Valor in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Dan blinked. “Who?”

  Ben grinned. “Why . . . Emil is on his way up to lend us a hand, remember?”

  BOOK TWO

  Let them hate, so long as they fear.

  - Lucius Accius

  Freedom is a system based on courage.

  - Charles Peguy

  ONE

  On the gray morning that Emil decided it was time to turn east toward New York (if he’d driven much farther he’d have been floating in Lake Erie), he was boosted up onto the hood of his hearse. The hood was slippery with frost and Emil fell off after about fifteen seconds of wild arm-waving and some fancy footwork. His followers thought it was a new dance and burst into applause.

  “I think we’re about to hear a speech,” Rosebud said to Thermopolis.

  “I find them entertaining.”

  She looked at him. “You would.”

  Emil decided not to chance the hood again. “Gather around, friends!” he yelled. “Come close.”

  Everybody pushed in and almost smothered Emil.

  “Get back, damn it!” Emil shrieked. “I can’t breathe. That’s better. Now listen up. From here on, we’re really gonna be in Indian country . . .”

  “My old man is an Indian,” Wren said, pointing to Whistler.

  Two of the faithful lifted Emil up so he could see. “Oh. Well, sorry.” They put him back down. “We’re in enemy territory, then. Somebody get me a damn box!” A box was found for Emil to stand on. “Thank you. Friends, our fate is uncertain. But our mission is clear. We go to New York City to aid the great Ben Raines in his fight against the flesh-eating Night People, the scourge of the twenty-first century.”

  “We know all that, Brother,” one of his faithful said.

  “Hush up. We go into battle as modern day Joans of Arc . . . ah, Joans and Johns. We carry with us the sword of retribution . . .”

  “Can I see that sword, Father Emil?” Brother Sonny said. “Huh? Huh? Can I?”

  “Hush up! And now, friends, comes decision time. Any who want to leave, any who feel their personal well of courage is dry, had better cut and run now, for once we get near the Big Apple, I suspect we’re not going to have time for anything except fighting and staying alive.”

  “For once he makes sense,” Rosebud whispered.

  “You having second thoughts about this?” her husband asked.

  She shook her head. “No. For all his big army, I think Ben Raines is going to need all the help he can get.” She smiled. “Besides, I wouldn’t miss the look on his face when he sees this collection of warriors for anything.”

  Thermopolis smiled with her.

  “Thermopolis, you are going to take charge when we get close to the battleground, aren’t you? I mean, that little man couldn’t lead a charge against a marshmallow factory.”

  “Let’s just say that Emil and I will share the command. He really means well, Rosebud.”

  “I know. Just tell me that when it conies down to the nitty-gritty, you’ll make the decisions.”

  “I suspect that if we do make it into New York City, Ben Raines will call the shots.”

  “Forward to victory, mighty army of Blomm!” Emil shouted, then fell off the box.

  “General Raines?” the runner said. “Radio reports from an outpost in Pennsylvania say that a large force of, ah . . . well, people just passed an observation point on Interstate Eighty. About two hundred and fifty strong.”

  “Children with them?”

  “No, sir. At least none were spotted.”

  “Why did you place such emphasis on ‘people’?”

  “Well, sir . . .” The runner shook his head. “Katzman said that the Rebels radioing in stated that the column was made up of hippies.”

  Ben smiled. “Emil’s found a commune somewhere. Or they found him would be more like it. Let them come on. Lord knows we can use all the help we can get.”

  The runner looked very dubious about just what kind of help Emil and a bunch of hippies might bring to them. Ben patted him on the shoulder.

  “Relax, son. Back when the world was whole — more or less — I knew a lot of hard-assed combat vets who joined the hippie movement. If they hadn’t made up their minds to fight, they wouldn’t be coming up here. We’ll find a place for them.”

  The runner left. He still looked dubious.

