Ben turned his attention back to the clearing out of Manhattan.
“Probably half the punks got away,” Ben’s chief of intelligence informed him. “They slipped away in small boats and then scattered.”
“Ray Brown among them?”
“Yes. That’s been confirmed.”
“And no idea where they all went?”
“Not a clue, Ben. We believe they broke up into very small groups and scattered in all directions.”
“They’ll cause a lot of people some grief before they’re finally stopped.”
“Yes,” Mike replied with a smile. “But only if they stay in those areas not aligned with the Tri-States philosophy.”
Ben laughed. “For a fact.”
“Another two weeks or so on this rock should do it.” Mike stood up. “I’m heading up into the northeast part of the country. Check things out. I’ll see you when you get there.”
Mike tossed Ben a sloppy salute and was gone. Ben knew it might be weeks before he once more checked in, but when he did, he would have vital information he had gathered along the way. The man was like a chameleon, able to blend in anywhere.
Ben left the half-building he was using for a CP and walked along the rubble-littered street, down to where recently-taken prisoners were being interrogated. Some had been shipped back to the states where they had committed crimes; others had been hanged or shot. Still others, having had the shit scared out of them by being forced to watch executions, were, at least for the moment, all too anxious to start over and live a life of law-abiding productivity. Ben knew that for about half of them, that sudden desire to become law-abiding citizens would last until the Rebels pulled out.
And then it would be a return to punk business as usual.
But Ben wasn’t going to order mass executions as a means of putting a stop to crime. He had executed those who the Rebels had proof were wanted killers, slavers, terrorists, and the like.
Now the final purge of the ruins of Manhattan was winding down.
There were some towns in the north and east that had managed to rise at least part of the way from the ashes of war and put together some semblance of a newspaper. Their reporters were calling the siege of New York a slaughter. Ben just laughed at the newspaper accounts of how he was supposedly treating the hard-core criminals; he expected no less from those reporters and ignored their rantings and ravings.
Ben sat down on a pile of rubble and looked at the ragged bunch of new prisoners now being marched off to interrogation. They were a sad-looking lot. The Rebels were now flushing out the real dregs.
“A slaughter,” Ben muttered. “If there has been any slaughter in the ashes it’s been the roaming gangs slaughtering innocent people coast to coast. Or perhaps Simon Border and his people slaughtering people in their territory who don’t agree with his philosophy. Hell, we just come along and clean up afterward.”
“You say something, boss?” Jersey asked, walking up to stand by Ben.
“Oh, not really, Jersey.” He held up the clipping. “Did you read this?”
“I read it. It’s bullshit. There’s been no slaughter here. The only slaughter has been the gangs killing innocent people all over the country. Fuck those cry-baby reporters.”
Ben smiled. “I can always count on you, Little Bit.”
“Well, it’s the truth, boss. I visit the archives down at Base Camp One whenever we’re home. I’ve read hundreds of old newspapers that we’ve salvaged and put on computer and microfilm. There were journalists back then constantly pissing and moaning about the rights of criminals. I read where law-abiding citizens were put in jail or sued because they used deadly force to protect what was theirs against punks and thugs and street crap. And that’s the kind of society these assholes—” she pointed toward the clipping “—want to return to? Not me. Never.”
Before Ben could reply, the rest of his team walked up. Corrie said, “This sector is clean, boss. Up north of the park, the gangs are surrendering by the droves. It looks like it’s all but over here.”
“How many gangs leaders are estimated to have gotten away?”
“About half of them. Including Ray Brown.”
“All the heavy duty gang leaders got off the rock,” Beth said. “With quite a few of their followers.”
Ben stood up and brushed off his BDUs. “I’m ready to get the hell off this rock, folks.”
“I been ready,” Jersey said.
Ben handed the remaining clean-up of the ruins of Manhattan over to Ike, took his 1 Batt, and pulled out the next morning, heading first north, up into Connecticut.
They hadn’t gone far before it became obvious that the gangs escaping from Manhattan had not traveled either north or east.
“We did have some criminal types hanging around, general,” one resident of a small town said. “But they just up and pulled out about six weeks ago.”
“Which way did they go?”
“West. I guess they heard you folks were on the way. You going to stay around here, general?”
“No. We’re going to give you people a hand in getting back on your feet, and then pull out.”
“You don’t act like you’re very happy to be up here, general.”
“I’m not. And the sooner we can pull out the happier we’ll all be.”
“Anxious to get back to your gunpowder society, general?” a woman asked.
Ben looked at her for a moment, then laughed. The woman looked to be in her mid-fifties, and might have been on the fringes of the peace and love movement several decades back. Those wonderful people, among whose numbers were those who taunted and spat on American fighting men returning from Southeast Asia.
“If that is what you choose to call the SUSA, ma’am,” Ben replied, with as much civility as possible.
“You execute people there by firing squad, don’t you, general?” she asked.
“Well, actually, ma’am, we give them a choice of being hanged or shot.”
“I find that disgusting and inhumane!”
