Death in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  7

  Taking only a few of his men, Pete drove west for a time, until he was clear of Amarillo and Ben Raines, and then headed straight north. He didn’t know exactly where this Rattlesnake person and his army of racists were headquartered, but in the end, he figured, that lack of knowledge wouldn’t make much difference. Since Pete was black as the ace of spades with a shaved head, and tooling along in a Cadillac limo, he felt reasonably sure they would find him.

  Only problem was he didn’t want to get shot right off the bat.

  “Ever been to a KKK meeting, Sam?” Pete asked.

  “Hell, no!”

  “Me neither. But I think we’re all going to attend our first one in a few days.”

  “Whatever you say, Pete,” Sam replied glumly.

  Pete laughed and patted his main man and bodyguard on the shoulder “Be of good cheer, Sam. One can only die once. I should know. I’ve killed a hundred or more people and I’ve never seen one return from the grave yet.”

  Ben and his Rebels put the rubble and ruin and smoke of Amarillo in their rearview mirrors and headed into New Mexico on Interstate 40. They abruptly ended their journey when Scouts radioed back to the main column that a series of bridges had been blown on the Interstate. The way to Albuquerque was blocked.

  “What now, Dad?” Tina asked.

  “Well, this 129 looks like it was a lousy road when this map was printed. We won’t chance it. We’ll backtrack to Tucumcari and take this Highway 104 up to Interstate 25. We’ll wait there for the Scouts to return and then take off. New country to see, gang. Hell, that’s what this trip is all about.”

  As the column drove the old secondary roads, the Rebels began spotting signs of life. Smoke came from the chimneys of homes set far back from the highway; homes that were surrounded by high stone fences. The gates to the roads leading to the homes were padlocked. Ben halted the column and walked back to Ramos, CO of A Company of the Rebels.

  “What’d you think?” Ben asked him.

  The Mexican-American shook his head. “I don’t know, General. I get the feeling there are a lot of guns pointed at us right now.”

  “Hostile guns?”

  “Not unless we try to interfere with them. Some of my family, distant relatives, left Texas after the Great War and settled along the Canadian River. Somewhere in this area, I believe. They were separatists; but not racists. If you know what I mean.”

  “I do. You want to take a bullhorn and try to communicate with these people—in their language?” “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  Ramos took the bullhorn and spoke in rapid-fire Spanish for a moment, identifying himself and telling anyone who might be interested who they were and what they were doing. Ben leaned against the fender of a vehicle, rolled a smoke, and waited.

  Before he had finished his cigarette, a dozen men, on horseback and all heavily armed, rode out from behind the walls of the ranch compound and up to the fence. Their expressions were not unfriendly, but neither could they be mistaken for Welcome Wagon ladies.

  Ramos spoke to them and they returned the greetings. Ben could speak some Spanish, but not enough to follow what was being said.

  Ben walked to Ramos’s side during a slight lull in the conversation. In English, he said, “I apologize for not being fluent in your language.” And being Ben Raines, he concluded by saying, “But I will not apologize for being one of those who believed in English being the official language of the United States.”

  An older man smiled. “Do you come here to force your beliefs upon us, Ben Raines?”

  “No. Not unless you want them.”

  “Suppose we do not want them but someday might need your help?”

  “You won’t get it.”

  Some of the younger men stirred at that flatly given statement. The older man, obviously a leader of some sort, lifted a hand and gave them a dark look. The young men settled down. He swung his eyes to Ben. “Those are hard words, General Raines.”

  “But necessary, times being what they are.”

  The older man did not blink nor change expression. “There are several thousand of us along the Canadian, the Mora, and the Conchas. We have been attacked many times over the years. We are still here, General.”

  “Then you don’t need our help.”

  The man sighed. “That is not necessarily true, General. We are being overwhelmed by our own productivity. We need markets for our cattle and our vegetables and the clothing we produce. And . . .” He hesitated. “Some technical assistance, as well.”

