Judgment in the Ashes, page 14
Ben’s thoughts were flung back in time, back to the many women he had known over the long years that lay behind him in time’s dusty corridors. “There have been a few Anna.”
“What happened?”
“Things just didn’t work out, that’s all. It happens.”
“Shit happens, hey?”
Ben smiled. There was no point in his admonishing the teenager for her language. She talked no worse than any other Rebel, and better than most. Hardline combat personnel often reverted to coarse language. “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”
Neither of them opened any drawers in the kitchen for fear of booby traps. Ben motioned toward the back door and they exited the house.
“Couple of skeletons in the barn,” Jersey said, walking up to Ben. “They’ve been there for a long time. No weapons visible.”
“Gender?”
“Dr. Farmer says it’s a man and a woman. They’re laying side by side in the loft.”
“May be a suicide,” Ben opined. “That’s Dr. Farmer’s opinion.”
Anna shook her head. “I do not understand people who would do such a thing. I can understand giving one’s life for a cause, such as ours, but not suicide. Things have never looked that bad for me, and I have faced some very tough times.”
“Some people just can’t take it when times get too bad, Anna,” Ben said. “I remember just after the Great War, hundreds, perhaps thousands of Americans took their own lives. They just couldn’t face such an uncertain future. As a nation, we had it too easy for too many years. That final act of desperation was something that many of us had predicted.”
“And just as many others turned to a life of crime?” Anna asked.
“Oh, yes. Probably ten times that number. Or more. And that, too, was something that many of us predicted.”
“Did anybody listen to you, General Ben?” Anna asked.
“Quite a few people did, but no one that I know of in government . . . no politician paid us the slightest bit of attention. And the news media tried their best to ridicule us. Militia groups, survivalist groups, other people with the ability to see past the ends of their noses and really get a grasp on what was happening in America—they listened. And many of them survived because of what those few of us preached. I take a great deal of perverse pleasure in that knowledge.”
“No reason for it to be perverse,” Anna stated. “You were right and the politicians were wrong.”
“From what I have been able to read about the politicians in this country,” Beth said, “they seemed to be more interested in their own party’s advancement and their own personal goals rather than the wishes of millions of voters . . . . and millions of people became so irritated and disgusted with the system they simply dropped out and refused to take part.”
“Sad but to a large degree very true, Beth,” Ben said. “The last decade before the Great War was the low point in American history . . . at least in the minds of millions of us.”
“But you paid taxes, General Ben,” Anna said. “Didn’t you?”
Ben laughed. “I’ll say we did, Anna.”
“And yet you had no say in the running of the very government you were forced to support.”
“That’s very true.”
“That is wrong,” the young lady stated. “That is the glaring imperfection in that type of government, I believe.”
“What was the tax burden on citizens, General?” a Rebel asked.
As usual, when Ben began speaking of the time before the Great War, the younger Rebels, who really had no knowledge of that time, listened and asked questions. Most of the younger Rebels were just children when the Great War tore the world apart.
“About fifty percent of our income,” Ben replied. “That’s local, county, state, and federal taxes.”
“That’s obscene!” the young man blurted.
Ben smiled. “Millions of us thought so too.”
“And what did you receive from the government for this terrible burden?” another Rebel asked.
Ben laughed mockingly. “Well, the politicians passed laws taking away our guns, and if we didn’t hand them over to the government goons we were arrested and faced large fines and heavy prison time.” There was a low rumbling of anger among the Rebels gathered around. Ben smiled, thinking: I’d like to see the government, any government, try to pass and put into effect anti-gun laws among these people. The dead would litter the streets like beer cans and candy wrappers.
“No citizen was allowed to use any type of deadly force to protect his or her property from thieves. The whiny liberals, the left wing of the democratic party—we referred to them as the Take-A-Punk-To-Lunch-Bunch . . .” Ben waited until the quiet laughter had subsided. “. . . had decreed that no personal property was worth the life of a really good boy gone bad.”
“What happened if you did kill someone who was trying to steal your car or TV or something, General?” the question came out of the circle of Rebels surrounding Ben.
“Oh, why the offending citizen, that law-abiding, overburdened taxpaying person was arrested and hauled off to jail, where he or she faced all sorts of charges, and then the family of the punk could, under law, sue for damages . . . and usually win. It didn’t matter if the suit could financially ruin a decent, law-abiding family and put them out in the street. That was never taken into consideration. What was taken into consideration was that the punk was hurt or killed; never mind that it happened during the commission of a crime. The liberals screwed this nation up so bad it is beyond description.”
Ben looked up at the sound of a branch breaking in the deep woods around the old farmhouse. An instant later, he and his Rebels were belly down on the ground, in a defensive circle.
They all knew that it wasn’t a deer or some other wild animal, for they almost never step on things that might pop and make noise. It was a human out there, and considering where they were, in all likelihood, a very unfriendly one. Or two, or a dozen. The Rebels would know soon enough.
Ben caught Corrie’s eyes in the dim light. She shook her head, silently telling him that the perimeter guards were making no radio contact. That told Ben that all four sentries had either seen or heard something. So it was certainly more than one man.
