Fury in the Ashes Read online

  “Thank you, Corrie, and thank them for that report. Ike, get your people moving south. Quietly. But get them out. This stuff has a life of only a few minutes, but if the winds pick up, no telling where it’ll drift in those minutes. Have every person in your battalion draw the injectable vaccine and make sure they know how to properly use it.”

  “Right, Ben. See you, partner.”

  Ben stared out the window for a moment. “Corrie, advise those pilots who will make the drop to stay in touch with weather. I want them flying by 0645 on drop day. If the winds change as predicted, they will make their drop immediately and then get the hell out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bump Cecil and tell him I want him out of his sector and moving south by no later than 1800 hours tomorrow. Make damn sure that Dan, West, and Tina are the first to receive the vaccine kits. As soon as the last plane takes off carrying the chemicals, I want them injected immediately and out of that area. By early that morning, the creeps will know something is up when the bombs stop falling. And you can bet your boots they’ve got people close enough in to see Dan’s bug-out.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “Have West’s men start laying explosives on the bridges and overpasses heading south out of Pacifica. Blow them behind them as they pull out.” Ben walked to a window and stared out. “Now all we can do is wait for the winds to change.”

  Twelve hours before the chemical drop was to commence, the area just south of the city began to resemble a smoking ghost town. Only those personnel who were absolutely essential remained behind. And that did not include Doctor Chase.

  “Raines!” the doctor bellowed. “Who in the goddamn hell do you think you are, telling me to clear out?”

  “The commander of Rebel forces, that’s who. While you were up poking your nose close to the front, I ordered all your people to pack up and clear out. They got. Now you’re next. So pack up and git!”

  “Get me my XO!” Chase hollered at Corrie.

  “I just spoke with him,” Ben informed him. “He and the MASH units are halfway to Hollister, Doctor.”

  Chase glared at him. “Raines, you’re an asshole — you know that?”

  “I’ve been called worse. Now clear out of here, Lamar. You’re needed down south and you damn well know it. Stop being so bullheaded.”

  “What if there is a counterattack and you suffer causualties, hardhead?”

  “We have combat medics here and evac planes to get them to surgery —down south. That’s why you’re needed down there, you old goat.”

  “Ha! For your information, I quit doing surgery except for emergencies a year ago, Raines. So you don’t know as much as you think you do.”

  “Well, then,” Ben said with a smile. “If that’s the case, perhaps I should send your butt back to Base Camp One and get you out of my hair here.”‘

  “Try it, Raines,” the doctor said. “You just try pulling rank on me. I’ll quarantine your ass!”

  Linda stood with her mouth open, watching and listening to the men have at it. Jersey walked over to her. “Don’t pay any attention to them. They’ve been doing this for years.”

  “Who usually wins?”

  “The one who hollers the most.”

  “I . . . see, I think.” She cleared her throat. “I have a suggestion, gentlemen.”

  Ben and Lamar shut up and looked at her.

  “Why don’t you both go south?” she suggested sweetly. “That way, the Chief of Medicine and the Commanding General would both be safe if something were to go wrong.”

  “Now there,” Lamar said with a smile, “is a very sensible young lady. How about it, General Raines?”

  “I’m needed here,” Ben said stiffly.

  “To do what?” Lamar challenged him, grinning. “Crank the planes’ engines? Tell the pilots what time it is? You going to show them how to operate the bomb-bay doors, maybe? If you just have to give orders, you can radio them from Hollister.” Lamar chuckled and added, “Got you, Raines!”

  Ben glared at Linda. “Thank you very much for that marvelous suggestion.”

  “You’re certainly welcome,” she said with a smile. “Shall I have Cooper bring the wagon up?”

  “Oh, by all means, please do.”

  “Hee-hee-hee-hee!” Lamar giggled.

  “Oh, shut up!” Ben said.

  “Sore loser!”