  Ben had studied the maps of this area before they cut off the Interstate. He took a wild guess. “The Conchas Dam?”

  The younger men stirred at his words, not understanding how Ben could have known that. Ben said, “That was a guess, people. I’m not possessed with supernatural powers.”

  “My name is de Vaca, General,” the older man said. “You and your Rebels are welcome here. I think it is time to open our homes to those who are friendly to us. Come, we’ll have a celebration.”

  The Rebels spent three days in the Spanish communities along the Canadian. Ben found some resentment among a few of the younger men, but not enough for any concern. He complimented de Vaca on his organization and the way he had brought order and productivity out of chaos.

  “It was not easy,” de Vaca said. “After the Great War, many among my people wanted to break away and form a separate state, like you did in the Tri-States. You know that many of those who used to live here went to aid you in your fight?”

  Ben nodded. “I know.”

  The men were relaxing in the spacious and cool den of the hacienda, drinking a slightly sweet, nonalcoholic drink out of tall glasses. Ben had no idea what it was.

  “The problem lies in what do we do for money?” de Vaca said. “The barter system is fine for some things, but if this country is ever to be restored, there must be some form of hard currency.”

  “And something with which to back that currency,” Ben added.

  “Precisely.” The man smiled. “And you have probably seventy-five percent, or more, of all the gold and silver.”

  Ben returned the smile. “That I do, sir. And I’d be glad to release it for backing.”

  “We must not fall into the trap that the U.S. government did before the Great War.”

  “I agree, and have no intention of doing that. We’re not going to print more money than we can solidly back with gold or silver. And”—Ben held up a warning finger—“if we agree to do this, gold and silver cannot be allowed in private hands.”

  “I agree.”

  De Vaca stuck out his hand and Ben shook it with a smile on his lips. “Congratulations, sir.”

  “For what?” de Vaca asked.

  “You’ve just been appointed Governor of New Mexico. ”

  It probably was a good thing that Ben did not have much Spanish, for de Vaca proceeded to turn the air blue with oaths.

  After much arguing and debating, de Vaca agreed to accept the appointment. Armed with the knowledge that he had the full backing of Ben Raines and the Rebels, the rancher thought he could bring the majority of the state’s residents back into the folds of democracy. But, he pointed out, it would not be an easy task.

  De Vaca pointed out that there were many outlaw gangs operating in New Mexico, and it would take years to flush them all out. In other words, the rancher said, this was tantamount to a return to the old Wild West.

  However, he said with a smile, he had a militia that was ready to go, and they were willing to fight to the death.

  Ben left with a good feeling in his guts. Matters were beginning to come together in a solid jell.

  Colorado, however, was quite a different matter. That part of the country had been carved up into sections, with various outlaw groups claiming territory. De Vaca had warned Ben that he faced serious problems when he entered Colorado.

  “Was there no one trying to bring order?” Ben asked.

  “Bob Lucas, up in Trinidad. I have radioed h
im, telling him that you are on the way.”

  The Rebel convoy picked up Interstate 25 just north of Las Vegas, and slowly made their way north. The news had spread quickly, and many survivors were now flying American flags in their front yards. Had not de Vaca passed the word, many of these same people would have remained hidden while the Rebel convoy passed.

  “We’re gonna make it, General,” Jersey said. “I feel it.”

  “There is definitely something positive in the air,” Ben agreed. “I felt it back there talking with de Vaca. I don’t think we’re going to have to worry much about New Mexico. De Vaca will get it done. Now if we can just get this Bob Lucas on our team, we’ll have really taken one giant step.”

  “You’ve had something worrying your mind for a couple of weeks, General,” Jersey said. “What’s up?”

  Ben smiled. Whenever four or five people worked and lived as closely as his personal team, all became aware of the slightest mental shift in the other. “Across the waters, Jersey.”

  “Across the waters?”

  “I want to know what’s going on overseas.”

  “Oh, shit!” Beth blurted.