“We find it quite a deterrent to crime.” Ben was keeping a very wary eye on Jersey. He did not want her to get up in this woman’s face.
“Ah, general.” The man who seemed to be one of the leaders of the group of townspeople, seeing that the woman was about to let her ass overload her mouth, stepped in, and Ben silently thanked him. “I want to thank you for stopping here to offer us use of your fine medical facilities.”
The man had to have been a politician before the war, Ben thought. “That’s why we’re here, sir. It’s probably been a long time since your local doctors had access to serums and vaccines.”
“Years, general.”
“We’ll take care of you. But after that . . .”
“I understand. There are a number of people in this area of the country who just don’t understand the Tri-States philosophy. I do, and could live very happily under it. But I’m in the minority, I’m afraid.”
The woman snorted derisively and walked off.
“You’d be welcome in the SUSA.”
The man smiled. “This is my home, general. I was born and reared here. It would take something drastic for me to up and leave.”
Ben returned the smile. “That something drastic might be when you let the hammer down on a punk and these hanky-stompers you’ve got for neighbors have you arrested.”
“Should that happen, general, you will see me cross the borders into the SUSA.”
“Should that happen, sir, get in touch with me and I’ll send Rebels up to get you. By force, if necessary.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Please do.”
Ben and his people pulled out a few days later and headed east, over into Rhode Island. Not a shot had been fired in several weeks. Wherever the punks had fled to, they had done a good job of covering their tracks. The trip was turning into a real yawner.
“Boring,” Jersey said.
“Are Buddy and his special ops people still tagging along
behind us?” Ben asked.
“Laying back about 50 miles,” Corrie replied. “I’m pretty sure that’s Ike’s idea, boss.”
“Oh, you can bet it is. Well, nothing we can do about it. You can be assured Ike got his orders from Cecil . . . at Ike’s suggestion, of course.”
The citizens of Rhode Island were glad to see Ben and the Rebels and the medical teams traveling with them. They were open and friendly people, but most made it clear they did not want to live under the Tri-States philosophy.
The Rebels saw to their medical needs and moved on.
“The gangs have pulled out, so the danger is over,” Ben said with a smile.
“But the criminal element is everywhere,” Cooper said. “Without hard rules and laws, as soon as we’re gone, they’ll re-surface.”
“Of course, they will,” Ben agreed. “But the good citizens are seeing only the immediate relief. It’s their state, they have the right to choose the type of government they wish to live under. We’re doing the humanitarian thing this trip.”
“But someday we’ll have to come back and kick ass, boss,” Jersey said.
Ben shook his head. “I don’t think so, Jersey. Once we’ve put this trip to the Northeast behind us, I have no plans of ever returning. If the people in these areas want to bankrupt themselves with the same old legal and social systems they had before, that’s their business. In a few months, I’m convinced we’re going to have our hands full dealing with Simon Border. After that . . . ?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t envision us ever coming back up here. Not in this role anyway.”
The team exchanged glances and smiles. They knew what Ben meant. If they had to come back, it would not be in the role of humanitarian.
Three weeks after Ben and his 1 Batt pulled out of the ruins of Manhattan, Mike Richards caught up with the column.
“The Northeast is clean,” he informed Ben. “The damn gangs are gone. I’m convinced they’ve broken up into very small groups and are laying low until we leave.”
“Something I plan to do before the summer is over.” Ben’s words were offered very drily.
Mike smiled. “What’s the matter, Ben? Aren’t you receiving a warm friendly reception?”
“On the contrary, the people have been very nice. But somebody has duped them into believing the worst is over. I personally think they’re in for a very rude surprise.”
“So do I. Once you pull all your people out. But when you get up into Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine?” Mike shook his head. “Those are tough people, Ben. Pioneer stock. Oh, there are some cry-baby liberals among them, but not too many.”
“What do you hear from those states, Mike?”
“Not much. The cities are a mess, but out in the rural areas the folks are doing all right. Not great, but making it. Very self-sufficient folks in those areas.”
“And you and your people saw to it they know we’re on the way?”
“You bet.”
“Their response?”
“Welcome with open arms. They don’t necessarily want to join us politically, but they’re not our enemies.” Mike smiled. “Besides, it’s awful pretty country. And it damn sure beats getting shot at.”
“First we have to get through Massachusetts,” Ben reminded him.
“Or what’s left of it.”
“True.”
“What are your plans for the ruins of Boston?”
“I have no plans for that city or any other city. I’m through with the cities, Mike. We’ll do our best to stabilize the countryside. If the people in the rural areas want to deal with the crud and the crap in the ruins of the cities, that’s up to them. I’m not going to waste another Rebel life in the damn rubble of the cities. Not the major cities, anyway.”
“Was it that bad for you trapped in the ruins, Ben?”
“No. Not really. But I did have a chance to do some thinking. It isn’t our fight, Mike. If these people here in the northeast were aligning with us, then that would be a different story. But for the most part, they’re choosing to stay with the old system, even though they should know by now it didn’t work. By their choosing the old way, that makes it their fight, not ours. I think, medically speaking, we do have an obligation to treat the sick wherever we can. If they’ll let us. That is for our good as well as theirs. But as far as I’m concerned, it ends there.”