  Ben picked up his Thompson and stepped out of the ground floor of the building he was using as a field CP. The Rebels’ advance had slowed to perhaps a third of a block day — on a good day. Both sides had accepted they method of fighting: nose-to-nose and slug it out without destroying the city; each with their own widely different reasons for wanting to preserve the city.

  Ben’s people had pushed up to West 12th. Ike had cleared everything from the Hudson River waterfront over to Ben’s perimeter and up to West 14th. He was holding there to keep from getting into a bottleneck by pushing too far ahead of the others. Cecil and West had cleared everything from the East River over to Ben’s section and up to 14th Street East.

  Thanksgiving had passed with no lull in the fighting and no special celebration among the combat troops.

  Ben had ordered teams up the parkway along the Hudson River, clearing the parkway up to the George Washington Bridge. A full platoon of Rebels was stationed at and on the bridge to keep it open. Supplies were able to move along the parkway, but it was a dangerous run, always subjected to sniper fire from the creepies, hidden along the way. Tanks always escorted the supply trucks back and forth, and the buildings on the Manhattan side of the parkway began to resemble Berlin in 1945. The cannon fire from the tanks had been devastating.

  Ben called for a meeting of his commanders.

  “West, I want you and your mercs to take over my section,” Ben informed the group. “Keep pushing up Manhattan. Ike, you and Cecil swing your ends around and pick up the slack.”

  “And you propose to do what?” Ike challenged him.

  “I’m taking my battalion straight up the parkway and then cutting over on Dyckman Street and start pushing down.”

  That was met by a roar of complaints from everybody at the meeting, except Dan. He knew he and his Scouts were going in with Ben. He rather looked forward to the new adventure.

  Ben let everybody vent their spleens and then held up his hand for silence. “I’ve ordered my people to be ready to go at dawn tomorrow. End of discussion.”

  “God damn it, Ben!” Ike yelled, jumping to his feet. “You get cut off up there and your butt is gonna be between a rock and a hard place!”

  “I agree with Ike,” West said. “My battalion is the logical one to spearhead north.”

  “And I agree with West,” Cecil glared at Ben. “It is perfectly stupid for you to take a chance like this.” He cut his eyes to Dan. “And what about you? Don’t you have anything to add to this?”

  “Oh, yes.” Dan stood up. Looked at Ben. “I shall be ready to go at dawn, General.”

  Ben had ordered a strict silence about his leaving; most of his own people didn’t know where they were going. They just knew they were going to pull out. Absolutely nothing about it had been broadcast.

  Ben was up at four, as usual, and rolled out Jersey and Beth. Cooper, for once, was already up. “Will wonders never cease?” Ben kidded him.

  Cooper tried to look hurt; he looked more like a basset hound. “I made coffee.”

  “All is forgiven.” Ben poured a cup and took it outside. He looked up at the sky and said, “Well, crap!”

  It was a beautiful night, clear and bright. Ben would have preferred fog and rain. On a morning like this, sound would carry forever, and the sounds of tanks and APC’s and Jeeps and trucks all cranking up would immediately bring the creepies into full alert, knowing something big was going down.

  But for now, Ben squatted down, next to a building, and sipped his coffee, enjoying the peaceful — or peaceful-appearing — night. It was, without doubt, the loveliest night he had seen since arriving in New York City. The old show tu
ne entered his mind, and he began humming it.

  “That dates you, General” West’s voice came at him from his left.

  “I thought you were a sentry, West.”

  “I told her to go get a cup of coffee. The girl was cold.”

  Ben stood up; his bad knee was beginning to ache from the strain of squatting. “Anything happen during the night?”

  “Just the usual exchange of gunfire at the usual places. Each side letting the other know they were still there.”

  “In a way I’m sorry I’m going north.”

  “Oh? Having a change of heart, General?”

  “No. I was just looking forward to prowling through Macy’s that’s all.”

  The two soldiers shared a quiet chuckle. West said, “I’ll pick you out something nice for your ladylove.”

  “’Fraid I’m fresh out of those at the moment, West.”

  “I do know the feeling.”

  “You and Tina have a fuss?”