  The little con artist, Emil Hite, stuck his head into Ben’s CP. He took one quick look at the expression on Ben’s face and beat it back outside. He looked around for Thermopolis and walked over to him.

  “The general doesn’t look too happy, Therm. What’s the matter?”

  “He lost an argument with Doctor Chase. I think we’re getting ready to bug out south.”

  “Suits the hell out of me. All this smoke is really aggravating my sinuses.”

  Therm could not hide his smile. “Why don’t you ask the Great God Blomm to heal them?”

  Emil grinned. “Sure. And at the same time, I’ll expect to see a herd of elephants flying by.”

  “It was a good scam, Emil. Even though the majority of your followers knew all along that you were full of shit.”

  Emil shrugged. “Sure they did. I knew that. Oh, well, I’ll think of something else. I always have.”

  “Why not play it straight?” Therm suggested. “Who knows, you might like it.”

  “Why don’t you cut your hair?” Emil countered. “Who knows, you might like it.”

  Thermopolis chuckled. “Touché, little friend.”

  “Am I?”

  Thermopolis frowned and looked at the man. “Are you what?”

  “Your friend?”

  “Of course, you’re my friend. There really isn’t a mean bone in your body, Emil. You’re kind to animals, don’t harm the environment, you’re nice to anybody who treats you the same, and while you might argue it, the truth is you work harder at getting out of work than you would if you held a regular nine-to-five job. If such a thing even exists anywhere in the world anymore.”

  “I like to con people,” the little man admitted, as he adjusted his turban. “I’ve been doing it all my life and I’m pretty good at it. But I’ll tell you something, Therm. I like what I’m doing now even better.”

  “The fighting?”

  “Well, to be honest, yes, that’s part of it. I’ll admit that there is a certain type of high to be had in combat. But no, it’s the fact that for the first time in a long, long time I’m really contributing something toward the good of all. Ben Raines is human; he has faults just like all the rest of us. But he’s trying to do what he believes is right for all the good people of the United States . . . hell, the world! I don’t agree with everything he does; no Rebel does, is my belief. But he’s on the right track, and they know it, I know it and you know it too, Therm. There have been too many excuses made for criminals for too many years. Look around you, pal. There is every race and every religion represented in the Rebels. And yet, I haven’t heard the terms nigger, spic, wop, greaser, kike, or slope spoken since I’ve been a part of this movement. And that’s what it is, Therm, a movement. It’s a great gathering of like-minded people all willing to put their lives on the line to make this world a better place for those who are willing to follow just a few simple rules.”

  Therm looked at the man as Emil wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

  “I get emotional just thinking about it.” Emil walked away, humming “God Bless America.”

  Ben Raines has another convert, Therm thought. Another basically good soul willing to lay down his life for the cause. Ben Raines is the damnedest man I have ever encountered in my life. He always has to be in charge, whether or not he really wants the job. He is cruel and compassionate, benevolent and ruthless, farsighted and shortsighted, opinionated, yet with the intelligence to admit when he’s wrong . . . although not often, Therm noted.

  Sort of like someone else Therm knew.

  It startled him when he realized he was thin
king about himself.

  NINE

  “Everything on delayed scramble.” Ben gave the order from Hollister. He rolled another cigarette.

  “You’re smoking too much,” Lamar chided him.

  “Shut up,” Ben said.

  Lamar walked away. He knew when to push Ben and when to leave him alone. He joined Ike, lounging against the fender of a Hummer, drinking a cup of coffee.

  Lamar pointed at Ben. “That man can be as surly as a wolverine.”

  Ike grinned. “Why do you think I’m over here?”

  0600. The morning of the chemical drop on the city of San Francisco.

  “The wind is beginning to shift,” Corrie told Ben, lifting one earphone to hear his response. “Weather people say it will continue in that direction at least until mid-morning. Conditions will be most favorable for a drop in fifteen minutes.”

