Crisis in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Yes, Madam President,” Harlan stammered. “I agree. The cowards will be shot at dawn.”

  “Shit!” Claire exclaimed venomously, spitting out the word as if she had a mouthful of it. She took a deep breath. That’s just great, General,” she said, staring at Maxwell. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot.

  “Perhaps, if we’d waited until we had our full complement of bombers, more of them would have gotten through,” Otis Warner told her. “A day or so more or less wouldn’t have made that much difference.”

  Claire arched her eyebrows. “Don’t try to lay the pilots’ failure on me, Otis. They were obviously too concerned with saving their own miserable hides to complete their mission successfully. A thousand planes manned by cowards wouldn’t have made any difference.”

  “Madam President,” Captain Broadhurst added in a meek voice. “Not all of the pilots neglected their duty. Bombs were successfully dropped in Arizona, Arkansas, and Texas. If the plague organism is as strong as Ishi said it was, perhaps that will be enough.”

  Claire swept a stray lock of hair away from her forehead, then reached for a cigarette.

  “We’re all very sorry, Claire,” Harlan said as another bomb thudded into the ground somewhere near Indianapolis, rattling one of the metal drawers in a file cabinet on the far side of the war room.

  “Sorry?” she asked with undisguised sarcasm. “General Raines and his goddamn Rebels will be marching through the streets of Indianapolis within a few hours, and all you can think of to say is that ‘we’re all very sorry?’”

  “We’re doing the best we can, Madam President,” General Maxwell said.

  Her eyes rounded with anger when she looked at him. “You say you’re doing the best you can?” she shrieked. “What about these goddamn bombs dropping on top of my bedroom now? How the hell am I supposed to get any sleep?”

  More silence, until the general spoke.

  “Somehow, Ben Raines is getting information as to where our anti-aircraft gun emplacements are located. He strikes them first, and then we must endure his air bombardment.”

  “How in the hell is he getting this information?” Claire wanted to know, inhaling deeply on her cigarette. “How does he know where they are?”

  Maxwell looked at Captain Broadhurst before he answered the president’s question. “I’m afraid we have an informant in our midst,” he said gravely.

  “An informant?”

  Broadhurst nodded.

  “Who the hell could it be?”

  Once more, the captain hesitated. “It has to be someone at a very high level, Madam President.”

  She scowled. “Then find the son of a bitch and have him executed.”

  “It may not be that easy.”

  “And why not?”

  “We aren’t quite sure where the classified information is coming from.”

  Claire sucked on her cigarette again. “What the hell am I paying you for, if you can’t find out something as simple as this?”

  “I have my security staff checking on it now.”

  Claire turned to General Maxwell. Then she got up from her chair, addressing him. “That damn sure isn’t good enough for me, General.”

  “What do you mean by that, Madam President?” Maxwell asked in a thin, hollow voice.

  “Stand up!” Claire said to Maxwell. “Get out of that chair right now!”

  Maxwell did as he was told, although it was apparent by the look on his face he was totally bewildered by her request.

  “First you set up an assassination attempt which fails. Then your fucking pilots fail to deliver the bombs that might have won the war for us. Draw your pistol,” Claire said evenly.

  “But why?” Maxwell asked, yet he unfastened the snap over his holster and took out his forty-five automatic, just as he’d been instructed.

  Claire rested her hands on the table, and for a time all was silence. She stared at General Maxwell intently, until she’d made up her mind.

  “Aim your gun at Captain Broadhurst,” she said. “Do what?” he asked, his cheeks paling.

  “Aim it at him, and then kill him.”

  “You can’t be serious—”

  “I’m completely serious, Max. Point your pistol at him and shoot him in the head. He’s an enemy of the state. He has betrayed the USA.”

  “I don’t . . . think . . . I can do that, Claire.” he stammered as a tremor reached his fingertips.

  “Do it!” Claire screamed. “Do it now, or I’ll have you before a firing squad at dawn.”

