Judgment in the Ashes Page 12

  “Just like the militia groups before the Great War,” Ike said. “The damn liberals in Washington were so frightened of them they peed their drawers every time they thought of militia or survival groups. Some of them probably looked under their beds at night.”

  All that was before Buddy’s time. He looked at Ben. “Did the leaders in Washington ever really listen to the grievances of those who joined the various groups and do anything about them?”

  “Why, hell, no, son,” Ben replied. “They gave them lip service occasionally, but that was about it. Our so-called leaders in Washington always thought they knew what was best for everybody.”

  “And as it turned out? . . .” Buddy asked softly.

  “The senators and representatives didn’t know nearly as much as they thought they did,” Ben said flatly, moving to a map. “My hunch is dropping in here.” He pointed to the very top of Washington State. “Buddy, you and your 8 batt boys and girls will drop in near the Vancouver/Portland area. Ike, you and your people will drop into Southern Oregon. We split up into small groups and start raising hell as soon as we hit the ground. We blow up everything that is still standing from the top of Washington down to the Oregon/California border.” Ben looked at his son and his longtime friend. “We’ll be doing this to demoralize Simon’s civilian supporters, fuck up his factories and supply lines, and terrorize his troops . . . among other things. We’re going to blow every bridge we find and tear up the newly laid railroad tracks that Simon is so proud of. Simon thinks he’s going to establish trade with a few foreign countries. He’s had people working on docks and ships for some time now. But he’s not going to have any ships to set to sea when we’re through . . .”

  “You’ve been doing some planning on this, haven’t you, Ben?” Ike asked.

  “A little. All right, maps, supply points, safe houses, and some of the militia groups we know we can trust are included in your info packets. Start getting your people briefed.”

  “We don’t have enough planes to drop us all at once, Ben,” Ike pointed out. “We’re talking many thousands of troops here.”

  “That’s right. We’ll be going in over a three-day period. Start raising hell just as soon as you’re on the ground. I want Simon’s troops spread all over the place.” He smiled. “However, there will be diversions for several days beginning when the first plane of jumpers takes off . . . just to give us a little breathing room. It’s all explained in your packets. I’ll talk to you again on the ground up north.”

  Outside the CP, Buddy put a strong hand on Ike’s forearm, halting him. “Why is Father doing this, Ike?”

  Ike grinned. “Several reasons, Buddy: because he wants a little excitement, is one. Me and your father, we know we haven’t got that many more good years in the field. That growling ol’ bear, Georgi, is going to have to give it up pretty quickly himself. Probably before Ben and me. And Dan is no young rooster either. And there are other tactical reasons. But I think the main reason Ben is doing this is rather than commit all our Rebel battalion to several years’ fight against one hell of a front, and lose a lot of people in the process, he figures we can shorten it considerable this way. And we can, if we do this right.”

  “My father wants some excitement,” Buddy said softly.

  “That’s right, boy, and so do I. Your dad is a warrior, son. His whole life is the field. Hell, this is his show, all the way. Oh, he might tell you he’s looking forward to the rocking chair on the porch, and so might I if I’ve had a few drinks, but we’d both be lyin.’ We’re combat people, boy. Always have been and always will be. Both of us, your dad and me, when it comes our time, we want to check out in the field, growlin’ and snappin’ and snarlin’ as we go into that long night. You understand what I’m talkin’ about, Buddy?”

  The muscular young man smiled. “Yes, Ike. I understand.”

  Ike looked at him suspiciously. “What ever happened to Uncle Ike, boy?”

  “I stopped using it. That just doesn’t seem very dignified, Ike.”

  Ike smiled and made a silent promise to try and stop calling Buddy “boy.” The young man was all grown up.

  Mother Nature suddenly decided to put everything on hold, lashing the coast with heavy rains to the south and snow and ice up north, soaking Ben’s plans to a soggy halt.

  “Only good thing about this crappy weather,” Ben groused one afternoon, staring out at the rain, “is that it’s affecting Simon’s plans as well.”

  “Suits me,” Jersey murmured, too low for Ben to hear. But Beth heard her and grinned.