  West chuckled. “No, Daddy.”

  Ben laughed aloud and let the subject of Tina drop. “Ever been married?” he asked the mercenary.

  West was a long time replying; so long that Ben thought he was going to ignore the question. “Yes. She was South African. One of those cool blondes that only the Afrikaners seem to be able to produce. I was working with security forces at the time. Her family opposed the union, of course — mercenary and socialite — but we plunged ahead. She was killed three months later in a ambush. I found those responsible. They did not die well.”

  Ben did not pursue the last of West’s statement. “I’m sorry, and I mean that. But at least you had that time with her.”

  The mercenary sighed. “Yes, you’re right. And I cherish those moments. And do I still love her? Yes. After fourteen years I love her as much now as I did then.”

  “I know that feeling.”

  Ben could feel the man’s eyes on him. “It’s pure hell, isn’t it, Ben?”

  Ben knew what he was talking about. Love could be beautiful, or love could be a bitch. “Yes.”

  “I can put your mind at rest on one issue, Ben. Tina and I enjoy each other’s company, but wedding bells are not in our future.”

  Ben looked at the man. Just before he walked away to join his Rebels, he said, “She could do a hell of a lot worse, West.”

  The rumble and grumble of the tanks, trucks, and other vehicles filled the air, fracturing the calm of the lovely morning.

  The staging area was set well back into friendly lines, and well guarded, so no one worried when Ben walked up and down the row of vehicles, chatting with each driver for a few seconds, smiling and waving at the others.

  Both sides of each deuce-and-a-half had been built up higher and reinforced with thick wood and sheets of metal. For the Rebels had a good eleven-mile run through bogie country — subject to fire every foot of the way — and were going to have to hit the ground fighting when they reached their destination. The tanks had a top speed of nearly 50, and they were going to have to hammer down all the way.

  “Get set for a wild ride,” Ben said, walking up and down the line.

  “Be good to get a change of scenery, General!” a woman called.

  Ben smiled and waved, walking on. He looked up at a man who’d been part of the Rebels since the outset, so many years back. “Luke, you didn’t forget your toilet paper, did you? You’re liable to need some before this ride is over.”

  The veteran of more fire-fights than he could remember laughed and held up a roll of toilet paper.

  Ben returned the laugh and walked on, Jersey and Beth with him. Hey, darlin’!” a man called to Beth. “When are you and me gonna go paint the town red?”

  “Never!” Beth fired back. “I’d rather be back on the farm with the cows.”

  “My heart is broken!” the Rebel laughed.

  Ben completed his tour and began walking back up the other side of the column, joking and chatting briefly — never stopping his walking — with the men and women who made up his battalion. They were all races, all religions, and all united, all sharing one goal: the rebuilding of the nation. And many would die long before that dream ever became reality.

  “Let’s go kick some ass, General!” a Rebel called.

  Ben waved at the woman warrior. “On our way, Lizzie. Hang tough.”

  A rather crude suggestion as to how they could pass the time while getting to the new battle zone was offered to Lizzie from a male Rebel.

  The suggestion was received in the same good rough humor it was offered. Lizzie told the man where he could put his M-60.

  Ben laughed and held the door open so Beth and Jersey could get into the backseat of the Blazer.

  Cooper was behind the wheel, the engine idling.

  Ben picked up the mike from the radio mounted under the dash. “Lead tanks out. Scouts out. Column out. Let’s do it, people! Let’s go take another bite out of the Big Apple.”

  TWO

  A flyby had been done of the route just hours before, just before dusk. The parkway was clear up to the George Washington Bridge. But from that point on, the way north was going to be rough: abandoned cars and trucks littered the parkway from the bridge all the way up to the Henry Hudson Bridge, that vital link between Manhattan and Bronx County. Two big Abramses rolled as point, one a tank’s length behind the other; it would be their job to shove the rusted hulks of vehicles out of the way, clearing a path for the column.

