Fire in the Ashes ta-2

by William Wallace Johnstone

  “I believe, taking all the hideous events of the past few days into consideration, most of my colleagues would be only too happy to follow a leader who would strive to his utmost to bring this nation and its people back into the folds of a democratic rule of government. It is my belief that in Ben Raines—although his writings were a bit too racy for my old literary tastebuds to savor—we have found a man strong-willed enough but yet compassionate enough to placate even the most reluctant members of Congress.”

  Admiral Calland resisted, mightily, an urge to tell Carson to go blow it out his tanks.

  “Thank you,” the admiral said instead.

  “You gentlemen are certainly welcome,” the old man beamed his reply.

  Things were working out even better than he had originally planned.

  Yes, Raines would do quite nicely.

  * * *

  “No,” Ben spoke more sharply than he intended to the circle of friends. “I most certainly will not assume the presidency.” He was sitting in a chair, despite doctor’s orders to stay in bed. “People, listen to me, for God’s sake. Can you—any of you—even visualize me running this nation; arguing with a bunch of goddamn bleeding-heart do-gooders? No. You can’t. And neither can I. Tell the Joint Chiefs to find someone else.”

  “Ben,” Ike said, for once a serious expression on his face. “You have a duty.”

  “Duty!” Ben yelled, and his side began aching. “Goddamnit, Ike, don’t you start that duty shit with me. That’s what got me into this mess in the first place; that’s what the old Bull told me back in ‘Nam—about a thousand years ago.” He took a deep breath, calming himself. “Any word on Jerre?”

  “Hartline took her,” Cecil said. “We know that much. One of those Secret Service agents at the retreat lived long enough to tell us that.”

  “Where did the bastard go?”

  “Somewhere in Illinois,” Ike said. “He went over there to link up with Jake Devine’s bunch.”

  “Getting back to the offer from the Joint Chiefs,” Cecil said.

  “No,” Ben repeated. “I’m tired of having to say that word. Seems after a while you people could get it through your heads I don’t want the job.”

  Both Ike and Cecil looked at Dawn. She smiled. Ben caught the look.

  “Oh, boy,” he muttered. “Now you’re calling in the special troops, huh?”

  “We’ll let him sleep on it,” Dawn said.

  “Nightmares would be more like it,” Ben groused.

  * * *

  “Well now,” Captain Gray said to Tina. “Big news back in Richmond.”

  She looked at him.

  “The Joint Chiefs of Staff have temporarily taken over the job of running the country—for a few days, according to the report.”

  There was a twinkle in the ex-SAS man’s eyes, and Tina knew she was being led up to something. She refused to bite.

  “Not interested, Tina?”

  “You didn’t hear me say that, did you, Captain? Come on, give.”

  “The Joint Chiefs are going to appoint someone to run the country.”

  She waited. “Come on, you Limey misfit!”

  He laughed at her. “Your father.”

  Tina sat down on the tailgate of the pickup truck. “Ben Raines!”

  “Yes. There is a bit of bad news with it, girl, so hang on.”

  She waited.

  “The general’s been shot…” She jumped to her feet “…but not bad, though. Wound in the side. I think the general needs all the help he can get right now, Tina, so I’ve a plane waiting at the strip to take you to Richmond. No sass, now, girl. Run on with you.” He waggled his fingers in a gesture of extreme impatience and watched her walk to her billet for a few things.

  There were other reasons why Captain Dan Gray wanted Tina gone, and when she learned of them she would be furious. But that couldn’t be helped.

  She waved good-bye to Gray as she got in the Jeep that would take her to the small strip just out of the Kansas town.

  A burly sergeant walked up to Gray. “She’s gonna pitch a screaming fucking hissy when she finds out why you sent her away.”

  “I know,” the leader of the Scouts agreed with a grin. “So I hope we will be out of her line of fire until she gets over it.”

  “Has the team found Jerre yet?”

  “No. But they’re closing. Should hear from them any day.”