  “Meteorologists say this is likely to continue for a week or more,” Corrie said. “It’s a major winter storm.”

  Ben grunted his irritation at the delay.

  Because of the weather, hundreds of parachutes would have to be unpacked, unfolded, stretched out, and dried before repacking. More delays

  “Look on the bright side, boss,” Cooper said.

  Ben turned. “What bright side?”

  “The weather is not keeping the planes from flying. We’ll have everything we need on hand by the time the weather breaks, plus months of gear for resupplying.”

  Ben nodded his head. He certainly couldn’t argue that. “All right, Coop. There is a small bright side.”

  “And time for me to maybe break a leg,” Jersey muttered.

  Ben heard her that time and laughed at the diminutive warrior. “You know you love jumping, Jersey,” he kidded her.

  “Oh, yeah, boss—right.”

  Jersey, because of her size, was always the last one on the ground, and should a sudden updraft occur, she had been known to soar hundreds of feet back up, cussing and hollering all the way.

  “You could always piggy-back with me,” Cooper suggested hopefully.

  Jersey gave him a very dark look.

  Lamar Chase jerked open the door to the mobile CP and stepped inside. He stood in the doorway and shook off his poncho. Cooper poured the doctor a mug of coffee from the ever-present pot and Chase thanked him and sat down. The chief of medicine took a sip and grinned at Ben.

  Ben scowled at him. “I suppose you find this weather amusing, right, you quack?”

  Lamar laughed at Ben. “It’s keeping your ass on the ground, Raines.”

  “And that pleases you?”

  “Immensely.” He took another sip and lifted the mug. “Good coffee, Cooper.”

  “Thank you, sir. But I didn’t make it. The boss did.”

  Lamar frowned. “I retract that statement. It’s probably poison.”

  “You’re just PO’d ’cause you can’t go along with us,” Ben said. “When we go, that is,” he muttered.

  “I have absolutely no desire to hurl my precious body out of a perfectly good airplane, Raines,” Chase countered. “If something would happen, just think of all the disappointed women I would leave behind.”

  Ben snorted in derision.

  “Did the doctors find anything wrong with me?” Jersey asked hopefully.

  “Not a thing, Jersey,” Chase told her. “You’re as healthy as a racehorse.”

  The rest of the team laughed at the crestfallen expression on Jersey’s face.

  “I hate to bring this up,” Beth said. “But Emil wants to go along.”

  “He can keep on hoping,” Ben said. “That’s all we need to screw things up. Who told you that, Beth?”

  “Thermopolis.”

  Ben smiled. “Tell Therm, Emil can go along only if Therm accompanies him.”

  Everyone in the mobile CP laughed, even Jersey, knowing that would put at end to it. The ex-hippie wouldn’t jump out of an airplane under threat of death. Rosebud, his wife, would, but not Therm. Therm didn’t even like to fly. “God did not give man wings for a reason,” he liked to say.

  Chase chatted for a few moments, then left the CP. He would stay in the area until jump-off time, going over supplies his medical people would take along on the offensive, and double and triple-checking everything.

  Ben looked out the window and shook his head as the rain intensified. “It has to stop sometime. God promised He wouldn’t use water to destroy the earth again.”

  * * *

  Ben opened his eyes and glanced at the small travel clock on the nightstand attached to the side of the wall of the mobile CP. 1:30. He’d gone to sleep earlier than usual, and Ben had never needed more than a few hours’ sleep a night to refresh his body.

  Then he sat straight up in the single bed. Something was wrong.

  He reached for his CAR, then pulled his hand back, smiling in the darkness. There was no rain drumming on the roof. The downpour had stopped.

  Ben dressed quickly and made his way silently through the CP, stepping outside and looking up into the sky. Billions of stars greeted his eyes. The moon was full and bright. There was not a cloud to be seen.

  “What the hell? . . .” Jersey spoke from out of the darkness.

  “It stopped,” Ben said. “The rain’s stopped.”

  “The meteorologists said a couple more days of rain.”