  Very slowly, deliberately, General Maxwell turned to the chair Captain Broadhurst was occupying. He raised his forty-five with even more reluctance. “Kill him!” Claire hissed.

  “This is murder, Claire,” Harlan whispered. “Coldblooded murder.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me what it is,” she growled, her chin jutting.

  “But you can’t simply order Broadhurst’s execution for treason without some sort of proof.”

  “I don’t need proof, Harlan, so shut your damn mouth. I say Captain Broadhurst is an enemy of the USA, and I want him shot right now. As commander in chief, I have just given General Maxwell a direct order. This is a question of his loyalty, not Broadhurst’s.”

  “Jesus, Claire,” Harlan sighed. “What makes You think Bob Broadhurst is an enemy of the state?”

  Claire ignored Harlan, meeting General Maxwell’s eyes with a steely look. “Kill him, Max,” she said.

  “But what if he isn’t our traitor? What if I kill the wrong man?”

  “Then we’ll find out who the real Judas is, and he will be killed,” Claire responded. She tapped out her cigarette impatiently. “I’m waiting—”

  Captain Broadhurst stood up. He was unarmed. He spread his palms and looked at General Maxwell before he spoke. “Go ahead, Max. Shoot me.”

  “Dear God,” Maxwell whispered. He ignored Claire for the moment, reading the look on Bob Broadhurst’s face. “You can’t be serious.”

  “It’s your duty,” Broadhurst replied. “We are both military men. An order is an order.”

  Tears streamed down General Maxwell’s cheeks. The room was quiet.

  “Kill him, Max,” Claire said. “That’s a direct order.”

  “No,” he gasped, tossing his pistol on the tabletop. I won’t do it. Someone else will have to do this dirty deed for you, Claire.”

  Maxwell turned on his heel and started for the door leading to the stairway out of the war room.

  Claire picked up Maxwell’s forty-five, jacked a load into the firing chamber, and aimed for the general’s back. “Stop, or I’ll kill you!” she snarled.

  Maxwell reached for the doorknob. Claire’s fury took control of her and she pulled the trigger, filling the war room with the sound of exploding gunpowder.

  General Leland Maxwell was driven into the concrete wall by the force of impact as the bullet severed his spine. He let out a soft groan as blood sprayed from an exit wound in his chest.

  He sank to the floor on his knees. Then he toppled over on his face into a puddle of crimson, sucking his last breath into a torn lung.

  Claire turned the pistol toward Captain Broadhurst, her eyes glittering with hatred. “I won’t have a man in my command who lacks nerve,” he said.

  Broadhurst nodded once, a serene look on his face as if he’d known all along what was coming.

  Harlan and Otis backed away from the table.

  “I am prepared to die for my country,” Captain Broadhurst said, bowing his head, looking at the floor.

  Another thundering gunshot filled the room.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Otis Warner walked down the underground corridor to his office, his head hanging and his eyes on the concrete floor.

  “Hold my calls,” he said to his secretary, who was staring at his blood-covered clothes with a horrified expression.

  “Mr. Warner, what . . . what happened?” she asked, a quake in her voice as if she thought enemy t
roops might be massing in the building.

  He waved a hand at her as he entered his office. “Don’t even ask,” he mumbled.

  He shut the door and went into his sleeping quarters. All of Osterman’s staff now stayed in the headquarters bunker, since the bombing raids had destroyed the other housing on the base.

  Putting his hands on the sink in his bathroom, he leaned close to the mirror, staring at Maxwell’s and Broadhurst’s blood, which speckled his face and upper body. They’d been good men. There was no reason for Claire’s actions, he thought. Perhaps she is . . . insane.

  He stripped his clothes off and took a quick shower, turning the water as hot as it would go, as if that would somehow wash away his complicity in the murder of two loyal officers, and friends.