Mike stood up. “That’s the way I see it, too. What about Simon Border, Ben?”
“I need to know everything there is to know about the man and his army.”
“I’ll get right on it. Well, enjoy your stay in the Northeast, Ben. I’ll catch up with you.”
Ben nodded and Mike was gone out the door.
Jersey appeared in the open doorway. “We going to kick Simon Border’s ass, boss?”
“Probably, Jersey.”
“A religious war, boss?”
“Simon will surely call it that.”
“I wonder what history will call it?”
Ben smiled. “Historians will surely paint us as the bad guys, Jersey. I think we’ve already seen to that.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke!”
Ben was still laughing when the rest of his team stuck their heads into the room to see what in the world was going on.
NINETEEN
Ben and his people stayed well away from the ruins of Boston, heading toward New Hampshire on Interstate 495. Buddy sent some of his special ops people in to look over the city and they reported back about what Ben thought they would.
“About 5,000 or so people in the ruins, Father,” Buddy said. “That’s just an estimate, of course.”
“Close enough for government work, boy.”
“What?”
“Nothing, son. Just an old expression you wouldn’t be familiar with. Any punks in the city?”
“No, sir.”
“Any creepies?”
The handsome young man shook his head.
“No punks, no creeps,” Ben muttered. “Where the hell did they go?”
“They certainly didn’t head south. They didn’t go north, for the Canadian militia is guarding all possible crossing sites. Scouts report that they didn’t go east. So that leaves only one direction open.”
“Simon Border double-crossed them once. They’re not stupid enough to fall for his line again.”
“I wouldn’t think so. But he’s a very convincing man, right?”
“Yes. He is. He conned thousands into following him west.”
“Then perhaps he did convince them to return.”
“The West is a vast country,” Anna said. “According to what I have read. Much of it unpopulated. Correct?”
“You’re right, Anna,” Buddy said. “Even more so now.”
Ben groaned. “Don’t tell me you think the punks might have gone to the ruins of Los Angeles and Southern California.”
“It’s certainly a possibility.”
“Hell, we left that in worse shape than we did New York!”
“I’d opt for the deserts and the mountains.” Jersey spoke up. “Lots of little towns dotted all over the place.”
“You mean you think the punks turned over a new leaf and went straight?” Ben asked.
“Not necessarily,” his son answered. “In this, the aftermath of the greatest disaster ever to strike the earth, what would a certain type of weak-willed, even lower-charactered person be looking for, other than food?”
Ben thought for a moment, then grimaced. “Oh, no, boy! Don’t tell me that!”
“What?” Anna asked.
“Drugs,” Beth said. “I think Buddy’s got it, boss.”
Corrie walked into the room holding half a dozen blown-up photos. There was a very puzzled look on her face. “Boss, we just got this transmission from Base Camp One. It’s from several satellite passovers taken over the past few days.”
“What is it?”
“Motorcycles and dune buggies. Hundreds of them. All heading west. Bu
t not all together. They reached a certain point, then split up.”
Ben looked at each of the photos for a moment, then flung them on the table in disgust. “Ray Brown is smarter than I thought. He had a secondary plan to fall back on. They hid motorcycles, dune buggies, alternate transportation, all over the place as they moved east. But why? Why even go east in the first place if they felt they were going to lose?”
No one had an immediate answer to that and neither did Ben.
“Diversion?” Jersey finally tossed the word out.
“From what? For what?” Ben asked.
“Maybe just to get us out of the center of the country, Father,” Buddy said.
“All right, let’s play that one out. Why would they want us out of the center of the country?”
No one replied and Ben finally shook his head and stood up, glancing down at the photos. “Oh, to hell with it. The punks slipped out of the net and are heading west. We know that much for fact. Maybe Simon Border’s people will deal with them and that will mean one less problem for us.”
“So we continue on with our humanitarian efforts?” Buddy asked.
“That’s why we’re here, son.”
The Rebels moved on. They cleaned up airports and the big transports from the SUSA came roaring in, bringing medical supplies. In the SUSA, factories and research labs were running around the clock, producing medicines for the Rebels to distribute in the North and East.
Ben ordered leaflets dropped all over the Northeast, telling the citizens the Rebels were on the way and giving the locations and the approximate times they would be there.
Ben told his political officers to stand down and ceased all talk of anyone becoming a part of the SUSA. He wanted only to finish the job they’d started. The majority of the people they met and treated were friendly and open and glad to see the Rebels. Reporters from various small newspapers that had been springing up all over the eastern United States caught up with the columns and in general stayed out of the way, letting the Rebels work. After a couple of minor confrontations, those few reporters with a penchant for being obnoxious stayed clear of the Rebels. They learned very quickly that when they were told to get the hell out of the way, the Rebels weren’t kidding, and they backed up their warnings rather violently.
Slaughter in the Ashes Page 14