It looked as though Ben and his team were surrounded, deep in hostile territory.
TWO
Corrie bellied her way close to Ben. “The road guard just reported a group of men across from him,” she whispered. “And the sound we heard was behind us. We have them at least front and back of the house.”
Ben nodded his understanding just as voices drifted out of the woods. The Rebels relaxed just a bit, for if there were voices, those in the woods were not aware of the Rebels. Not yet, anyway. But if they spotted the old pickup trucks parked in the rear of the farmhouse, they would surely investigate.
“. . . The Rebels aren’t within fifty miles of here,” the man’s voice came to Ben and the others. “I think they cut east, not south.”
“Nobody asked what you think,” another man’s voice drifted out of the night.
“I got a right to my opinion.”
“Shut up, Johnny. You do what you’re told, just like the rest of us.”
“I do, Harold. But that don’t mean I have to like it.”
“That’s blasphemous talk, Johnny. You best stop that nonsense ’fore you’re reported.”
“Hey!” the shout came out of the woods.
“Who said that?” Harold questioned.
Harold must be in charge of this unit, Ben thought. Or at least thinks he is.
“I think it was Rolf,” another voice replied. “He was bringing up the rear.”
“Rolf?” Harold shouted. “What is it?”
The Rebels knew that in all probability Rolf would never answer. Rolf had gotten too close to one of the perimeter guards and Rolf’s throat had been cut. The Rebels also knew that a very intense fire-fight was very likely only seconds away. Gloved hands tightened on weapons as assholes involuntarily puckered up. That goes with the game of war known as combat.
“Rolf?” Harold shouted. “Answer me.”
Only silence greeted Harold’s command: a very heavy and ominous hush from the dark woods.
Are you damn people blind? Ben thought. Can’t you see the outlines of the pickup trucks? What the hell is the matter with you? What kind of soldiers are you?
“Rolf’s just flat disappeared, Harold,” another voice was added to the growing confusion. “He ain’t nowhere to be found.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Well, come see for yourself, then!”
“Paul!” Harold shouted. “You boys see anything?”
“There isn’t a thing over here, Harold,” Paul shouted from across the gravel road that ran in front of the house. “No sign of nothing.”
You’ve probably got a Rebel not five feet from you, Ben thought, with no small degree of pride.
“Rolf, boy, you better answer me!” Harold shouted. “This is no time to be fooling around.”
Silence.
“Check it out, Jeff,” Harold ordered. “Take Willie with you. And you two be careful. I don’t like this.”
“Hey!” yet another voice was added. “What the hell is that?”
“What’s what?” Harold asked.
“What are those trucks doin’ back here?”
“Trucks?”
“Right there, Harold, tucked in close to the back of the house.”
As if on cue, Ben’s team opened up with automatic weapons fire. The night around the house and barn and from across the gravel road was pocked with sharp flashes of light as the stutter of CAR’s shattered the silence.
The screaming of wounded and dying men filled the night. The Rebels were recognized worldwide as the undisputed masters of war, ranging from hit and run to stand and hold to ambush, and this night only added to their reputation.
The fire-fight was over and done with in a dozen heartbeats, with Simon’s soldiers scarcely able to get off more than a few rounds that hit nothing but cold night air.
After a full moment of silence, broken only by the groaning and crying out of badly wounded men, Ben pushed himself to his knees and looked around him at the shadowy scenes of war that were all too familiar.
One more shot from the fallen troops of Simon Border cracked and a Rebel who was standing near the barn went down. Ben cursed and shouted, “Rake the area!”
The Rebels raked the area with automatic gunfire for a few seconds, each Rebel burning a full magazine.
“Who is that Rebel down by the barn?” Ben shouted.
“Secrest, sir,” the shout immediately followed the question. “He’s had it.”
“Shit!” Ben said.
“Let me check him,” Dr. Farmer said, then ran through the carnage to the barn.
Corrie was busy bumping all the perimeter guards. “No one got out, boss.”
“Any wounded?”
“Negative.”
“Bury Secrest in the woods. Disguise the grave carefully.”
“Right, Boss.
The Rebels were always careful about burying their dead, for enemy troops had been known to dig up the bodies and either mutilate them or put them on a macabre display . . . or both.
The Rebels were both the most hated and the most feared fighting force on the face of the earth . . . and the most grudgingly respected.
Secrest now joined the hundreds of other Rebels who lay in unmarked graves all over half the world, from Alabama to Romania, Rebels who willingly gave their lives, without question, to free others . . . of all nationalities and creeds.
“Search the bodies for anything that might be of use to our intelligence people and then let’s get the hell gone from here.”
Ten minutes later, the Rebels were on the move, once more heading down the old highway in the pickup trucks. The Scouts had returned and reported a bypass around the town. Ben thought that over for a moment and then smiled. “Let’s go raise some hell in the town. Park and hide the trucks about a half mile from the edge of town and we’ll hoof it in and look things over.”
“Carrying several hundred pounds of C-4, of course,” Jersey said drily.
“Why, Jersey,” Ben replied in mock surprise. “What a marvelous idea.”