  The sergeant took a map from his battle jacket. He spread it out on the tailgate. With one blunt finger, he jabbed at a circle. “That’s the last known position of Jake Devine.”

  Gray nodded, then a slow smile worked its way across his face. “Hell, Larry—we’re not tied down. Soon as Tina gets airborne, we’ll pull out. Have the lads dress in civilian clothing. Let’s head for Illinois.”

  * * *

  “Doctor Chase!” Tina cried, running the last few steps to the plane.

  He held open his arms and the girl rushed into them. “Good to see you, Tina. So good to see you.”

  “But…?”

  “Let’s get on board, girl, then we’ll talk.”

  Airborne, Lamar Chase grinned and said, “You don’t think I’d let Ben suffer at the hands of those Army sawbones, do you? Thought I’d better ease over that way and take charge.”

  She laughed at his mock seriousness. “You’ll never change.”

  “I hope not, girl. You know the Joint Chiefs want Ben in as president?”

  “Captain Gray told me.”

  “And…”

  “He’ll never take it.”

  “Then it’s up to us all to change his mind, Tina.”

  “But…”

  “He’s got to do it, honey. It’s his duty.”

  She looked out the window at the clouds below them. “Sometimes I just hate that word.”

  “I know,” the doctor said, taking her hand in his. “I do, too.”

  * * *

  “Well, now,” Jake Devine greeted Hartline and his men. “Are things lookin’ up or are they not?”

  His eyes were on Jerre.

  “That was a stupid fucking play moving against those bridges, Jake. I cannot believe you gave those orders.”

  “I didn’t, Sam. That was young Jefferson. He got ants in his pants and too cocky. We paid hard for it.”

  “Give me a report.”

  “Illinois and Indiana are ours. Parts of Ohio and Missouri. All of Iowa.”

  “Lots of good land,” Hartline said.

  “If you’re a farmer,” a mercenary bitched.

  “That’s what we’re going to be, boys. Good hardworking honest law-abiding farmers. We are going to do the same thing with this land that Ben Raines did with his Tri-States. Let’s see if he’s so two-faced he’ll condemn us for doing what he did.”

  The mercenaries smiled.

  “All the while,” Jake grinned, “working for the old man in Richmond.”

  “But of course,” Hartline returned the grin. “I spoke with him just before we pulled out. He said to keep our heads down and stay clean. Do some honest work for a change. Like farming.”

  “I was raised on a farm,” Jake mused, a faraway, wistful look on his face. “By God, that just might be kinda nice.”

  “Jesus!” Hartline gave him a disgusted look. “I can’t believe you said that, Jake. Farming? For real?”

  “Well, who the hell else is gonna do it?” Jake demanded.

  “The people,” Hartline explained. “They’ll be happy to do it for us. I bet they will.”

  “And we’ll be…?”

  “The police, Jake. We’ll keep the peace. And for our services… we’ll take just a… small portion of the profits. Can you dig that, Jake?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “I can dig. But I still want a little piece of ground for my own. I love the smell of fresh plowed earth.”

  “Ain’t but one thing that smells better,” Hartline said.

  “Oh?”

  Hartline grinned. “Pussy.”

  Jerre
had stood quietly by during this exchange. Hartline glanced at her. “Jerre,” he said, the one word an introduction. He looked at Jake. “How many women you gone through the past few months?”

  “Just one. She’s still with me. Lisa.”

  “That’s a bit odd for you, isn’t it, Jake?” Hartline asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

  Jake shrugged. “We get along, that’s all.” He changed the subject, not wanting to discuss Lisa with Hartline. Lately his feeling for the teenager had… deepened, he guessed that was the right choice of words. She had begun evoking a feeling within him he never knew he had; certainly had never experienced.

  And he had changed in other ways, as well.

  And it scared him.

  “When do we pull out, Sam?” he asked.

  “First thing in the morning. You’ll be ready?”

  “Count on it, Sam. Good to see you. See you in the morning.”