  “They were wrong. Get Corrie out of the sack and have her alert the pilots to warm up their engines and stand by, then start bumping the battalions.”

  “We jumping in tonight?”

  “We’re jumping in tonight.”

  Minutes later, the bivouac area was pocked with light and quick-shadowed with motion as hundreds of Rebels were rolled out of the sack and made ready for the drop. At the airport, the engines of the huge planes were ticking over and pilots swigged steaming hot coffee, went over their maps, checked their instruments and controls, and thumped tires.

  A half hour after Ben awakened on that clear, cold morning, he and his team were struggling into the first plane. They were so weighed down with gear their legs were slig
htly bowed.

  “Mornin’, General,” the jumpmaster shouted to be heard over the roar of dozens of engine.

  Ben nodded and took his seat near the door, his team lining up in seats next to him. They would be the first ones out.

  The co-pilot stuck his head out of the cockpit and motioned for Ben to put on the headset hanging near him. It was Ike.

  “How’s it hangin’, Ben?” Ike drawled.

  “My dick is just fine, Ike. But my asshole is beginning to pucker up.”

  Ike laughed. “Yeah, mine, too. These things never get any easier with age, do they?”

  “Not that I can tell.”

  “I am perfectly relaxed,” Buddy’s calm voice came on the frequency.

  “That’s because you’re young, boy,” his father popped right back. “And don’t have enough sense to know what you’re doing.”

  Jersey, sitting next to Ben and wearing a headset, gave him a very jaundiced look through her expressive eyes, but reserved comment. Ben looked at her and winked.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Anna laughed at her antics.

  “Any glitches so far?” Ben questioned.

  “Nothing major, Ben. The usual hassles is all.”

  “Buddy?”

  “Nothing here, Father. We’re ready to go.”

  The plane containing Ben and team lurched forward. Ben’s battalion would be the first one airborne; they had the farthest to travel. The others would he staggered behind 1 Batt and would fly at reduced speed and if need be, circle until all jumpers were ready to go simultaneously.

  “Good luck, you old fart,” Dr. Lamar Chase’s voice came into Ben’s ears.

  “Thank you, Lamar, but I assume you are speaking to Ike,” Ben replied.

  Chase laughed. “Yeah, good luck to you too, lard-butt.”

  “Lard-butt!” Ike shouted.

  Buddy began laughing at the exchange.

  “Keep your powder dry and your dick in your pants, boys,” Lamar said.

  “What do we keep in our pants, Doctor?” Jane Pollard, a platoon leader with Buddy’s 8 batt asked.

  Lamar harumped a few times and refused to reply to that question.

  “You tell ’im, you mean mama,” Ike said with a laugh.

  Real sexual harassment was virtually unknown in the Rebel army. That had been accomplished in part by everyone knowing the next person had live ammo, too, and would not hesitate to drop the hammer on the offender. In the Rebel army, there were no special privileges offered to the female gender. In physical training they had to perform as well as their male counterparts, or they were reassigned to a less demanding non-combat job. Fuck up, and you’re out, no matter the gender.

  “We get all the good jobs, General Ike,” Jane kidded the ex-SEAL. “General Raines knows we get the job done right the first time.”

  “Oh, sure, Jane,” Ike kidded right back. “Right.”

  “We’re airborne,” Ben put an end to the banter. “Good luck, everybody.”

  “General Raines to pilot. How’s the weather over the DZ?”

  “Clear and starry, General.”

  Ben and his people would be jumping static line from fifteen hundred feet . . . but that was several hours away. For now, Ben leaned his head back, made himself as comfortable as possible, folded his arms over his reserve, and promptly went to sleep. No point in worrying about anything now. As Ben was fond of saying, “I never sweat the small shit.”

  SIXTEEN

  The first teams from Ben’s 1 Batt started dropping in just west of the ruins of Tacoma. Ben slept on. Jersey finally had to shake him awake.

  “We’ll be over the DZ in a few minutes, boss.”

  Ben nodded and struggled to his boots to stretch and get the kinks out of his muscles. He walked up and then back down the cavernous interior of the huge plane, smiling at his people.

