moment of white noise, then Mike came back on. “No. The ship and the crew were a total loss.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, preliminary word is our hit on Sugar Babe was a bust. The Jackal radioed they were expecting him, but he was going to go ahead, anyway. That’s the last we’ve heard, so I guess that’s another couple of lives we can chalk up to our informer.”

  Ben was stunned. He thought he knew Lara, and he would never have taken her for a traitor. There must be more to it than he knew. “Thanks, Mike. I’ll take care of it on my end. Eagle One out.”

  When Ben looked up from the radio, everyone in the room was busy trying to look as if they hadn’t been listening, but he knew they’d heard his every word.

  When he turned off the radio and walked back to the table, everyone looked at him with questioning eyes, especially his team, who knew how unusual it was for Mike to ask to talk to him in private.

  He assumed a casual expression on his face. “Just some intel info from Mike concerning a joint operation I’d planned. Nothing important.”

  Corrie started to speak, but a look from Ben silenced her.

  Ben poured himself another cup of coffee and took out his makings. He built himself a cigarette and struck a match on his pants to light it.

  He took the smoke deep into his lungs, enjoying the bite of it and chased it with a long drink of coffee. Two of the most underrated pleasures in life, he thought, not looking forward to what he had to do next.

  He picked up an old fly rod lying in a corner and looked at Lara. “Any fish in that lake out back?” he asked.

  She grinned. “Sure, if you know how to catch ’em.”

  “Why don’t you give me a quick lesson? Fish for lunch sounds mighty tasty.”

  “OK,” she replied, refilling her coffee cup and following him out the door.

  Cooper turned to Jersey and raised his eyebrows. She shook her head, not knowing what was going on, but having faith that Ben knew what he was doing.

  At the lake, Lara dug in the moist soil for a moment, shoving pine needles and humus aside until she uncovered a couple of white grubs. “The bass around here love these. Put one on your hook and see what happens.”

  Ben fixed the bait to his hook and cast over next to a half-submerged log in some shadows near the edge of the lake.

  He sat on a fallen tree and smoked and drank his coffee, his eyes on the small cork.

  After a moment, Lara sat next to him. She stared into her coffee and said in a low voice, “Ben, what was that transmission about?”

  Without looking at her, he answered, “It was about you, Lara. It seems someone has been divulging sensitive information about our strategy to the enemy.”

  She nodded, also without looking up. “And you think it’s me?”

  He glanced at her, his eyes dead. “We know it’s you, Lara. Security has determined it can’t be anyone else.”

  When she continued to stare into her cup, he said, “You want to tell me why?”

  She took a deep breath, her face flushed a deep crimson. “It’s Carl. You remember I told you he disappeared?”

  Ben nodded.

  “Well, when I was captured, they told me he was still alive. Then . . . then . . .”—she began to sob as she spoke—“. . . they showed me a finger that still had the ring on it I’d given him as an engagement present.”

  Ben remained silent, his eyes on the cork.

  “They told me if I’d help them, give them occasional bits of information, he’d be kept alive and treated well. If I refused, they’d keep sending me pieces of him until there wasn’t anything left to send.”

  Ben took a deep breath. It was worse than he’d imagined. The trouble was, he could see where she’d had little choice but to comply. God only knew what he would do if they had Anna, or Buddy, in a similar situation. He turned to look at her.

  “Then the escape was planned?”

  She nodded. “They let Jimmy get the gun, and arranged for us to escape so I’d be in a position to give them information about SUSA’s plans.”

  “They must have known about our . . . relationship, then.”

  She nodded, still unable to look him in the face.

  “Do any of the others know?” he asked.

  She wagged her head. “No. They’d kill me if they did.”

  “Then we can’t tell them, can we?”

  Lara jerked her head around. “What . . . what do you mean?”

  “Do you have any idea where they’re keeping Carl?”

  “Yes. They have him in a camp, a prison really, over near the Hudson River. It’s called Falls River.”

  “Then here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to tell the others the transmission from headquarters was intel information about them holding Carl, and then we’re going to break him out.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “You’d . . . you’d do that for me?”

  “Lara, I’ll be honest with you, I, and SUSA, can’t forgive what you’ve done, but I do know why you did it. Let’s get Carl back, then we’ll decide what to do about your treason.”

  “Oh, Ben,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck. Her face fell and she blushed again as he pulled back, a look of distaste on his face.

  The cork bobbed twice, then went under unnoticed as Ben stared at her. “I may regret this, but I do believe everyone deserves a second chance. Especially, someone I’ve come to . . . care a great deal about.”

  When they got back to the cabin, Ben explained to the others that he’d received information that the USA had some prisoners of war at Falls River, on the banks of the Hudson, and he planned a rescue mission to free the prisoners.

  As he spread maps of the region out on the kitchen table, he ignored questioning looks from his team and began pl
anning their assault on the prison fortress.

  TWENTY-THREE

 

  Yiro Ishi approached his aged father’s house in darkness, his senses alerted for the first sign of trouble. His battered Nissan had barely made the drive and he was low on gas, since all forms of fuel were in short supply after the war began with SUSA and Ben Raines. Even food shortages were showing up after the relentless bombings, and the price of necessities was rising day by day. In parts of the USA, there was no food to be had in grocery stores, only row upon row of empty shelves and no fresh vegetables or meat. The war was taking its toll on the entire country.

  It would be no surprise to discover that President Osterman and General Maxwell were keeping him under close surveillance . . . until they had what they wanted. Yiro had been very careful to make certain he had not been followed on the drive to Pittsburgh. It had been a dangerous trip, with so many missiles and aircraft from both sides filling the skies. Falling bombs brightened the night most of the way, and at times the aftershocks were so violent that his tiny car trembled.

  Yiro got out of his car and looked both ways up and down the street before he started up the sidewalk to his father’s small house in a suburb of Pittsburgh.

  He rapped softly on the door. His father’s illness was much worse now, and his strength was failing. However, this trip to tell his father what he was about to do was too important to let pass, and it was Japanese family tradition to show respect by informing his father of his plans.

  Yoko, the housemaid, answered his knock after a long silence.

  “It is late,” Yoko said in Japanese. “I believe your father is asleep.”

  “I must talk to him tonight,” Yiro told her, looking behind him.

  “Come in, then,” Yoko said, stepping back to admit him to the front room.

  “See if he is awake,” Yiro said quietly. “I must speak with him now.”

  “Do you want me to wake him up, even if he is asleep?” the girl asked.

  “Yes. What I have to say to him is far too important to wait.”

  She bowed and hurried off down a dark hallway to the rear of the house. Yiro went to a front window, to see if any cars or trucks were passing down the dark street. He was relieved to find the road empty.