  Hartline watched Jake walk away. Something about the man had changed. And Hartline sensed it was not for the better.

  Well, he thought, time to worry about that later. He looked at a young merc. “Where do we bunk, soldier?”

  “We have a nice house for you, sir. If you’ll follow me.”

  The house was a relatively new home, with a pleasant warming fire burning in the fireplace in the den. Hartline waited until after the young merc had gone.

  “You fix dinner. I’m going to take a shower and read the paper.”

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away?”

  His smile was as friendly as the permanent grin on a snake. “Look outside, Jerre-baby.”

  She looked. The house had armed guards on all sides. She again faced the mercenary. “And then what?”

  “You know what.”

  “No more Mr. Nice Guy, huh?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, honey. I never seen a woman yet didn’t like a big cock. And that’s what I got.”

  “I’m having my period.”

  “No, you’re not. But even if you were, it wouldn’t make no difference. I’d just take the back door.”

  Jerre’s temper got the best of her. “Hartline, you are the most despicable person I have ever met.”

  He was in a good mood, a good personality. He laughed at her. “I’m a saint compared to some I’ve soldiered with, Jerre-baby. You go run on now. You’re lookin’ a mite peaked from the plane ride. You can take your bath first, then cook supper.”

  She looked at him for a moment, thinking: Oh, Ben, where are you?

  She remembered when she saw Ben again, after her leaving in North Carolina. But this time he’d been with Salina. Or she with him. They were in the northwest, in the area that would soon become Tri-States.

  * * *

  The young people from the colleges Ben had visited rolled in and looked around. They were wary, for they believed the adults had caused the original mess (which was true), and they weren’t too certain this new state could be any better. But they decided to give it a try.

  Jerre saw Ben, at first from a distance, and for a time kept her distance as she realized the woman with him was more than just a friend. Then she worked up enough courage to speak to him.

  “Hi, Ben.”

  Ben turned from his work and let a smile play across his lips. He was aware of Salina watching intently. He took Jerre’s outstretched hand, held it for a moment, then released it.

  “You’re looking good, Jerre. I was worried about you, wondering if you’d made it.”

  She nodded, as emotions filled her. She wondered if those same emotions were flooding Ben. They were, but not to the extent they filled her. “This is Matt.” She introduced the beefy young man beside her.

  Ben shook the offered hand. “I’m glad you two could join us up here. There’s a lot of work to do. Going to live in Idaho?”

  Jerre shook her head, answering for both of them. “No, Ben. We thought we’d try it over in Wyoming. Maybe go back to school in our spare time.”

  “That’s a good idea. We’ll have the colleges open in a few months.”

  There seemed to be nothing left for them to say; at least that they could say.

  “See you, Ben.” Jerre smiled.

  Ben nodded, watching the young couple walk away. Matt hesitated, then put his arm around Jerre’s shoulders in a protective way; a possessive way. Ben had to smile at the gesture.

  “That your young friend, Ben?” Salina asked.

  “That was her.”

  “Just friends, huh?”

  “Sure—what else?”

  “Uh-huh.” She smiled.

  * * *

  “What the hell are you smiling about, bitch?” Hartline’s voice jarred her back to reality.

  “Long ago and far away,” she replied.

  “Go wash your cunt,” the mercenary said crudely.

  Depression hit Jerre a hammer blow. She turned and walked toward the bathroom. Pausing, she looked around at him.

  “I don’t have any clean clothes, Hartline.”

  “Get you some in the morning. You won’t need no clothes tonight, baby.”

  TWO

  Matt had left the twins with a family sympathetic to the Rebels. They worked a small farm just outside Burns, Oregon. The tall, rugged-looking man—who had been in love with Jerre since the first moment he’d seen her, more than ten years back—drove the pickup truck with a determination that belied the murderous thoughts fermenting in his brain. He’d heard Hartline was in Illinois, or maybe Indiana. He touched the M-16 on the seat beside him.

  One thing for certain, he was going to kill Sam Hartline.

  As he drove, he remembered. He remembered with tears in his eyes.