  The doors in the rear of the plane opened and freezing air filled the interior. “Won’t be long now,” Ben muttered.

  The jumpmaster caught his eye and gave him a hand signal. “Stand up and check equipment!” Ben shouted.

  The long lines of jumpers struggled to their boots and began checking the equipment and harness of the Rebel in front of them. Ben waddled to the rear of the plane. The red light popped on.

  “Hook up!” Ben shouted, hooking his static line to the wire. He moved closer to the yawning doors. He felt the old familiar rush of adrenaline flood his system.

  Jersey crowded close behind him, the rest of his team stretched out behind her.

  Ben found himself humming an old polka tune: “Roll Out The Barrel.” The jumpmaster was looking at him very strangely.

  Ben stopped humming and smiled at the man.

  The green light popped on.

  “Go!” the jumpmaster yelled, slapping Ben on the leg.

  Ben stepped out into the cold darkness. He felt a slight tug as his main pulled free and opened, then the opening shock as air filled the canopy and nearly jerked him to a halt midair. He looked around him: the night sky was filled with blossoming ’chutes.

  The ground was also coming up fast.

  Ben automatically pulled his feet together and willed his legs to relax. He released his equipment bag to the full extent of the tether rope. Then he was on the ground, landing easily. He popped the quick release to his harness and began gathering up his ’chute. He looked up, checking on the drift of the equipment ’chutes. There was no wind to speak of and the equipment ’chutes were falling right on target.

  A pathfinder came running up. The pathfinder teams had jumped in hours before, to electronically ‘paint’ the DZ.

  “You all right, sir?” the pathfinder questioned.

  “I’m fine. Any trouble here?”

  “No, sir. Everything’s quiet.”

  Ben’s team quickly gathered around him.

  “Get the equipment unpacked,” Ben ordered, as he locked a full magazine into place into the belly of his CAR and jacked in a round. “Do it quickly. Corrie, get the team leaders around me, right now!”

  Ben looked into the face of one of the doctors who jumped in with them. “Anybody hurt?”

  “Couple of twisted ankles. One man with a minor back injury,” the doctor reported.

  “How’d he hurt his back? As if I didn’t know.”

  “Landed with his feet spread apart, General. Said he wasn’t thinking.”

  Ben nodded in the darkness. “Your gear make it down okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re not assigned to me, are you? I don’t remember seeing any paperwork on you. What’s your name?”

  “Mel Farmer. Yes, sir. I’m assigned to you. Doctor Chase’s orders, and his orders came from President Jefferys. You’re stuck with me, General.”

  “All right. Damn, boy,” Ben peered through the darkness at the doctor. “You’re pretty young to be a doctor, aren’t you?”

  The doctor grinned. “It’s all due to my clean living, General.”

  “Well, we’re all going to be filthy as hogs before this op is over. Where’s your weapon?”

  “I’m a doctor, General. I carry a sidearm. That’s all.”

  “You’ll be carrying a rifle before long, I can assure you of that,” Ben said grimly. “And using it,” he added.

  “Perimeters established, boss,” Corrie said. “We landed right on the money, between Interstate 5 and highway 9. All battalions are down, no serious injuries reported.”

  “Good deal.” Ben looked around him. “Goddamnit, somebody get the team leaders to me, right now!”

  The team leaders began gathering around, most of them coming on the run and panting, loaded down with equipment. This operation was a guerrilla action, the Rebels landing with only a few light machine guns, most of them SAWs, .223 Squad Automatic Weapons. But they were loaded down with plastic explosives and grenades and spare ammo. They had field rations, and not many of those; they would live off the land or they would go hungry until another supply drop.

  “Forget Bellingham,” Ben told the group. “It’s in ruins.” Then he spoke quickly to the team leaders and one by one, the men and women began vanishing into the night, running for their teams and heading out for their objectives.

  “Let’s go, gang,” Ben said to the twenty Rebels that made up his team. “We’ve got some bridges to blow and other hell to raise.” Ben used a penlight to quickly scan a map. He pointed. “That way. Let’s do it”