Standoff in the Ashes Page 12

  She was back in a couple of minutes. Even in the gloom Ben could tell her face was grim. “Ed administered the polygraph to Nolan. Or says he did, anyway.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Chuck said.

  “It still isn’t conclusive proof,” Ben said. “But we’ll keep an eye on them. And pass the word to only those in your group you know you can trust—men and women with no families or kin on the outside. I’ll make the announcement in a few minutes that the planes are on the way.”

  “Then the shit hits the fan,” Lara said.

  Ben smiled. “My, my, darling. You do have such a way with words. You have the soul of a poet.”

  Lara smiled sweetly and flipped Ben the bird.

  FIFTEEN

  A couple of minutes after Ben made the announcement he noticed that both Ed and Nolan were gone. “Down!” he called first to Chuck and Lara. Then Ben yelled, “Everybody get down. We’ve been set up. It’s a trap.”

  The night became pocked with flashes as the turncoats aligned with Ed and Nolan opened fire on the men and women they had called friends for years.

  Ben saw several of Chuck’s group buckle and go down under the gunfire. Chuck’s immediate group had been warned that something was up, though, and they hit the ground at the first shouted warning.

  Ben leveled his CAR at unfriendly flashes coming from the edge of the clearing and gave them half a mag. He couldn’t tell if he hit anything, but the firing abruptly ceased.

  “Rotten bastards!” Belle yelled, on her knees and firing into the pockmarked timber and brush around the clearing.

  On his belly behind part of a rotted log, Ben checked the luminous hands of the expensive watch he’d taken from one of the guards back at the funny farm. The planes would be making their drops in twelve minutes.

  “Abort it! Abort it!” someone yelled from the darkness of the timber. “Get out of here!”

  Chuck’s group had already pinpointed the locations of many of the turncoats, and they had worked close. They now increased the fire and began tossing grenades. Suddenly the situation changed, and Chuck’s people were on the offensive. The turncoats panicked and began running. Chuck’s militia cut them down.

  The fire from the timber abated, then ceased altogether. Ben yelled, “Throw up security lines around the clearing. Then take a head count and find out who turned. Alert your people in the park.”

  Chuck began yelling orders. Ben again checked his watch. When Chuck finished, Ben called, “Planes here in seven minutes. Form up the light lines.”

  Chuck walked up, cussing. “Dirty traitorous sons of bitches! I’ll have every damned one of them shot.”

  “Check the dead and wounded in the timber,” Ben told him. “Any alive might be persuaded to tell us something.”

  “Bet on that,” Chuck said grimly.

  “Rest of us get the light lines formed up. We’re running out of time.”

  It took four minutes to get the DZ lit up. In the timber the sounds of an occasional gunshot could still be heard as Chuck’s people found turncoats and the traitors put up a fight . . . very brief fights, in most cases, for Chuck’s people were pissed off to the max and not interested in any sort of niceties.

  “Planes!” someone yelled, and Ben turned toward the east just as the lights of the first big transport could be faintly seen coming in low over the hills and mountains.

  “Lights on!” Ben yelled.

  Two long lines of light flashed on, marking the wide DZ in the valley.

  The lead transport flashed its flight lights, signaling they had the DZ in visual.

  Thousands of feet above the transports fighters circled, in case of trouble, but there was no more trouble in the huge park that night.

  Dozens of parachutes suddenly blossomed in the night sky as the supplies were dropped. Chuck’s people raced to retrieve the supplies. There was very little wind that night, and the supply drop went off without a hitch. Several tons of much needed supplies floated soundlessly into the valley, and then the night grew quiet as the huge transports made their turn and headed back toward the east.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got,” Ben called.

  They had rockets and launchers, M-60 machine guns and M-16’s. Machine pistols with sound suppressors. Cases and cases of various types of grenades. Thousands of rounds of ammo. Boots and BDUs, socks and underwear. Berets and helmets and body armor. Medical supplies for every need and emergency. Cases of field rations. Water filtration systems and purification tabs. Portable stoves and heat tabs.

  There were supplies strung out from one end of the valley to the other.

  “Good God Almighty!” Chuck exclaimed. “When you call for a supply drop you don’t kid around, do you, General?”

  Ben chuckled. “I didn’t call for a lot of this. But my people want me to be prepared for any eventuality.”

  “Well, we damn sure are now!”

  “For a fact,” Lara said.

  “Let’s get this stuff cached and take a head count,” Ben suggested.

  “I can tell you we’ve got four dead and several wounded,” Chuck told him. “How many turncoats we had is still up for grabs. But I will find out. Bet on that.”

  There was no more time for conversation as men and women started coming in and picking up the supplies and loading them in small trailers hooked to three-wheelers and four-wheelers. They would divvy up the supplies come daylight, and discuss the fates of the turncoats and how to deal with them.

  “I know how to deal with them,” Lara said, considerable heat in her words.

  Several other members of the militia groups in the park standing nearby nodded their heads in agreement, a couple of them adding some very earthy descriptive phrases along with the nods.

  There was no way the turncoats were going to live very long after this night, not unless they moved out of North America.