  “All right,” Ben said. He was reflective for a moment. Then he sighed and said, “Tell Dan and his people to bug out. Advise the pilots there has been a change in scheduling and to get the birds up right now. Tell Dan to monitor the pilots.”

  Ben began pacing the area around the communications van. Nobody said anything to him except Corrie.

  “Bugging out, General,” she advised. “The winds have settled and are now blowing directly toward the west at ten to twelve knots.”

  Ben stopped his pacing. “Have Dan and his people used the vaccine?”

  “That’s ten-four, sir. They have injected and are all safe.”

  “What’s Dan’s twenty?”

  “Colonel Gray is just south of the town of Montara. He ordered West and Tina out an hour ago. They are both well south of the drop area and are moving toward this staging area.”

  “Buddy, the bikers, the Scouts?”

  “All standing clear and injected, sir.”

  Striganov, Rebet, and Danjou were at the staging area.

  “Order all personnel to inject, Corrie.”

  She clicked on a loudspeaker and gave the order.

  Ben broke the seal on a syringe and popped himself in the leg. He looked around him. All Rebels in sight were injecting themselves.

  “Tell the pilots to drop their payloads as soon as they are over the target,” Ben said quietly.

  “That’s ten-four, sir. Squadron leader has acknowledged the drop order.”

  “God have mercy on any prisoners left alive in that city,” Ben muttered. He shook his head. “And God have mercy on me,” he said under his breath.

  * * *

  In the burning and smoking city, creepies had left their cover and crawled out of basements and buildings as soon as the bombs had stopped falling on them, some hours before. They stood in the ruined streets and wondered what was going on.

  Over the crackle of burning wood, they heard the droning of approaching aircraft and ran for shelter.

  But no bombs fell, only canisters that did not explode as they impacted with ground. The canisters hissed out an invisible and slightly sweet odor.

  Within seconds, the throats of the Believers began closing and their nervous systems began shutting down as paralysis seized their bodies. They lay on the rubbled streets and in their filth-covered lairs and huddled in basements and died as the gas silently touched them.

  In the communications center of the cannibalistic sect called the Believers, a dying radio operator got off one last message that chilled those monitoring south of the city, and especially those in the Los Angeles area.

  “Gas!” The creep gasped his last message. “He’s killed us all. Ben Raines is using poisonous gas. There is no one left. The gas . . .”

  The speaker went silent. As silent as the once-great city by the Bay.

  The Judges, the rulers of the cannibalistic order called the Believers, were advised of Ben Raines’s latest move. They cursed him while they dined on strips of fresh human flesh just cut from screaming prisoners. When they had vented their spleens and filled their bellies, they called for a meeting of all gang leaders who operated in the sprawling area of southern California. There were some seventy gangs in the area, ranging in size from fifty to a thousand or more. They were different only in dress, the headbands or the clothing denoting each gang.

  This was the last bastion of creepies and their followers or sympathizers in the lower forty-eight. Thousands of perverted degenerates whose territory ranged from the Pacific east to the state lines of Nevada and Arizona and south to the border of Mexico. They were well-armed, with heavy machine guns, mortars, rockets, flamethrowers, artillery, and just about anything the Rebels had with the exception of tanks and extremely long-range artillery.

  This was their territory, from Los Angeles down to Tijuana and east to what was known as the zone, a region where force was the ruler and brutality the order of the day. The punks were going to defend it. They had nowhere else to run. Ben Raines and his Rebel army had managed to bring some degree of law and order and stability to all the other states.

  Ben’s intelligence on the population in this area was sketchy at best, for no outsider had ever managed to penetrate the area and live for very long. There were gang-run and Believer-run slave and breeding farms all over. There were drug manufacturers, drug dealers, and drug users. There were slavers and slaves. Pimps and prostitutes. The entire area, from Los Angeles south and east, was one huge criminal operation. From the Pacific Ocean to Nevada and Arizona and south to Mexico was a gigantic outlaw land, where violent death, rape and perversion, slavery, and cannibalism came as easily as breathing.