  * * *

  “When will he be here, Jerre?” the young man asked her.

  Jerre turned her eyes eastward. Her face was burned dark from the sun, as were her arms; her hair was sun-streaked and cut short.

  She was not the leader of this group. But she knew Ben Raines, and everybody knew Bull Dean, the old Rebel who had killed his best friend to keep the movement alive, had put Ben Raines in charge. So that made Jerre something special.

  “He’ll be here, Matt,” she said. “I don’t know when, so don’t ask me, but he’ll be here.”

  “Equipment coming in,” a Rebel called.

  They all moved to the line of trucks rolling up the mountain road. The young man who had asked the question put his arm around Jerre’s shoulders.

  “Will you still be my girl when he gets here?” he asked.

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “I’ll know when he gets here. Then I’ll tell you.”

  * * *

  “I’m going to kill you, Hartline,” Matt muttered, his big hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white from the strain. “I’m going to kill you.”

  * * *

  “Have you left that crazy bunch for good, baby?” Ben asked.

  Tina laughed at him. “Daddy, you’re an ex-Hell Hound and asking me about a crazy bunch?”

  Ben grumbled a bit about that, mostly under his breath. He said, “That was different.”

  Dawn laughed and Tina liked her immediately. “You must know, Tina, Ben is a closet chauvinist.”

  “I am not!”

  “How does it feel to be the next president of the United States?” Doctor Chase asked, first winking at both Dawn and Tina.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Ben snapped. “Because I have no intention of becoming the next president.”

  “Boy, it sure would be nice living in the new White House,” Tina said.

  “Well, you’re not going to live there,” Ben said, “so put it out of your mind.”

  The doctor and the two women looked at each other. Suddenly they all started laughing.

  Ben sat in the chair by his hospital bed and looked at them. He had a sinking feeling in his guts that within the next week or so, he was about to be sworn in.

  And he didn’t want the job.r />
  And just didn’t fucking want the job!

  * * *

  “So help me God,” Ben said.

  He removed his hand from the Bible and shook the hand of the Chief Justice. Dawn and Tina kissed him, Cecil and Ike shook his hand.

  The Joint Chiefs of Staff grinned at each other.

  Senator Carson wiped a tear from one eye. Scenes like this always affected him. Deeply.

  “Mr. President,” the Chief Justice said. “I’m wondering if I’m going to have a job this time tomorrow?”

  “You will as long as you don’t interfere with me,” Ben told him. They spoke so only they could hear.

  “I don’t believe I can work under those conditions, Mr. President.”

  “Speaking for all your colleagues?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Perhaps, Justice Morgan, I am not the ogre a lot of liberals have branded me.” It was not a question and the Chief Justice did not take it as such.

  “Perhaps not, sir,” the Justice spoke firmly, but with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “I rather doubt any man could be as terrible as the portrait that has been painted of you—by… liberals, if you will.”

  “Work with me, Justice Morgan. Work with me and I’ll bring honor and fair play back into this nation.”

  “At the point of a gun, sir?”

  “If that is what it takes to convince some people, yes, sir.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. President. I wanted very badly to refuse officiating at this swearing in. But I simply could not refuse. But I do not have to be a part of martial law.”

  “Who said anything about martial law?”

  The men had walked away from the platform, out of earshot of the press, and the press was beginning to grumble about it.

  “The press doesn’t like this, Mr. President,” the Chief Justice said.

  “Fuck the press.”

  Justice Morgan smiled. “You see, sir, that is what I speak of. Your attitude toward the press.”

  “Justice Morgan,” Ben said. “I used to enjoy watching good news-reporting. My favorite programs on TV were well-produced and reported documentaries. That does not include innuendoes, supposition, biased, left-leaning commentators, and nonobjective reporting. I don’t like doubletalk, dancing around a question, sneering, rudeness, or any of a dozen other repulsive traits that can be hung on any number of reporters, print and broadcast. Are we clear on that subject, sir?”