Valor in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Ben nodded and stood up, walking toward the coffee urns for a refill. He was halfway across the room when a ball of fire erupted at the front of the mess hall. He felt himself literally lifted off his boots and hurled toward the rear of the room. Very faintly, the sounds of debris falling reached him. Through glazed eyes, Ben saw bodies and parts of bodies flying all over the place. Food trays and coffee mugs and chairs and knives and forks and spoons were sent ripping through the air like missiles. The back of Ben’s head exploded in pain. Darkness took him winging into an unknown journey.

  ELEVEN

  Ben opened his eyes, trying to figure out where he was. He knew one thing for sure: he had a hell of a headache.

  There were misty shapes all around him. He blinked his eyes a couple of times. The shapes took form. Dan and Doctor Chase.

  Chase held up two fingers. “How many do you see, Ben?”

  “Two. What the hell happened?”

  “Shut up. I’ll ask the questions.”

  The doctor’s head was bandaged. “What happened to your head, Lamar?”

  “I collided with a wall. You got brained by a brick, we think. Do you feel sick at your stomach?”

  “No. Now tell me what happened? How many people did we lose?”

  The doctor’s face hardened. Ben shifted his eyes to Dan. The man’s face scarcely masked his inner fury.

  “About fifty, Ben,” Chase told him, his voice shaking with anger. “Another fifty or so hospitalized.”

  “How?” Ben had turned cold with rage.

  “Witnesses outside said two men walked over from across the street, carrying duffel bags.” Dan said. “The men were dressed in tiger-stripe BDU’s. That’s the reason our people didn’t think anything about it. Each of them were probably carrying satchel charges. I would imagine about forty or fifty pounds of explosives apiece. It was a suicide run.”

  “Can the witnesses describe the men?”

  Dan shifted his boots uncomfortably, and Ben experienced a numbness in his stomach. “Were they our people, Dan?”

  “Plant and Tyler. They’d been with us about six months.”

  “Find out who recommended them and who they buddied with. Haul them in for questioning. If they’re solid Rebels they won’t have any objections to the questions. I’d hate to even think we have more of those maggots in our ranks.”

  “Done, sir.” Dan turned. Ben’s voice stopped him.

  “Dan? Do it quietly. If we do find more Night People among us, I don’t want our people to tear them to pieces before we can thoroughly question them.”

  “And should we find more and after we question them?” Dan asked.

  “Shoot them.”

  “Very good, sir.” Dan left the room.

  Ben lay back. “So what’s the verdict on me, Lamar?”

  “Slight concussion. Bump on your head. Very small cut. Didn’t even require stitches, darn it. I was looking forward to practicing my needlework on you.”

  Ben knew the doctor was joking to hide his rage and grief.

  “So how long do I have to stay here?”

  “Twenty-four hours, Ben. And that’s firm. You try to leave and I will personally order security to arrest you and put you in restraints.”

  And Ben knew Chase would do just that. Ben ran his forces the same way the Navy does on shipboard. The doctor has the last word, even to the point of ordering the captain off the bridge and to his quarters.

  “Fine. I’m hungry. I didn’t get to finish my breakfast.”

  “Poor baby! I’ll have some soup sent in.”

  “I’d rather have a sandwich.”

  “Soup.” Chase walked out of the room.

  Ben felt the back of his head. A small knot and a little cut. And one whale of a headache. He was restless, not a bit sleepy. He looked for his watch, found it, and checked the tune. He’d been out for about thirty or forty minutes. He looked around the room. Not one damn thing to read. His engineers had rewired the lower floor and plugged into a half a dozen portable generators. The light was adequate, if not bright. But Ben knew the OR’s would be brilliantly lighted. Chase was a crotchety old poot, but his patients would receive the best he could provide for them, even if he had to scream and curse at Ben to get it. Which he had done more than once.

  He looked up at movement in the doorway. Jerre, in a wheelchair, one leg up on the lift. The ankle looked swollen.