  Sad, Ben thought. The conditions in the USA had come to this: neighbor pitted against neighbor, father against son, brother against brother. Ten times worse than during the first civil war, a hundred and fifty years back.

  The supplies were cached and the men and women of Ben’s new command in the northeast got a few hours sleep. At dawn they were up and taking stock of what they had and how many men and women had turned on them.

  “I’m getting reports in,” Chuck said. “Ed was the ringleader. Nolan was in on it, too. There were fifteen others. Three of them are dead, four wounded, and we have them. One of them isn’t going to make it . . . if he hasn’t died already.”

  “Why did they do it?” Belle asked. “My God, I’ve known Ed for years.”

  “Money and power was Nolan’s reason. Money and college for his kid was Ed’s reason.”

  “I thought under Osterman’s government anybody who wanted to could go to college.” Ben said.

  “That was the claim,” Lara replied. “And still is. But it didn’t work out that way—as was predicted by a lot of us when it was first brought up. There just isn’t enough money, or teachers or schools.”

  “Anyone with half a brain should be able to see that not everyone is college material,” Ben said.

  “Osterman wants a nation of intellectuals,” Chuck said. “I guess that’s what she wants,” he added with a shrug of his shoulders. “Hell, everything is so screwed up I don’t think anyone knows anymore.”

  “She wants power,” Ben told the group. “And her way in all matters. There is nothing wrong with being a dreamer. I had a dream, too. The trick is not letting that dream turn into a nightmare.”

  “Weland just died,” a man called from the area where the turncoat wounded were being cared for. “He never regained consciousness.”

  “John Weland,” Lou said. “I always thought he was with us a hundred and ten percent.”

  “It’s times like these that could make a person get real discouraged,” Chuck said. He stood up from his squat and shook himself like a big dog. “But I’m not going to let that happen. The group is solid again, way I see it. So let’s get on with the job at hand and try to get this mess straightened out. The sooner we do, the sooner we can all start living some sort of normal life.”

  Those gathered around looked at Ben.

  “My turn?” he asked with a smile.

  “Your turn, General,” Chuck said.

  “That’s easy.”

  “Easy, Ben?” Lara asked.

  “What’s next, that is.”

  The others waited.

  Ben lit a cigarette and took a sip of coffee. “What’s the nearest town?”

  “In the park?” Belle asked.

  “Might as well be.”

  “Saranac Lake,” Belle answered.

  “The police force there?”

  “Solid Fed trained and solid Osterman supporters,” Lara answered. “Ben, every police force in the USA is that way now. Any officer who thought differently is long gone—weeded out, forced out. The police have absolute power now. And you know what’s said about absolute power.”

  “It corrupts.”

  “Right, and it sure as hell has done just that with these sorry bastards and bitches who now wear the badges in the United States.”

  “What about Saranac Lake?” Dave asked.

  Ben grinned. “We take control of it . . . tomorrow night.”

  Ben had not shaved in about a week, and his beard was naturally heavy. He was well on the way to having a full beard—a sculptured one. A few hours before the assault on the park town was to take place, he carefully trimmed and then shaved his upper cheeks and neck: the beard was coming along nicely. He didn’t think it would fool anyone up close, but it might cause them to hesitate, and that would be all the time that Ben needed to get in the first punch, or shot, as the case might be.

  He had as
ked and had been pleasantly surprised to find that Chuck’s people had a comprehensive list of people with conservative leanings and those who were solid left wing. Militias and survivalist groups had begun compiling those lists several years back, and the lists were long.

  “But those with conservative leanings have been disarmed, and are watched,” Ben was advised.

  “Well, they’re about to be rearmed,” Ben replied. “And they’ll be taking over the policing of the communities we free from Osterman’s rule. Once we’re successful in half a dozen of these raids, other groups around the USA will start following suit. We’re going to reclaim the USA, folks. One community at a time.”

  President Claire Osterman sat in the Oval Office in the new White House and silently cursed. The war with the SUSA was not going well. Not going well at all.

  Her Federals had one minor victory to their credit, in Tennessee. They had captured Ben Raines. After that, Raines’s Rebels had toughened up and started kicking ass all along the border.

  Now Ben Raines had escaped from custody and was somewhere in the huge Adirondacks Park with a bunch of ragtag, idiotic, militia types.

  “Shit!” Madam President Osterman muttered.

  Her intel people had informed her about the supply drop in the park the past night—a massive drop of equipment. Her small, ill-equipped and poorly trained Air Force had scrambled a squadron of fighters to mix it up with the Rebels. Not a single Federal plane had returned. The goddamn Rebels had shot down every one of her fighters.

  “Bastards!” she muttered.

  She had to hire more mercenaries to fight the Rebels. She had no choice in the matter. One of her advisors had proposed bringing back the draft, and Claire had been horrified at just the thought. Good God! Decent people don’t grub about in the military. That was something one hired done. If they got killed, well, society hadn’t lost much of anything. Her own father had evaded the draft during that debacle in Vietnam years back, skipping off to Canada with a group of others from the university. She remembered how proud of that he had been. He had often told her that only people of very dubious intelligence served in the military; certainly not people of quality.