  The column had not been away from the staging area more than a minute before they were in bogie country, and the Night People were instantly aware that something very big was going down.

  The Rebels came under fire almost immediately.

  Cooper pulled over into the left lane and a Duster clanked up beside the Blazer, in the right lane, shielding the Blazer from hostile fire.

  Ben opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. If he ordered the tank away, another would just take its place. And when he had gone through the tanks, deuce-and-a-halfs would fill the gap. Once again, his Rebels had worked out a plan to protect their general.

  “We’re waiting for you to start bitching, General,” Beth spoke from the backseat.

  “Would it do any good?”

  “No, sir.”

  All three of them had a laugh at the expression on Ben’s face. Ben finally smiled with them. It helped to ease the tension while the hostile fire cracked all around the column.

  From the center of the column, Big Thumpers in the beds of trucks started hurling 40mm grenades. With a range of 2400 yards (max effective range of 1650 yards) the 40mm Thumpers thumped the hell out of the buildings that housed the creepies.

  Fifty-caliber machine guns (with a range of 2000 yards) began raking enemy-held buildings as the column sped up the parkway at max speed.

  “It’s going to really get interesting once we’re past the bridge,” Ben said.

  Beth glanced at a map, using a tiny flashlight to see. They still had a long way to go before reaching the bridge. And running this gauntlet was interesting enough for her.

  They had just passed West 23rd.

  Ben lifted his mike. “Thirtieth Street Terminal is full of creepies” he alerted his people. “And so is the Javits Convention Center. That’s where the convoys take the heaviest fire. Heads up.”

  “How far is that?” Jersey asked Beth.

  “We’re there.”

  The creepies opened up with everything they had available to them and kept up the barrage until the column crossed over the Lincoln Tunnel and the parkway changed to the West Side Highway.

  “Four trucks disabled, General,” Beth told him. “Tires shot out. Orders?”

  “Have the people double up. We can’t afford the time it would take to change the tires. We’ve got vehicles running out the kazoo.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Assign two Dusters as protection and slow the column speed down to thirty.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll take the mike from h
ere, Beth.”

  Ben lifted his mike. “All right, gunners. We’re slowing our speed. Pick your targets and let ’em bang.”

  The just-graying morning erupted in a roaring of death and destruction from machine guns, mortars, cannon, and 40mm grenades from the Big Thumpers.

  Ben could barely hear the words coming out of the speaker. “Trucks off-loaded and rolling, sir. We’re coming up on the column’s donkey.”

  “Hammer down, people,” Ben ordered. “Let’s get out of this area. These folks don’t like us at all!”

  The column picked up speed and rolled on. Gray and silver were beginning to streak the sky.

  “Central Park right over there,” Ben said. “A few more blocks and we’ll be pretty much clear until we parallel Riverside Drive. Then it’ll start picking up again.”

  “I can use the rest,” Beth said dryly.

  “How about some coffee?” Ben said, holding up a big thermos. They all wanted coffee. “Tell you what, Cooper,” Ben offered, keeping his face bland as they angled off, taking a detour for a few blocks. “I’ll take the wheel and you can sit back and drink your coffee. Come on, just slide over here. There you go.”

  “Good God, people!” Jersey blurted. “We’re goin’ fifty miles an hour and you two start playing musical chairs.”

  “Relax, Jersey,” Ben turned his head, grinning at her. “Just sit back and drink your coffee. Everybody got coffee? Good.” He picked up his mike. “Get out of the way, truck. I’m coming around.”

  Ben kicked the Blazer in the butt and stayed in the left lane, passing everything on the road.

  “I knew it!” Beth moaned. “I knew there was a catch to it. I just knew it!”

  Jersey just cussed.

  Cooper was holding his coffee mug with both hands and wondering if the general was going to attempt to pass the lead tanks.

  But two more Abrams pulled over, effectively blocking the highway, running in a staggered pattern, two up and two back.

  Ben laughed at the move. “Henry Hudson Parkway,” he announced. “You kids enjoying the ride?”