  When he was dressed in clean clothes he sat behind his desk and began to look over intel reports on the course of the war. They were losing, and losing heavily if the reports could be believed.

  How in the world have we allowed ourselves to get to this point? he wondered. We’ve gone from the premier nation in the world to one not much better than a third world country.

  Jesus, he thought, remembering the almost gleeful look in Claire’s eyes as she brutally murdered Max and Broadhurst, maybe she has gone round the bend.

  A light knock at the door broke his reverie. “Yes, come in,” he called, welcoming any interruption that would give him an excuse to stop looking at the Intel reports and their clear evidence the USA was going down the tubes. His secretary peeked through the door. “I have a call on line one, Mr. Warner.”

  “Who is it?”

  “He wouldn’t give his name.”

  “What do you mean, wouldn’t give his name? Did he say what it was about?”

  “No, sir. He just said he had vital information about the war, and that he needed to talk to you.”

  “OK, Sally. I’ll take it.”

  As she closed the door behind her he picked up the phone, wondering who would be calling him with information about the war.

  “This is Otis Warner,” he said.

  “This is Ben Raines,” the voice said, as if Otis received calls from the opposing general every day.

  “Raines? What can I do for you, General?” Otis asked, wondering if this was some bizarre plot by Claire to test his loyalty. Sweat broke out on his forehead, as he remembered the way Maxwell’s body was blown apart by the .45 slug from his own gun.

  “I have it on good authority that you are the only one of Claire Osterman’s advisers who has consistently opposed her war effort.”

  “It’s true, General, that I was initially against us going to war with you, but I’ve since come to realize—”

  He heard a deep chuckle. “No need to pussyfoot around with me, Otis. I’m not going to tell Claire we talked, so you don’t need to try to cover your ass.”

  “Get to the point, General. Why have you called me?”

  “I have some information that I think you need to know, information I gave to Claire a few days ago and she evidently ignored.”

  “And what would that be, General?”

  “I called to tell you the vaccine you got from Dr. Ishi is worthless. He gave us the real vaccine.”

  Otis felt his heart jump up into his throat, and for a moment he had trouble speaking. Could this be the truth, or was Ben Raines just bluffing?

  “What . . . what do you mean?”

  “I mean that you and your citizens are not protected from the plague bombs that Claire ordered dropped in the recent raids on my country. You should realize, Otis, that when the plague starts to spread, as it is sure to do no matter how hard we try to contain it, you people in the US are going to pay a terrible price for Claire’s ambition.”

  “And you informed President Osterman of this?”

  “Yes. I offered her the chance to end the war, with no reprisals from us, and she either didn’t believe me, or chose to carry on for her own personal reasons.”

  Otis’s mind was working frantically, wondering if what the general said was true, and why Claire hadn’t informed her cabinet of advisers of the offer, and the information about the vaccine.

  “Why on earth would she do that?”

  “You know her better than I do, Otis. Personally, I think the lady is insane.”

  “Assuming what you say is true, why are you telling me, and what do you expect me to do about it?”

  “First of all, you should check with your medical experts about the vaccine. By now, they should be realizing the vaccine is worthless.”

  “And if I find it is as you say?”

  He could almost see the man on the other end of the line shrug. “What you do with the information is up to you, Otis. But you should know, in spite of the fact we are winning the war and you will be completely destroyed in a matter of months, we at SUSA are not monsters. We have no wish to wipe out the United States. We merely wish to be left alone, for each of our countries to go their own ways.”

  “Are you making an offer of peace?”

  “Yes. We are prepared to stand down our attacks, withdraw our troops from your country, and to share the vaccine and whatever medical assistance you need if you call off the war.”

  “What about reparations?”

  “There will be none. The boundaries of our countries will remain the same as they were at the beginning of the war. The UN may insist upon Claire and General Maxwell standing trial as war criminals for their use of biological weapons, but we will not press the issue, so it will probably not come to much.”

  “The question is moot as concerns Maxwell,” Otis said. “Claire shot him today.”