  In order to hire more soldiers Claire would have to raise taxes. Just had to be done. Couldn’t help it. People had to sacrifice in order to maintain a perfect society where everyone was equal. The citizens would understand. She was sure of that. Defeating Ben Raines and returning the SUSA to the Union would be worth it.

  Of course, once all that was accomplished taxes would probably have to be raised just a teeny weeny bit more, for the reindoctrination of those misguided people who lived in the SUSA would be costly. It was certainly something that had to be done. Couldn’t have a bunch of people running around believing that the average citizens had a right to own guns. Heavens, no!

  Unthinkable.

  Allowing a moment of silence in public school could certainly not be allowed, either. Absolutely not! Those foolish people who mumbled prayers to some mythical being would soon be contaminating the minds of truly intelligent people who knew the Bible was nothing but a good yarn, pure fiction.

  And who knew what that damned Ben Raines was up to in the wilderness? For sure the goddamned troublemaker was plotting something against the government . . . that much was a given. But what? And why did he want all those supplies that were parachuted into the park? What kind of supplies were they, and what was he going to do with them?

  Madam President Osterman leaned back in her massive leather chair, a frown on her face. As much as she hated Ben Raines, she could not allow herself to underestimate the man. She had done that several times in the past, and had soon regretted it. The bastard was smart, she had to admit that—albeit very, very reluctantly.

  The problem with that damned park was that it was huge! When her State Police or Federal troops did go in after those miserable militia types, they never came back out. The park was booby-trapped, and very dangerous.

  Claire pushed back her chair and stood up. She paused for a minute, looking out the window. What a lovely day. Then the face of Ben Raines entered her mind and spoiled everything. God, she hated that arrogant bastard.

  She sure wished she knew what he was going to do next. She frowned again. Whatever it was, it would be destructive, that was for certain. Bastard enjoyed blowing things up.

  Claire sat back down. She had developed a raging headache just thinking about him.

  “Ben Raines, you rotten, right-wing son of a bitch!” she blurted.

  BOOK TWO

  1935 will go down in history! For the first time a civilized nation has full gun registration! Our streets will be safer, our police more efficient, and the world will follow our lead in the future!

  - Adolf Hitler

  ONE

  When a majority of a nation’s population elects to support a socialist/communist regime, those opposed to such a form of government (the minority) have few options left them. They can revolt against the ruling government, but if the entire civilian population has been disarmed, their weapons confiscated (taken by force under threat of death or imprisonment) by government agents, their options become rather slim. Under such a form of government, block wardens, or watchers, suddenly rise to the fore. Neighbors, men and women and young people who were once friends, become suspicious and very wary of each other, for who knows who is reporting what to the town’s central committee?

  Once the entire civilian population is disarmed (except for certain selected individuals fanatically loyal to the democrat/socialist/communist regime) the normally law-abiding citizens are much easier to control with less manpower (excuse me, all you feminists: person power).

  Those types who choose to wear or carry badges under such a restrictive and oppressive form of government also tend to get a bit cocky—very much impressed with their own self-importance.

  Ben Raines and his new northeast command of militia and survivalists took all the steam out of the local federal police force just after sundown.

  The dispatcher and the one person working the desk looked up and found themselves staring at a dozen heavily armed men and women, all wearing camo BDUs.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Ben warned the pair. “And you’ll live. Screw up and you’re going to get seriously dead in a hurry. Understand?”

  They both nodded their complete understanding of the situation and the ramifications involved. They were only too happy to comply.

  Several of Chuck’s people quickly disarmed the pair of Federal police and then emptied the gun racks and the small arsenal of the police station.

  “Call your patrols back here,” Ben ordered the dispatcher. “If I sense a code word being used to warn them, I’ll kill you where you sit, understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” the dispatcher said. “I sure do.”

  “Do it.”

  Ten minutes later, the night shift of the town’s police force were locked in their own jail. Twenty minutes after that, the other members of the town’s federal police force had been rousted out of bed and were locked down.

  “By God, I’ll see you all hang for this!” the police chief blustered.

  It was an empty threat coming from a man standing in his drawers.

  “My, my, he sure has skinny legs and knobby knees, doesn’t he?” Belle said.

  “You dirty, rotten, filthy militia whore!” the police chief yelled.

  “Got a mouth on him, too,” Val observed.

  “To hell with you, bitch!” the chief hollered. “I’ll see all of you hang, you . . . you . . . traitors!”

  Ben stepped closer to the barred door of the cell and the chief squinted and paled. “Ben Raines,” he whispered. “You damned fascist!”

  “You certainly are in a mood for name calling this evening, aren’t you, Chief?” Ben questioned. Ben lifted the muzzle of his CAR and poked the chief in the belly with it. “Not too smart for a man in your predicament, I would say.”

  “I’m not afraid to die!” the chief yelled.

  “You’re a damn liar,” Ben told him. “Everyone is afraid to die, whether they’ll admit it or not.”

  “I’m not!” the chief hollered.

  “OK,” Ben said. He turned to Belle and Val. “You two take this bastard out back of the jail and shoot him.”