  Ben laughed outloud. “Relax, Beth. We’re not leaving tomorrow.”

  “But we are going?”

  “I don’t know; maybe sometime in the future. I haven’t discussed this with anyone because it would be such a massive undertaking. And what I know about boats—ships—is nothing. We’d have to find someone who knows the oceans, currents, navigation; all sorts of things that I am totally ignorant of.”

  “General Ike?”

  “Ike would definitely be part of any expedition.”

  Cooper spoke up. “Thermopolis knows a lot about ships and stuff like that.”

  Ben glanced at the driver. “He does?”

  “That’s what one of the guys with him told me. He spent years working in a shipyard somewhere. He sailed all over the place.”

  “Ummm,” Ben replied. “Captain Therm. Not exactly Nemo, but it has a nice ring to it.”

  “I thought Europe was destroyed by nuclear bombs,” Corrie said.

  “Yes. Just like we thought New York City and the entire Eastern area was destroyed. One great big hoax. Somebody played a very cruel joke. And the why of it will probably never be known.”

  “How far is it to Europe?” Beth asked.

  “From the upper East Coast to England is about three thousand miles, I think.”

  “That’s an awful lot of water,” Beth said dubiously.

  “And a whole bunch of sharks,” Cooper said with a grin.

  “Shut up, Cooper!” Jersey ended it.

  “Roadblocks at Raton,” Tina’s voice came through the loudspeaker.

  “Any shots fired?”

  “Negative, Eagle.”

  “Hold what you have, Tina. Lucas may have extended his territory; de Vaca said he was planning that. We’re only a few miles behind you. See if you can make radio contact with them.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Ben had traveled only a few miles when Tina bumped back. “Go to scramble, Eagle. It’s Lucas’s people, Dad. They’re preparing for an attack by some outlaw bunch. Says it’s due to come in about four hours. Their recon people have been tracking the outlaws. They’re coming from the southwest, out of the Sangre de Cristo Range; that’s where they’re headquartered.”

  “Tell Lucas to open the roadblocks. We’re coming in and will lend a hand in this fight.”

  “Ten-four, Eagle. Says he’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  Ben shook hands with the man and sized him up, liking him almost immediately. Bob Lucas came across as a tough, hard, no-nonsense, law-and-order type of man.

  “I was a businessman,” Lucas explained as Ben’s people rolled past the open roadblocks. “Just getting started when the bombs came. For the first two-three years after that, I was fighting that fool President Hilton Logan. Then the bastard put me in federal prison and kept me there for three years. I busted out and formed this little army you see now. We’ve been fighting to restore law and order in this part of Colorado ever since.”

  “How far does your control extend, Bob?”

  “From Trinidad up to Pueblo and east to La Junta, then down to Springfield and south to the line. The outlaws and so-called warlords have pretty much left us alone for the past year. We hang them whenever we find them,” he added grimly. “But now there’s some nut up in Wyoming who is pulling all the gangs together, under one leader . . .”

  “The Rattlesnake Kid,” Ben said.

  “Yeah! How’d you know that, General?”

  “That’s one of the reasons we’re here, Bob. I intend to tear the head off the Rattlesnake Kid.”

  “Good! That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while. Just who is the Rattlesnake Kid?”

  “A man named Matt Callahan. I knew him way back. His daughter is part of our group. Meg. She can tell you all about him—none of it good. But right now, let’s deal with what’s facing us. How many men are coming at us?”

  “Maybe a thousand.” He opened a map. “But terrain is to our advantage. They’ve got to come up this highway.” He pointed it out. “Highway 64. At least to this point where the secondary road cuts off and links up with the Interstate. They’ll probably come up that way, too. Lots of bikers in this group.”

  “A two-pronged attack, at least. No way they could be coming from the north or east?”

  “Not a chance. We’re spread pretty thin in those areas, but we have the roads covered as best we can and we’re linked by shortwave. This Barnes fellow—he’s the leader of this particular bunch of no-goods—has got a lot of men with him, but he’s stupid and arrogant. He thinks he can roll right over us just because he outnumbers us.”