  Then Ben realized what Chase had meant when he’d called the accident ironic. The first time he’d met Jerre she’d suffered a sprained ankle.

  “Seems like you would have outgrown your clumsiness by now,” Ben said gruffly.

  “Well, Ben,” she replied, wheeling into the room and up to his bed, “you said I’d always be about half kid.”

  That spun Ben back in time, to the short time they’d spent together. Whenever they’d stopped for the evening, and had a drink, Ben would lift his glass and mime Bogart by saying, “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.” Once, during his prowlings, Ben had found the record “Key Largo;” he wore it out playing it. Never could find another one.

  Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.

  I love you, kid.

  But Ben would never say the words aloud. And never to her.

  “Yeah? Did I say that, Jerre?”

  “I seem to recall you saying that. A long time ago.”

  A nurse stuck her head into the room. “Some coffee, General?”

  “That would be nice. And bring Miss Hunter a cup, too, please.”

  “Thank you, Ben.” Jerre waited until the nurse had left before addressing him by his first name.

  “You’re welcome, Jerre.”

  “The nurse tells me you’re not badly hurt. I’m glad.”

  “Just a headache. You wouldn’t happen to have a couple of aspirin on you, would you?”

  “Sorry. Fresh out. Are you supposed to take aspirin when you have a concussion?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.”

  She smiled at him. “I thought you were the man with all the answers.”

  “You said that, kid, not me.”

  “You mind company, Ben?”

  “Not at all. How’s the ankle?”

  “Sore. But it’s better.”

  “Chase tells me he assigned you to work in my office when you’re able to hobble around.”

  “Yes. But if you don’t want me there just say so.”

  “I can use the extra help. Of course, I never know from one day to the next where my office is going to be.”

  A nurse came in with Ben’s soup and two mugs of coffee on the tray.

  “Where’s the salt and pepper?” Ben asked.

  “It was added during cooking, General. You know how Doctor Chase feels about sodium.” She left Ben and Jerre alone.

  “You still use too much salt, Ben,” Jerre admonished him.

  She’d said that years back.

  “Yeah. And I smoke about a half-dozen cigarettes a day, too.”

  “Well, that’s an improvement. You used to smoke about three packs a day.”

  Ben ate his soup. Vegetable, with no meat. If Chase had his way, theirs would be an almost meat-free existence. And salt-free and tobacco-free.

  If Ben could have his way, he’d settle for no more wars. Ever.

  Chase would probably get his way long before Ben’s dream ever came true.

  “Tell me about New York City, Ben.”

  He put his empty soup bowl on the nightstand. “The way it used to be?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled. “Used to be exciting, dangerous, cultural, fascinating. Now it’s just dangerous.” He yawned.

  “You’re tired, Ben. I should leave and let you get some rest.”

  “I’m not tired. I’m bored.”

  “You always were restless.”

  “True.”

  A nurse came in and smiled at Jerre. “Let’s have a look at that ankle, Jerre.” He cut her eyes at Ben. “And you get some rest, General.”

  �
��See you, General,” Jerre said. And then she was gone, wheeled out by the nurse.

  Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.

  Ben was awakened a dozen times during the night by the sounds of hard combat. At six o’clock in the morning he was up and dressed and receiving reports. By ten o’clock Chase kicked him out of the hospital and told him not to come back; he couldn’t get any damn work done with Raines around. “You want me to notify your office?”

  “No. I’ve already radioed them,” Ben lied, and walked out to the street.

  Ben was back in action, armed with his Thompson and a bottle of aspirin.

  Only problem was he couldn’t find where his office had been relocated.

  He finally had to stop a couple of Rebels and ask them. Ben felt like an idiot!

  His office had been moved over a couple of blocks, and Ben started walking the distance, enjoying the freedom — he despised hospitals — and glad to be free of the medicinal odor.