  And those who called it home were preparing for war.

  At the staging area in Hollister, Ben ordered flyovers of what remained of the city by the Bay, using heat-seekers. The word came back: There was nothing left alive in the city.

  “Napalm it,” Ben ordered. “For however long it takes to burn the bodies. Blanket the city with fire. Destroy it. Bring what remains down.”

  This time, every plane that could be bomb-equipped was put to use. The pilots spent all that day and the following night dropping napalm on the already burning city until they were certain the flames would spread and eventually destroy anything left. From China Basin to Great Highway, from San Jose Avenue to Jefferson Street, there was nothing but fire and smoke and death. After twenty-four hours of relentless bombing, the pilots flew down to the old Lemoore Naval Air Station, some one hundred and seventy-five miles to the southeast. There, they would carefully go over their planes, refuel, and wait for the next call from Ben Raines. A platoon of Rebels had secured the old station and cleared the runways. They reported back that the air station had been deserted upon arrival.

  The next morning, the long Rebel columns began winding their way south toward Los Angeles. Ben took Highway 25 out of Hollister, a route that would abruptly end some sixty miles to the south. From there, it would be a state road down to the Sierra Madre Mountains. One long, slow pull from Hollister.

  Ike took a route that put him — most of the time — between the coast and 101. That route would end at San Luis Obispo. From there, he would work his way down through Santa Barbara, Ventura, Beverly Hills, and into Los Angeles.

  Georgi and West would travel east to the middle of the state before cutting south. They would split up just south of the China Lake Naval Weapons Center, with the Russian taking 14 down to the city, and the mercenary taking route 395 into, eventually, San Bernardino.

  All of the Rebels expected many, many delays and detours before they reached the City of the Angels.

  Ike hit his first obstacle just west of the Sierra de Salinas Mountains. His column had to backtrack and then take an unpaved road through the Los Padres National Forest.

  Ben hit his first detour about twenty-five miles south of Hollister. The creeps had blown a bridge, forcing Ben to get off the secondary highway and traverse a dry riverbed. That little move cost him most of a day.

  Cussing in half a dozen languages, Georgi Striganov and his forces hit a pocket of resistance between Highways 5 and 99 and
were held up most of the day while dealing with them. The Russian and the mercenary dealt with them very harshly, and before late afternoon began to cast long shadows, they left the dead Believers and their outlaw cohorts behind them, their bodies still smoking after being torched.

  Cecil was attempting to parallel — as much as possible — Interstate 5. He and his troops could exit just north of the city in the Angeles National Forest.

  To keep love interest as widely separated as possible, Ben had assigned Tina to Ike’s group, doing so after discussing it at length with West. The mercenary had thought it to be a wise move. Buddy and his Rat Team were Ben’s constant shadows, and Dan and his Scouts were also attached to Ben’s direct command.

  The bikers, named the Wolfpack, and several platoons of forward recon people ranged out in front, spread over half the state, slowly working their way south, the long-range eyes and ears of the Rebels.

  Ike found several pleasure craft, with fiberglass hulls, that had been hoisted up out of the water for repairs at a marina. He had them lowered into the water, checked them out, and crewed them with ex-Navy men, with the orders to get down to Santa Catalina Island, take it — quietly, if possible — and set up a listening post there. The island lay some twenty miles out from the L.A. metropolitan complex and could possibly be a great asset in the taking of what was soon to be a sprawling battleground.

  “Wouldn’t those islands be used by the thugs and creeps in the city?” Linda asked.

  “I doubt it,” Ben told her. “Those types of people aren’t inclined towards work of any kind and they don’t have much imagination. Keeping a large-sized pleasure craft up, so I’m told, is a time-consuming operation. Oh, after the Great War, some of them probably used boats as pleasure toys. Then when the boats started sinking, or the engines quit, they lost interest. It would surprise me if anyone is living on those outer islands.”