  Ben nodded and looked at Dan. “Get the tanks under cover, Dan. We’ll not use long-range artillery. Have the tank commanders lower the muzzles. I want this Barnes and his men to be looking us in the eyes before we open the dance.” Ben pointed across the Interstate and beyond, to a wide field. “Let them get in there before we fire. Let’s take a few prisoners for interrogation. It looks like Callahan is widening his base of operations. I want to know how much before we go blundering up into his territory.”

  “Right, sir. How far out do you want recon teams to go?”

  “Couple of miles. No farther than that.”

  “And as soon as they have this outlaw bunch in sight, report in and get back here.”

  “Yes. Get the troops down and tell them to stay down. Let’s give Mr. Barnes a very unpleasant surprise. His last surprise. Until he meets his Maker, that is.”

  8

  Ben pulled his troops down and low, allowing Lucas to keep his people in the positions they occupied before the Rebels’ arrival. He didn’t want to spook this Barnes person; wanted the outlaw to commit his people full-force and head-on as he had boasted he’d do.

  The Rebel tanks had been pulled back into heavy brush and timber along the Interstate. The 81mm mortar crews had done the same. The Dusters were parked behind bob trucks, ready to wheel about and unleash their twin-mounted 40mm cannon. The Big Thumper crews were ready.

  Ben leaned against the fender of a bob truck and waited.

  Bob Lucas studied the man, noting that Ben was calm to the point of being about half asleep. Nothing spectacular about the man; except that aura that seemed to linger about him. There was something that seemed to inspire courage, to make a person want to follow him.

  Ben pulled out a sack of tobacco and began rolling a cigarette just as Corrie said, “Bogies in sight, General.”

  “Good.” Ben licked the paper closed.

  “Forward teams report they have machine guns mounted on flat-bed trucks.”

  “Any artillery reported?”

  “Negative, sir.”

  “Estimate of strength?”

  “Probably a thousand men. They’re coming hard and fast. They’ve split their force, half the advancing forces now heading for the Interstate
to come up below us.”

  “Tell the forward teams to bug out now and tell Dan to shift his command to the south of us.”

  Bob Lucas watched as the Rebels moved with clockwork precision; no wasted motion. And although they did not appear to react hurriedly, it was all accomplished with split-second timing. He commented on that.

  “We’re always outnumbered, Bob,” Ben told him. “Speed and precision and instant following of orders help keep us alive.”

  The forward teams drove the twisting roads as fast as conditions would allow and were back at the main body of Rebels a few moments before Barnes’s people were due to arrive.

  “A woman was in charge of your recon people?” Lucas asked, watching as a very pretty young lady dismounted from a Hummer.

  “Yes,” Ben said with a smile. “A very capable woman. Her name is Tina. She’s my daughter.”

  Bob decided he’d better keep his eyes open and his mouth shut until he sorted a lot of things out concerning the Rebel army.

  “Approximately two miles and closing,” Corrie announced.

  “Stand at ready,” Ben said quietly.

  Corrie passed the orders.

  “Western line of bogies slowing, sir.”

  “They’re giving those coming up from the south time to get into position for a simultaneous strike. Have we locked on to their radio frequency, Corrie?”

  “That’s ten-four, sir. Communications is monitoring all bogie transmissions.” She paused. “A lot of profanity and boasts about what they’re going to do with the women they capture.”

  “Pure slime,” Ben muttered.

  “All bogie columns moving at top speed, sir.”

  “Hold fire.”

  Bob was getting just a tad nervous.

  “Fifteen hundred meters, sir.”

  The sounds of roaring trucks and howling exhausts from motorcycles were clearly audible. Men on foot and in various stages of dress were storming across the flats to the west of Ben’s position and closing fast, screaming and cursing.

  “One thousand meters, sir.”

  “Fire!”