  A truck passed him, the bed of the vehicle filled with dead creepies. Ben held his breath until the stinking death truck had rolled on. He passed a drugstore, stopped, and turned around, entering the store. It had been looted, naturally, but the looters had taken only the drugs and a few medicines; the rest of the store was amazingly intact. He found a half a dozen books on the top of the rack, only slightly rat-chewed, and put them in a paper sack, then moved on past the cosmetics counter to a glass showcase filled with fashion watches. The next counter contained hundreds of lipstick tubes. He walked on toward the rear of the store.

  A silent alarm went off in his mind as he looked at a closed door in the rear of the establishment. Something was very wrong. But what? It was just a closed door.

  Ben put his sack of paperback books on the counter and stared at the closed door, trying to figure out what had triggered the alarm in his mind. Then it hit him: no cobwebs.

  But his Rebels surely had checked out the door; that would be one explanation. He immediately re-

  he’d called the accident ironic. The first time he’d met Jerre she’d suffered a sprained ankle.

  “Seems like you would have outgrown your clumsiness by now,” Ben said gruffly.

  “Well, Ben,” she replied, wheeling into the room and up to his bed, “you said I’d always be about half kid.”

  That spun Ben back in time, to the short time they’d spent together. Whenever they’d stopped for the evening, and had a drink, Ben would lift his glass and mime Bogart by saying, “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.” Once, during his prowlings, Ben had found the record “Key Largo”; he wore it out playing it. Never could find another one.

  Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.

  I love you, kid.

  But Ben would never say the words aloud. And never to her.

  “Yeah? Did I say that, Jerre?”

  “I seem to recall you saying that. A long time ago.”

  A nurse stuck her head into the room. “Some coffee, General?”

  “That would be nice. And bring Miss Hunter a cup, too, please.”

  “Thank you, Ben.” Jerre waited until the nurse had left before addressing him by his first name.

  “You’re welcome, Jerre.”

  “The nurse tells me you’re not badly hurt. I’m glad.”

  “Just a headache. You wouldn’t happen to have a couple of aspirin on you, would you?”

  Rebels from the street ran into the store. Ben waved one of them forward and pointed to the crate, which was now leaking blood. “From now on, don’t just move the crates and big boxes around. Look in them. That’s how some of the creepies are getting past us.”

  “General!” Dan’s voice turned him around. “By the Lord Harry, sir! We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Well, you found me, Dan.” He looked at Jersey, looking at him with a disgusted expression on her face. “What’s your problem, short stuff?”

  “Tryin” to guard a body that don’t wanna be guarded,” she bluntly told him.

  Ben winked at her.

  Dan glared at the squad of Rebels that Ike had sent up. “What’s your excuses?”

  “He slipped out of the hospital. Told Doctor Chase he’d already notified us.”

  “Don’t yell at them, Dan.” Ben walked to the center of the store. “I gave them the slip.” He jerked his thumb toward the darkened storeroom. “Take a look in that crate back there. If you can stand the smell. I’ll be outside.”

  Half a minute later, Dan joined him. “More work cut for us, General.”

  “I reckon. You busy?”

  “Waiting for the night.”

  “Walk over to the office with me. We’ll talk along the way.”

  Dan waved Rebels forward and to flank them. Jersey, Beth and Cooper brought up the rear.

  “How about those friends of Plant and Tyler?” Ben asked.

  “About a half a dozen of them, when they heard we were looking for them, took to the air. That is when we moved your office. Again. I have issued shoot-to-kill orders on them.”

  “Good. How many losses from last night?”

  “One dead. Five wounded. None of them seriously.”

  “How many creepies did we knock out?”

  “Fifty-two, at latest count.”

  “Tina?”

  “She offered Monte the bait again last night. He didn’t take it. Since you were not badly hurt and would be on your feet again today, I did not suggest to her what I have in mind.”

  “Which is?”

  “I fail to see the point of her continually sustaining casualties over that strip of tarmac.”

  “I agree.”

  “My suggestion would be for her to bust out and come up behind Monte’s people, with Rebet and Danjou on Monte’s flanks. If one cannot lead a horse to pasture, there is always the option of herding it.”