The others in the truck laughed at the expression on Jersey’s face as they rolled on through the night.
Simon’s home guard was sleeping in their warehouse-turned-barracks when the structure blew up and collapsed around and on top of them. In less than fifteen seconds, the town lost their entire contingent of home guard protection.
The town’s gasoline storage area went up at the same time, sending a huge fireball high into the sky, after the Rebels neutralized the two guards and dispatched them to Simon Border’s concept of Heaven, a place which was free of blacks, Jews, Mexicans, Asians, Indians, and all other minorities, of course.
That done, Ben and his team drove on south through the night, the scene behind them highlighted with dancing flames.
The Rebels hit two more towns that night, destroying half a dozen buildings in each before Ben ordered a change in direction. They had pushed their luck heading south long enough. Ben cut them straight east on an old secondary road and they rode unchallenged until coming to a huge lake. There, Ben ordered a halt for the night. The vehicles were hidden in the timber after their gas tanks were topped off with gas stolen from the storage area.
“Get some rest,” he told his people. “We’ve earned it. I think we can call this a very productive night.”
Ben crawled into his sleeping bag and was asleep in five minutes.
He was up and moving long before dawn. He had sported an old cabin the night before and checked it out while the others slept. It was free of booby traps. Ben built a small fire in the stone fireplace, using the old wood he found in the box by the side of the fireplace and some other wood that had been stacked on the falling down porch. The wood was very old and virtually smokeless. Ben made coffee; the first coffee he’d had since the morning they’d jumped in; seemed as though that had been weeks ago but in actuality it could be measured in hours.
He sat on the floor, his back to a wall, and drank coffee and smoked a cigarette, enjoying the peaceful hour or so before dawn cracked the sky.
Jersey wandered in, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, which widened when she saw the fire and the coffeepot sitting off to one side, the brew staying hot while not boiling.
“Nectar of the gods,” Jersey said, squatting down and pouring a cup. She sugared it with a packet of sweetened from her accessory pack and sat down beside Ben, taking a sip and sighing in contentment. Then Corrie came in and joined them. The three sat for a time, sipping coffee and enjoying the silence.
“At dawn,” Ben said, “we use this cabin to take spa baths with water from the lake and change socks and wash out the ones we’re wearing. And the same with our underwear. We’re all beginning to smell just a tad gamey.”
That order was met with silent nods of approval from Jersey and Corrie.
Cooper and Anna and Beth had wandered in while Ben was brewing another cup of coffee. Anna squatted down in a very unladylike position and Ben watched her gnaw on a hard biscuit from her breakfast pack, thinking: If all the rest of us got killed on this op, she would survive, for she will never be truly civilized; never entirely lose the feral side of her makeup. Even though Anna was astonishingly beautiful, and so young, she was one of the most dangerous people Ben had ever known. Ben had seen her kill, rip the hide off a rabbit, and eat it half cooked without expression, while the blood ran down her chin, her pale cold eyes glistening with pleasure while her stomach filled, her eyes darting from left to right in a protective movement.
That’s how it was thousands of years ago, he thought his coffee cup refilled and a fresh cigarette rolled and lighted. I’m looking at living proof of how humankind used to be. How in God’s name could this young woman, orphaned while scarcely out of diapers, have survived? We all must have that primal streak in us. But most of us have pushed it so far back it is unretrievable—unthinkable, grossly alien to modern man and woman.
Anna wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her BDU field jacket and caught Ben looking at her. She smiled at him. “Good,” she said. “A wash and then we will all feel much better.”
She left the cabin and Ben and Corrie exchanged glances, Ben sensing that Corrie had been thinking the same thoughts as he.
Ben put those thoughts out of his mind and in the light from the fire, quickly studied a map of the area. “There is a small town about twenty miles to the east of our location. We’ll take that tonight and work about fifty miles to the east before changing directions again.”
“South?” Jersey asked.
“Maybe,” Ben replied with a smile. “What I don’t want to do is establish any type of movement pattern that some of the more intelligent members of Simon’s army can spot. We’ll see. At first light, Corrie, setup your dish and bump the others, see how they’re making out and chart their locations. If you can pick out a movement pattern, so can the enemy. If that’s the case, advise them to change directions. We’ve got to keep Simon’s people off base and guessing.”
“Right, Boss.”
“Then bump Base Camp One and see how things are going down there. Bring Cecil up to date.”
“Will do.”
“For now, roust the people up and have them come in here a few at a time for hot coffee and to heat up these despicable breakfast packets. Nothing will make them taste like anything but warmed-over shit, but they’re better hot than cold.”
“Especially these eggs,” Jersey said, frowning. “Or whatever they are.”
The basics never really change, in any army, anywhere. The Roman legions surely bitched about their food, too.
“They’re dehydrated eggs, Jersey,” Ben said. “I think.”
“From what kind of chicken?” she came right back.
Ben’s detachment of Rebels spent the next two hours or so brewing coffee, washing socks and underwear, and taking very quick baths out of an old bucket. Even with nothing more than spit baths, they all managed to rid themselves of an amazing amount of dirt and felt a lot better when they started rolling east in the old pickup trucks.