  “What?” Ben asked. Evidently, his spies hadn’t had time to tell him of the executions.

  “Yes. She shot them to death.”

  “It’s worse than I thought. The lady is mad.”

  Taking a big chance, hoping his phone wasn’t tapped, Otis agreed. “I’m afraid you’re right.”

  “Is there any way you can . . . gain control of the government? Do you and the other advisers have enough power to do that?”

  Otis shook his head, as if Ben could see the gesture. “No, I’m afraid not. Claire rules with an iron fist. All of the headquarters staff is completely loyal to her. If we tried to take over, we’d all suffer the same fates as Maxwell and Broadhurst.”

  There was silence for a few moments as Ben thought over this latest information.

  “What about a coup?”

  Was Ben reading his mind? Otis had been thinking the very same thing.

  “It would have to be done very carefully, and if we failed, it would mean our deaths.”

  “Better the bullet than the plague,” Ben said gently. “At least, you’d go out trying to save lives instead of condemning half your people to a horrible death.”

  “You’re right. Something’s got to be done. I had no idea Claire knew about this when she ordered the dropping of the plague bombs.”

  “If we here can do anything to assist you—”

  “No. It’s our country, and our leader. I’ll think of something.”

  “I’ll call you back in a few days to see how things are going,” Ben said.

  “When you call, use the name Pax,” Otis said, “Claire has ears everywhere, and I don’t want her to know we’ve been talking.”

  “Pax—like in peace, huh? I like that. You take care. The fate of your country is in your hands.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Ben Raines was at his desk, going over Intel reports on the progress of the war, when Mike Post knocked on the door and entered.

  “Mornin’, Mike,” Ben said. He was in a good mood. His talk with Otis Warner had gone better than he’d hoped, and he had a feeling that Claire Osterman’s reign as President of the USA wasn’t going to last much longer. With any luck, Warner would somehow find the balls to oust the crazy bitch and end the war which was causing so much pain in both their countries.

  “Good morning, Ben.”

  “I jus
t talked with Dr. Lamar Chase, and he’s very happy with the performance of the plague vaccine. About the only ones who’ve come down with the disease are those who were too hardheaded to take the preventative shots.”

  “Yeah, that is good news,” Mike said, but his face didn’t look too happy to Ben.

  “What’s wrong, Mike? You look as if you ate something that didn’t agree with you,” Ben said, not willing to let Mike’s gloomy disposition spoil his day.

  “This is wrong, Ben,” Mike said, flipping a sheet of paper onto Ben’s desk.

  Ben picked up the paper and began to read. As he read, the hairs on the back of his neck stirred. “This is a transcript of a radio transmission from Buddy,” Ben said.

  “Yes. It came in early this morning, before anyone was here who knew the import of what he was saying.”

  “Damn. It says here that one of his lieutenants, Gordon Walker, was killed by some FPPS in a village near the Indiana border.”

  Mike nodded. “Wasn’t Gordon a longtime friend of Buddy’s?”

  “Yeah. They’d been in the service together since they were both knee-high to a grasshopper. Buddy was best man at Gordon’s wedding last year, right after we got back from the Africa campaign against Bruno Bottger.”

  “You’d better go on reading, Ben. It gets worse.”

  Ben finished the letter and slammed his hand down on the table. “Shit! He says here he’s going to go into Indiana and try to take Claire Osterman out.”

  “Uh-huh. And look at who he’s gonna use to help him.”

  “Oh no. He’s coordinating the assassination attempt with the cell of Freedom Fighters just north of Indianapolis,” Ben said. He looked up at Mike. “Hasn’t he been informed that the cell he’s using has been compromised?”

  Mike shook his head. “No. We only found out there was a traitor in the cell last week. What with the bombing and all the excitement of trying to get the vaccine made and given to our citizens and soldiers, Intel hasn’t gotten around to notifying all the field commanders of their findings.”