  “Nicely put, Dan. Give her the orders. And tell her to do it now, while Monte’s people are least expecting it.” Ben smiled. “How is Emil and his bunch performing?”

  “Surprisingly well, sir. Both he and his group and Thermopolis and his people have seen the light about dressing in BDU’s. The robes and Gypsy outfits have been packed away for the duration. Emil put a general’s star on his helmet. He took it off after a sniper dusted his rooty-tooty a couple of times.”

  Ben chuckled at the visual thought of that. “Beth, run this through Katzman’s scramble. Get in touch with Tina and then give me the horn.”

  Ben took the portable phone. “Tina. Bug out. Right now. Get around behind Monte and see if you and Buddy can push them toward Rebet and Danjou. Shake your booty, girl.”

  “I will if you’ll keep your booty out of trouble, Pops.”

  “It would be totally undignified for a general to shake his booty.” That got him a lot of strange looks from all near him. “Good luck and good hunting, baby.”

  “Way-out Scout, out.”

  “I think there was a song about shaking your booty,” Ben said. “Do you remember that one, Dan?”

  “Heavens, no. The more primitive types of music have never appealed to me.” He grimaced. “Shake your booty? Was that a dance?”

  Ben shook his booty and the street erupted in laughter, while Dan stood looking, shaking his head in amazement.

  TWELVE

  “We’re under constant observation,” Tina told her platoon leaders and Emil and Thermopolis. “So don’t give away what we’re about to do with a lot of unnecessary packing and moving around. Let one person pack for half a dozen, and we won’t load the trucks until the last possible second. Thermopolis, you stagger your VW’s between our trucks and tanks; same goes for you, Emil. That’ll give you some protection.”

  Both men nodded their heads.

  “Tanks, APC’s, and self-propelled artillery will crank up last. We’ll take Forty-six out of here, cut south on Liberty and drive right through the middle of the warlord’s people down to Highway Three, then cut west and dismount, throw up a line of defense along there. Buddy is waiting for us there
. Any questions?”

  No questions.

  “OK. Nice and easy now, people. Let’s do it.”

  They should have been detected. If Monte’s people were professionals, they would have been. But Monte’s lookouts were tired, and not accustomed to this type of warfare. They had noticed a little more activity than usual through long lenses, but assumed the Rebels were just switching things around a bit. Had Ashley been alerted, he would have put it together immediately. But he was sleeping, and so was Monte, so they were left undisturbed.

  Tina ordered a lot of equipment left behind, but it was nonessential equipment, and could be easily replaced. Since the vehicles were parked in and around the hangars, loading them was no problem.

  Thermopolis winced as he cranked up his VW Bug. “Why did I ever let that boy talk me into putting straight pipes on this damn thing?”

  Rosebud laughed at him. “We’re still not going to be as loud as a tank.”

  “There is that to consider.”

  “Hey!” a lookout punched his buddy in the ribs, waking him. “Them fuckers is takin’ off!”

  His buddy jumped up, looked through binoculars, and cussed. He grabbed for the mike switch just as the tanks and APC’s and SP artillery roared into life and lurched ahead, ramming through the fence and cutting onto 46.

  Several of Monte’s people ran from their holes on the east side of Redneck and ran into a mine field. Bloody hunks of them were tossed into the air following the roaring explosions.

  The big main battle tanks pointed the way for the strange convoy, with brightly painted VW Bugs and several stretch limos and one hearse mixed in. With their .50-caliber and 7.62 machine guns clattering and yammering, they cleared the way for the slower self-propelled artillery and mortar carriers.

  To avoid being run over, one outlaw jumped onto the long hood of Emil’s hearse and held on, his ugly face pressed against the windowshield. “Get off my hearse, you scourge of humanity!” Emil shrieked at him.

  The outlaw cursed Emil. Emil leaned out his window and removed the man with one round from a single-action .44. “Redneck,” Emil muttered.